The Only Thing We Hate More Than a $16 Bread Basket Is a Bathroom Attendant

French Fries -- Balthazar

Balthazar

We will admit it up front: we have a personal vendetta against Balthazar.

Now, there are many things with which we could take umbrage concerning the place:

1. Their Soho location, causing us to trip constantly over mismatched cobblestones,

2. A seating arrangement that makes airplane configurations seem "spacious," and

3. Their rather pretentious air of "We think we're French, even more than the French do," which permeates the entire place. 

In Balthazar, These Would Be Called "French Flowers"

But none of these details alone would be enough to keep us from returning to Balthazar.  Instead, the main culprit in our grudgery is a little thing called the "Balthazar bread basket."

WHICH COSTS $16.

With All That Money, You'd Think They Could Afford Something Better Than Dishcloths for Napkins

Yes, that is correct -- $16 for a pile of goodness that any respectable establishment would provide for free.  Actually, we retract that statement -- said bread basket, all $16 of it, is not actually that "good."


It's "fair" at best.  Verging on "poor."

 

It also COSTS $16.

Obviously, few things make us more bitter than having to pay for our carbs.

Presumably We'll Be Shelling Out Money for the Tap Water Next

So we arrive at Balthazar, pent-up bitterness boiling in the backs of our throats, and we are escorted to our table.  By some miracle, the hostess does not insist on squeezing us in between two already full tables, and for five glorious minutes, we have a whole area all to ourselves.

And then, like clockwork, Balthazar begins jamming 12 people into an area where only 6 should ever be. 

FYI, Our Table Is About 1/16 the Size of That Booth

We huddle over the wine list for entirely too long, Ginger trying to decide whether to order red or white, and Vodka discerning whether it makes more sense to order carafes or half bottles.  

"I Might Have to Go With -- " "A Half Bottle?" "I Was Going to Say 'White'"

We soon settle on two carafes of... well, one of the reds.  The one that was deemed by our waiter to taste the most like pinot noir.  And then -- you won't even believe it -- we get a bread basket.

A FREE bread basket.

What Is This Wizardry of Which You Speak?

Now, said basket does not feature oodles of pastry variations like the $16 version, but we never even knew Balthazar gave away any free bread at all!  We are temporarily elated, and the bread (especially after sprinkles of salt are added to the dreaded unsalted butter) is rather scrumptious.

Nicely done, Balthazar.  Way to redeem yourself.

That Wasn't So Hard Now, Was It?

Moving onto our entrees, we are here to eat Bobby Flay's Best Thing I Ever Ate TOTALLY FRIED dish, the French fries, so our main concern is what meal we can order and be guaranteed a plethora of said fries.  Ginger chooses the hamburger, and Vodka the moules frites ("Those are mussels right?  Not oysters?"  We're such gourmands).  In a matter of minutes, our table, which could pretty much fit half of a person comfortably, is overflowing with plates and utensils -- the bread basket, the butter, the wine carafe, two wine glasses, two water glasses, the burger, the mussels, three bowls in which to discard the mussel shells, the French fries, the mayonnaise, and a plethora of flatware.

Needless to say, we start dropping things pronto.

No More Room at the Inn

First things first, the French fries (which, naturally, Vodka douses in two tons of salt) live up to Bobby's description, primarily because they "taste like McDonald's version" (our highest compliment).  

So Essentially, Balthazar Is an Upscale Mickey D's

Light and somehow without grease, they are just crispy enough on the outside without becoming crunchy, and the variations in size and shape make for a pleasant experience.

Truth Be Told, We Really Meet Few French Fries With Whom We Don't Get Along

If we came back to Balthazar again, we would certainly order the fries.  But the jury is out on whether or not that set of circumstances will ever occur.

Do You Have a To-Go Window for JUST Fries?

Ginger is pleased by her burger, which is topped by lettuce, tomato, and onion (but not cheese, which Ginger did not want.  Vodka is predictably appalled).  

All These Years, She Thought "Hamburgers" Were an Urban Legend

It also comes with about a gallon of French fries on the side, so if nothing else, we give Balthazar 5 stars on their portions.

Mount Everest of Fries in Background

Now, Vodka's mussels, while certainly not bad, are not great either.  Rather lukewarm in temperature, they are also piled so high in their caldron that Vodka is a third of the way through the meal before she finds any sauce at all.  

