"Muddled" experience at the Keg
Omaha and I decided to go to the Keg down in Renton, since the one in Burien had recently closed. The place is nestled between two casinos and across the street from the new movie multiplex, and it's far more "themed" than the Burien one. It looks like a former Claim Jumper, in a way. The inside is pure Keg.
The food was as good as always, but the service was awful. I don't know if the guy we had was new or what, but he was brusque, didn't offer many helpful suggestions, didn't offer any specials, and had to be goaded into bringing us things that are normally routine. He didn't try to connect with the customer at all. He forgot our steak knives, was slow with the appetizers, and brought the rest of the food out too quickly. At one point he dropped a few plates on the floor for another table, and later he dropped a steak knife into Omaha's lap. About the best that can be said for him is that he kept us well-hydrated.
And the word of the year, in alcohol, appears to be "muddled." Damn the mojito. "Muddled" just means "mashed fruit or herbs." You'd think that a blender would be a perfectly acceptable tool, but no, now the poor bartender has to "muddle" everything by hand, and I mean everything: mojitos, margaritas, and other drinks all contained "muddled" this and "muddled" that. It's enough to drive someone to drink.
On the way out, I passed another waiter and said, "Weren't you at the Burien?"
"Yeah," he said, obviously pleased to be recognized. "I remember you guys. Yeah, there are a few lucky refugees down here." I remembered him clearly enough; with his good looks, bald head and goatee he seems like the sort of fellow who would pop out of a lamp if you rubbed it hard enough.
The food was as good as always, but the service was awful. I don't know if the guy we had was new or what, but he was brusque, didn't offer many helpful suggestions, didn't offer any specials, and had to be goaded into bringing us things that are normally routine. He didn't try to connect with the customer at all. He forgot our steak knives, was slow with the appetizers, and brought the rest of the food out too quickly. At one point he dropped a few plates on the floor for another table, and later he dropped a steak knife into Omaha's lap. About the best that can be said for him is that he kept us well-hydrated.
And the word of the year, in alcohol, appears to be "muddled." Damn the mojito. "Muddled" just means "mashed fruit or herbs." You'd think that a blender would be a perfectly acceptable tool, but no, now the poor bartender has to "muddle" everything by hand, and I mean everything: mojitos, margaritas, and other drinks all contained "muddled" this and "muddled" that. It's enough to drive someone to drink.
On the way out, I passed another waiter and said, "Weren't you at the Burien?"
"Yeah," he said, obviously pleased to be recognized. "I remember you guys. Yeah, there are a few lucky refugees down here." I remembered him clearly enough; with his good looks, bald head and goatee he seems like the sort of fellow who would pop out of a lamp if you rubbed it hard enough.