Biting the Hand that Feeds Me

Last night I had dinner at one of my favorite local restaurants, Truffles. The fare at Truffles is not particularly exciting, though it rates highly in the company of its Bloomingtonian culinary companions. For several years I have been a regular at Truffles, though usually I go on Thursday nights for half priced martinis and a small bite. Last night, however, I opted to go all out and have a full meal (not off the less expensive bar menu) and a very pricey bottle of wine. My dining companions, too, ordered a very nice (albeit inferior) bottle of wine and two main courses and an appetizer. So, and not that how much we were spending should matter, our table should have received impeccable service. Our server was a young man, dishevelled in appearance, who knew nothing about fine dining table service. Let me count the ways:

1. Only once did he appear to fill the wine glasses. All other times we were left to serve ourselves.

2. The "tasting" portion of the wine was barely enough to wet my tongue, much less evaluate the quality of the wine I ordered.

3. Plates were not removed at the same time. Even worse, at one point all plates were removed except one belonging to a female in our party.

4. Knives used for appetizers were not replaced with clean ones, but were merely repositioned in the setting (this isn't denny's).

5. Bread was not brought at the beginning of the meal, but rather as what seemed to be a separate course between appetizers and main courses.

6. After telling the boy that we were *not* interested in dessert, he brought out dessert menus anyway.

7. Niether he nor the hostess offered to take our coats.

8. I was made to hand the boy my dirty plates when he could have cleared the table himself (and, in fact, that is his job).

This does not exhaust the ways in which we were given bad service last night, but it is all I care to list. I'll omit what was the worst infraction (committed by the hostess). Let's just say this: never become friends with the service at a fine dining establishment unless you want to witness egregious breaches of the implicit contract between diner and restaurant. Being my friend does not grant license to embarrass me in front of my friends by making me look like a niggard. Lest my reader consider me a snob for my complaints, let me remind you that this is a place that proclaims to be one of Bloomington's "fine dining" establishments. That means more than that the food is good or expensive; it means that service should be on a par with the image of the restaurant (so at Denny's I would never bitch about having to use the same spoon for my chili and my, I don't know, grits or something; nor would I balk one bit at helping out the server by handing him my plates). But when you are spending 30-40 dollars per person, a certain level of service and professionalism is reasonable to expect. Truffles is a disappointment in this respect, and, hence, Tallent remains my favorite restaurant in Bloomington (and in my nationwide Top 10).


Addendum: There is not so much as a sliver of truffle, black or white, to be found in any dish on the menu at "Truffles".