Oh, THERE You Are, Sauce. We've Missed You

If anything, these mussels are hovering on the wrong side of "dry," so Vodka makes a great show out of consuming her cornucopia of fries for 45 minutes instead ("No, no, still working on those, bread boy").

Does This Look Empty to You?

As our meal winds down, we are -- if not HAPPY with Balthazar -- certainly less hostile towards them than we were walking in.  That is, of course, until we enter the bathroom and find an attendant.

And there are few things in the world that get on our nerves more than a bathroom attendant.  

We Hate Them Even More Than We Do Dry Mussels

We consider ourselves more than capable of finding our own paper towels without having to suffer the indignation of someone sitting outside the stall, listening to us pee.  So we fly in and out of the bathroom even more quickly than we would have if left to fetch our own soap.

And we don't leave the attendant a $16 tip either.

Balthazar's French Fries: 4 stars

How About Another Round, Bread Boy?

Tempura Bacon -- The Red Cat
The Red Cat

"I mean, I know we can be kind of annoying, but the Bread Boy didn't even smile at us!"

To say the least, things at The Red Cat are not going well.

By the Way, Who Paints Their Cat Crimson?

We probably should have known walking into the place that we were in for a bit of trouble for a couple of reasons:

1. It has taken us over two years to eat here because they have refused to keep the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish on the menu consistently (one of our top pet peeves), and even more tellingly,

2. Vodka was CHASED down the street by a psychic just prior to entering the place.  Said psychic was brandishing a business card and insisting that Vodka had a "a beautiful aura," a fact which a member of any waitstaff in New York City could wholeheartedly dispute.

With a start like this, things at the The Red Cat are bound to be amiss.

Naturally, Though, We Are Seated at the Date Table, So Things Are Looking Up

We begin innocently enough -- well, if "innocent" can be defined by sending the waitress away three times because we're incapable of making a decision on the cocktail menu.  Eventually, Ginger settles on the Elysian Fields and Vodka on the Thai gin and tonic, both of which, naturally, contain gin.

Vodka Apologizes for Abandoning Her Previous Alcohol of Choice, But It's Always Gin O'Clock Somewhere

Neither drink is particularly remarkable (though Ginger does gain valuable insight into Vodka's mind when Vodka sips the Elysian and spits out, "Ugh, it tastes like champagne."  "...You don't like champagne?"  "I HATE champagne.")

We Prefer to Toast Ourselves with Hard Liquor

Ginger can soon be found hunched over her menu and laughing to herself like someone who is decidedly not wrapped too tight.

"What is it?" Vodka finally indulges her after one too many seconds of letting her look certifiable.

"Clearly, I'm missing something," Ginger says, pointing to an entree on the menu: oven-roasted kid.

The Red Cat Likes to Sacrifice Second Graders

"That's goat," Vodka says, suddenly losing all sense of the absurd.  "Not a child."

Deciding against gnawing on a preschooler for dinner, we choose a sweet pea ravioli special to share, along with the baked goat cheese casserole and bacon tempura salad as appetizers.  Now, the actual Best Thing I Ever Ate dish which Ted Allen chose on the TOTALLY FRIED episode was tempura bacon by itself, but its reemergence on the menu has come along with cabralese, apple, watercress, and smoked paprika aioli.  Apparently, The Red Cat is no longer as confident in the merits of its deep-fried bacon as a standalone dish.

Um, Where's the Bacon?

As we sip our cocktails, an inexplicably-already-annoyed-with-us bread boy comes along with a giant basket of bread slices.  Not bread baskets, mind you -- SLICES.

Let the Hostility Commence

As we have made very clear, a restaurant can make or break itself on the bread alone.  And being stingy with the carbs is a surefire way to get on our cranky side.

Well, That, And Us Not Knowing How to Work the Salt Shakers

Besides being way underportioned, this bread leaves MUCH to be desired -- Ginger thinks it needs a minute to heat up in the oven, and Vodka finds that its 80-to-20 crust-to-white ratio is entirely unacceptable.  Despite our general dislike of the stuff, we are desperate for another slice in order to lap up more of the olive oil.  Yet Bread Boy is nowhere to be found.

