Okay, last time I had us going into Jett’s Grill, the in-house restaurant at the Hotel Paisano in Marfa. And, further, I said that Jett’s Grill is supposed to be a classy sort of a joint, the kind of restaurant that any self-respecting gourmand would be dee-lighted to chow down at. Or, wait, that’s ending with a preposition. So, would it be “at which to down chow?” Whatever.
Seriously, it does have an excellent reputation. Later, I looked it up on Google. There were a bunch of reviews, most of them glowing.
However, I did notice something odd...and which, in retrospect, revealed much. Specifically, most of the reviews were quite positive, but every few now and then, there’d be a review that was very, very negative. The diner or diners would say that they had come in, ordered drinks and dinner, and then the drinks order would be screwed up, there would be an interminable wait, and then when the food finally showed up, it wouldn’t be particularly good. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t great.
So there was a precedent.
And that night, after we were seated, we ordered an appetizer because we wanted to get something the g’kids could eat right away. But the adults also took a moment to do drinks. Martha asked for a Margarita “without salt.” She was very clear on that. She does her Margaritas on the rocks. Not, repeat NOT, salt. David, meanwhile, ordered a Negroni. He, in turn, was clear on that. Negronis are kind of rare in this end of the world. So, when he orders them, he makes sure that the wait-person understands exactly what he wants.(1)
I can’t remember what Emily wanted. As for me, I’m not certain, but I think I asked for an Old Fashioned.(2)
Then...we waited...and waited...and waited...and waited.
And waited.
About the photos: Just two today. First, I didn’t get any photos inside Jett’s Grill, so here, instead, here’s a genuine simulated AI cartoon which attempts to show, by allegorical means, the general feeling of the meal we got. Second, here’s a shot of Martha I got while we were at lunch the other day. Way better meal than we got at Jett’s.
The g’kids were getting restless. *We* were getting restless. And we were all hungry. The waitress hadn’t bothered to return to take our meal orders. Minutes ticked away.
Suddenly...oh, thank goodness!...she was back with a plate with the appetizer on it. She slapped it down on the table and, without a word, she was gone again.
What?
The appetizer was meant to be shared, right? It was described on the menu as being meant “for the table.” But the only way we could share it would be to pass the platter around and eat with our fingers. Finally, Martha got the wandering attention of a busboy (not our waitress, who was nowhere to be seen) and we got a number of small plates for each of us on which to place the appetizer. In a word, yikes.
Again, suddenly, the waitress reappeared with the drinks. Again, slam! They went down on the table. Again...whoosh! ...she was gone. And then we looked at our drinks. Martha’s margarita glass was ringed with enough salt to start her own local franchise of the Dead Sea. David didn’t get a mixed drink at all. Instead of a Negroni, which you’ll recall he had been very clear about, he’d gotten a Negra Modelo beer. In the bottle. Without a glass. I asked him if he wanted to call the waitress and ask to get what he’d actually ordered. No, he said. He had a feeling this was a distinctly losing battle. Best to quit while he was ahead.
And we still hadn’t ordered our main meals. I was about to get up and go in search of the waitress when she appeared. Before she had a chance to disappear again, we latched onto her and started telling her what we wanted. She took a few notes, silently, and then...like Lamont Cranston (“The Shadow knows!”)...she vanished into the mists.
After that, once again, we waited and waited and waited. The kids took turns taking the g’kids for little walks around the restaurant. Martha and I were about to volunteer to do the same...when...hooray! the food arrived.
We set to eating.
And it was...bland. Whoa, it was soooo bland. It brought new meaning to the word blandness. I mean, I had spicier meals when I was visiting my mom in the nursing home.
We discussed it afterwards. I think David put it best when he told his mother, “I wish my chicken had had as much salt as your margarita.”
Anyway, we ate quickly (we were bound to. We were all starving by that time) and then we paid. Funny. The staff had moved at a glacial pace when taking our orders and bringing out food. But the check? That was presented with all due (and some un-due) speed.
Then we were off.
I know that the kids were embarrassed by the incident. This was supposed to be a major treat for the Family...the best dinner that Marfa could offer...and instead it had been...uh...complicated. So, I really felt bad for them.
Though, it wasn’t their fault in the least. And, who knows? Maybe the restaurant was just having an off night. It happens. The chef is sick. His number two is called away at the last minute. The regular wait staff are stuck on the bus coming back from the company picnic or something. Everything is in chaos.
So, rather than completely dismiss Jett’s Grill (not that the Grill would give a damn about my opinion, but anyway...), I’ll leave my judgement suspended. And, next time we’re in Marfa, we’ll eat there again, and see how it is. Maybe this time it will be terrific. It’s entirely possible.
And who knows? Maybe we’ll try to stay at the Hotel Paisano. It’s expensive, but it would be fun...and, besides...besides...as Martha pointed out...unlike the AirB&B...
At least it would have heat.
More to come.
Footnotes:
1. According to Wikipedia, a Negroni is “a a cocktail, made of equal parts gin, vermouth rosso (red, semi-sweet), and Campari, generally served on the rocks, and commonly garnished with an orange slice or orange peel.” David picked up a taste for them while he was in school in Italy. I drink them now and then because he does, and because I like them. However, as I say, they are rare in the U.S., and sometimes I’ve gotten strange looks...and stranger comments...from bartenders when I’ve asked for one.
2. The Old Fashioned is kind of my go-to drink when I’m out. At home I usually go with a Rye and Ginger, or, more recently, I have begun to do whiskey neat. But, with that last, I have to be incredibly careful. Too much and I’m out like a light. Also, it has to be decent whiskey. I’m big into Maker’s Mark and Bulleit. However, given the price tags of those two...let’s just say my wallet will prevent me from ever being an alcoholic.
Copyright©2024 Michael Jay Tucker
*
Care to help out?
I provide these blog postings for free. That’s fine and I’m happy to do so. But, long ago and far away, I was told that if you give away your material, that means you don’t really think it has any value.
So, to get beyond that, I’ve decided to make it possible for you to leave me a “tip” for my posts.
If you like what I write or the videos I produce, and feel you could make a small contribution to support my efforts, please go here:
That will take you to a Gumroad page where you’ll have the option of leaving me a few pence by way of encouragement.
Again, I don’t mind if you don’t. I just want to provide you with the option so that I won’t feel quite so much like I’m just tossing my works into the wind.
Either way, thanks hugely for dropping by the blog :-)
~mjt
Comments