I’ll admit. It wasn’t my first choice.
I will also admit that bad karma was stuck to me like Elmer’s glue. I knew I should have let that car over this morning... But when you are cursed with a bad day, you have to suck it up and deal with it. Or at least laugh over drinks with a friend.
Until you get to The Grove Grill that is.
From the moment we walked in, tired shiny faces from standing at a desk all day under bright lights and dressed in our mass production excuses for suits—I’ll acknowledge we weren’t your typical customer of this fine upscale dining establishment.
But we just wanted to enjoy drinks over an appetizer and a delicious meal prepared by someone who takes pride in their work.
Well the trainee hostess seemed happy to excuse us, eager to sit us down and have use enjoy our time. The trainer looked at us as if trying to decide if she wanted to ask if we had a reservation or just tell us the restaurant was closed for a private function. And as a fellow member of the welcome and serve community, I know what that face means. “Get out and never darken our door again” or possibly “Is this one of those site inspections?”
It set the tone.
I had eaten at the Grove Grill once before when a young man took me there as part of the pre-Prom dining out with friends ritual. His group was mostly private schools and mostly enjoyed the dinner either ignoring me or asking me how many times I had been “flushed”. So, as an “adult”, I was eager to enjoy the continental style and fully enjoy the food, drink, and atmosphere.
Waiter must have talked to Hostess because I do actually believe he managed to look straight down his nose at us when greeting us. My colleague and friend took it all in stride and took control of the situation by asking for a drink menu. We were offered their fine wine list but wine is for a more mellow night and we were seeking something as outrageous and strong as my current bad luck karma. Something like a Chocolate Martini or a Cat in the Hat?
He offered us Jack and Coke.
Now, I appreciate not being seen as the kind of girl who is a bitch beer drinker but I hope to god I haven’t crossed the line to a Jack and Coke over the bread kind of girl. Because if I have, I’ve been at this job far too long.
Instead, I asked him about mixed drinks: Car decided on a Pomegranate Martini and I tried my usual gambit of “Surprise me.”
I always hope a bartender hearing that will know he has someone who is more interested in his skill and knowledge than just ordering the usual. I was expecting something along the lines of the Pomegranate Martini or even a simple and highly unusual evening Mimosa.
I got a man in the chef uniform coming over to talk to us about the drink selection. And as I listened to him ask me what kind of alcohol I like, I felt guilty about pulling him from his kitchen due to my indecision. Or perhaps seeing him and Waiter exchange that look of exasperation at the two silly girls laughing over there.
I wanted a mimosa. He gave me a look. And left. Then came back to explain that if I liked Rum (which I had mentioned), I should try the Mojito. Which I had also wanted to. I love mint. I was officially excited.
And then Waiter brought me a sprite with mint leaves and a tree sticking out of it. Very presentational but I just knew it wasn’t going to be what I wanted. And sure enough, the only reason I took a sip was Chef asking me how I liked it. (I think he knew full well I was waiting to sample it on my own.)
So as I swallowed past the rotten Sprite taste, I munched on the Calamari with the lime-esque sauce. The
Calamari was light and delicious but not my favorite. And I think the Mojito had already ruined my views on lime.
As we talked and enjoyed the quiet and relaxed atmosphere, we chatted with Chef a bit and were happy to see that he was passionate about making us feel comfortable and generally interested in our story. However, when it came down to ordering, I was once again hit with the “face of shame”. Waiter screwed up his nose, reared his left shoulder back, and looked at Car in distress as I tried to explain- no, defend- my choice.
You see, not only had I had a hellish day at work. Full of frights, sighs, and trying to decide how the guest would feel if I threw their credit card at them in the manner they had just whipped it at me, my day had been only bearable due to my day off previously. The lost suit of Car’s in the laundry room, my car key refusing to turn or even budge as we sat in the dark garage, the fact that my parking key did not let me out of the said dark garage, and the driving down creepy and did I mention dark back streets to find the restaurant we had chosen was closed on Mondays all added up to me wanting a Groveburger. Something simple but classically presented.
I blame the Mojito.
He offered the steak, he suggested the salad, he practically begged me to consider the shrimp and grits (Rated Best in the City!) but finally snapped his book shut as I presented a case that would make Chef Boyardee repent and left us in peace to enjoy our…well, Car’s drink.
Car’s drink was rather delicious and I am jealous of her wise drink ordering ways. But I thank the Grove Grill for their attempt. And for their rather fun and slightly creepy wall of presidents. I think George was giving me the eye the whole night but Adams was playing hard to get. Damnhim.
And the Chef did not let us down. Car enjoyed her Southern Caesar Salad (Grit Croutons and Ham) even though as a huge Caesar fan- I eyed it like Brutus on the Ides of March-(Can you tell I’m not a grits fan?) My Grove Burger was delicious- perfectly seasoned and the fries were amazing. Although I did have to ask for ketchup because I am not a cultured woman and I believe that fries and burgers must have some kind of condiment on them.
So as George watched, we ate our meals and enjoyed talking in the softly lit space with the high ceiling and the light walls. It was a very relaxing and comfortable place which would not be out of place in a romantic movie setting or a Washington D.C suburb. But other than the Grits- the Southern was not over played here and I enjoyed that. Sometimes I feel like Memphis pushes too hard on the Southern tradition but perhaps that’s just me.
While the menu was not small, it was varied and had a much more interesting way of approaching its side items (Praline Sweet Potatoes!), I felt like I was not their usual clientele. And perhaps since it was a Monday night we threw them off. Or perhaps it was my bad karma following me and tainting their establishment. In which case, I do apologize for the glasses I heard shatter because that was probably my bad luck creeping in the rear exit smelling the fresh and delicious smell wafting from the kitchen.
So, while I will never be able to highly recommend The Grove Grill, I will probably remember it and recommend it for the Chef’s sincerity and interest and the Grove Burger.
Not for their mojito.
No comments:
Post a Comment