Restaurants Need to Start Providing Us with Bells With Which to Summon Bread Boys

Temporarily saved from our wrath by the imminent arrival of our food, we distract ourselves from the lack of bread on our table by diving into the bacon tempura salad.  Three slices of the tempura-battered bacon can be found deep within the greenery of the salad, meaning that by the time they are recovered, they are completely soggy rather than crisp.

That Was a Good Game of Hide and Seek, Bacon

We try the bacon on its own first, and it is more off-putting than appealing.  Limp in texture and excessively smoky in flavor, we are flummoxed as to why this was ever called out as being special.

In Other Words, Blech

Admittedly, the addition of the greens and, especially, the cheese, improves matters a bit, but not enough to win us over.  Rather than actually creating a pleasing item, The Red Cat is getting by on the novelty factor of dredging a thin slice of bacon in batter and then deep-frying it.  But let's be honest -- they deep-fry butter at state fairs.  Gourmet invention, this is not.

Tis a Far, Far Worse Thing to Ruin a Salad with Bacon...?

...Or to Ruin Bacon with a Salad?

The baked goat cheese casserole is incredibly disappointing, based on the fact that we had both, separately but with equal enthusiasm, honed in on it on the menu.  Though the cheese itself is served in a tiny ramekin, we run out of bread on which to spread it within seconds, with a solid two-thirds of the cheese still stuck in the dish.

For the Love of Goat Cheese, Someone Bring Us a Loaf!

So Much Cheese, So Little on Which to Spread It

It is at this point that we try to flag down the bread boy.  Or our waitress.  Or anyone.

And there is NO ONE to be found.

Look, We'll Bake the Bread Ourselves If We Need To, People

We appease ourselves temporarily by consuming the sweet pea ravioli, which, while the best item of the three, is still not all that stupendous.  The pasta itself is thin and nicely cooked, but the ravioli are stuck together in one solid mass, which impedes proper dish-sharing.

Essentially, It's One Giant Ravioli

The sweet pea mixture inside the ravioli pockets is pleasing enough.  But the sauce that is spread over top, which looks like a brown butter concoction, is sickeningly sweet when we taste it solo, and, naturally, we would have preferred salty.

Especially because we are now out of bread AND drinks.

And there is still NO ONE to help us.

Empty Glasses and Bread Plates Over Here!

When a solid ten minutes (no exaggeration) pass, and we can still be found lingering over our empty (save for the cheese casserole) plates and glasses, Vodka accosts a random worker and requests that he find our waitress.  Seemingly unable to locate her, this man takes our order for refreshed cocktails and brings us a dessert menu, while Ginger practically mugs the bread boy's basket in search of more bread (which he eventually hands over, albeit begrudgingly).

Service with a Smile... NOT

Finally, our waitress deigns to grace us with her presence, of which our general reaction is "Get us our drinks and some blueberry pie.  Stat." Our refills and dessert make it to our table a few minutes later, and by this point, we are decidedly more hostile than when we arrived.  After all, if there is any surefire way to put us in a bad mood quickly, denying us more bread AND cocktails is it.

Don't You Want to Make More Money Off of Us, Waitress?  Bring Us the Booze!

We ask for the check, and try to use our failing math skills to attempt to figure out what would be considered a "bad" tip, being that our waitress disappeared for at least half an hour of our meal (however, because we never properly learned how to calculate percentages, we end up giving her like 18%.  We're such rebels).

There Is a Reason We Didn't Major in Calculus

In the meantime, we stab our spoons into the dessert, of which the buttermilk ice cream and accompanying crumble is rather delicious, but the mini-blueberry pie itself is not impressive (though the best reason we can come up with for the reason behind this disaster is "The blueberries taste funny").

Perhaps Because of That Weird Smear of Ketchup on the Plate

We pour the remainder of our cocktails into our mouths and stumble outside, remarking loudly to one another, "I am not impressed with this place."

And, needless to say, not a single staff member compliments our beautiful auras on our way out.

The Red Cat's Tempura Bacon: 2 stars

Off the Map: Comparison to a Munchkin Is the Highest Compliment

Made-to-Order Doughnuts -- Lola, Seattle, WA
Lola

After a study of three Tom Douglas restaurants, one thing seems clear: the man does not believe in electricity.  At least, he does not believe in lightbulbs, as the atmosphere of Dahlia Lounge, Serious Pie, and now Lola hover somewhere between "dim" and "pitch black."  Perhaps it is for this reason that each of the locations is accompanied by a bushel of free matches at the front of the house.  Are we supposed to light our own way to the table, Little House on the Prairie-style?

Anyone Have a Lantern?

As it happens, Chianti and her roommate are currently engaged in a quest to create a "hurricane kit" for weather emergencies, and they thus begin stuffing the available matches into their bags with the swiftness of a bank robber.  (For the record, to this day, the only items available in said 'hurricane kit' are these matches).

Because They Keep Drinking Their Booze Supply

In any case, we arrive at Lola with the intent to secure one of their most coveted tables for cocktail and dessert consumption only.  As it happens, not one of the restaurants where Vodka has made a reservation has called to confirm all week -- Not. One. -- which stands in stark contrast to the constant barrage of restaurant calls she receives in New York.  Clearly, in Seattle, the fine dining folks' philosophy is also "Homie don't care."

"Show Up or Don't Show Up -- Not Our Problem." --Seattle

Crawling into our booth, we order yet another round of cocktails and begin reading the dessert menu with the enthusiasm of drunkards on their fourth cocktails of the night.  Which is when we discover that the made-to-order doughnuts, as recommended by Giada Di Laurentiis on the TOTALLY FRIED episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate, ARE NOT ON THE MENU.

Come ON now, Seattle!

STOP BEING ANNOYING!

Breaking into a flop sweat, as she has decades of experience concerning how Vodka reacts when her obsessive missions don't go as planned, Chianti flags down our waitress and inquires as to the status of said doughnuts.  And the waitress assures us that our requested dessert is, in fact, available.

Good thing, Lola.  GOOD THING.

Now Please Bring Us Each a Serving Immediately

Chianti's friends order the loukoumathes (cinnamon, honey, walnuts) and the goat cheese turnovers (pistachio, mint, honey), while Vodka and Chianti, at the waitress's urging, each order their own bag of doughnuts.  When our sweets arrive, Chianti immediately begins diving across the table towards her friends' choices, murmuring sweet nothings about how she "wants to make out with that honey."  Indeed, both of these dishes are smothered in honey gooiness -- a happenstance that is great if you love honey, which Vodka, well, does not.

Turnovers of Greekness

Apparently, All of Tom Douglas's Desserts Essentially Look Like Doughnuts

Hence, why in front of her is resting a plate of doughnuts.

Well, Actually, a Bag, But the Doughnuts Soon Emerge

Six miniature rounded rectangles of fried dough rest within a mound of fine sugar and cinnamon, with two bowls of huckleberry jam and vanilla mascarpone resting beside them.  

That's a "Neat" Jelly Transfer You Did There, Lola

One would think that it would be impossible to screw up something as naturally perfect as a doughnut, but sadly, both Buddakan and the Doughnut Plant has proven this theory wrong in the past, so Vodka is not making any grand judgments until she tastes the things.

And when she does, she is immediately ecstatic.

Cue the Choir of Angels, We Have a Winner

The doughnuts themselves are light and fluffy – a perfect balance between dense and airy.  They taste as good on the tongue as a Dunkin Donuts munchkin, which coming from us, is just about the highest compliment one can afford a doughnut.  

Carbs Covered in Cinnamon = Instant Success

While the huckleberry jam is sweet and enjoyable enough, Vodka is never one to choose a jelly doughnut.  This is especially the case considering that the vanilla mascarpone is downright delectable, and she scoops hearty portions of the stuff onto each corner of the "munchkin" as she aims it towards her mouth.

Rapidly Depleting Vanilla Cream

After demolishing all remnants of our cocktails and desserts, we begin to stumble out of Lola, Chianti secure in the knowledge that finally -- FINALLY -- Vodka has found a Seattle Best Thing I Ever Ate location that she has deemed worthy of 5 star status.

Only Took Three Days and a Literal Mound of Sugar

Of course, one could essentially go to Dunkin Donuts and have the same fried dough experience, but let's not split hairs here.  Chianti needs something to hold onto as she prepares for the end of the world, and memories of Lola's munchkins will keep her warm at night, even if her hoards of matches will not.

Lola's Made-to-Order Doughnuts: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate