And this guy has access to knives?

I've got a bit of a backlog on reviews/rants that I've been meaning to get to... But I'm not going to get to them just now....

Because something happened to me this afternoon at Cafe Zabaglione in Ipswich that left me physically shaking.

With the Urban Assault Vehicle dead in the driveway on a holiday weekend --Adgurl and I decide to go colonial and walk downtown to the awesome Coastal Green Grocer for provisioning.

As always, Dave hooked us up with wonderful salami, provolone, arugula, a stinky yet subtle Stilton and a fresh baguette. Thank God for the Coastal Green Grocer! ( and no-- I'm not using them all in the same dish..)

Cue ominous JAWS music...

Adgurl knows that I'm really hungry after not eating the night before (next blog entry, tomorrow) and suggests we hit Cafe Zabaglione for a late lunch/early dinner.
It's close to 4pm EST.

Now-we've done lunch there a couple of times and had some nice little sausage sandwiches, tolerable but not spectacular staples like lasagna and Caesar salad, and on some really dismal weather nights, we've ordered out. We both are fully aware that chef/owner Mike Elpidoforos is no Mario Batali (whose restaurants we actually like... See? I *do* like things).

We've also been around the corner to his more "fine dining" establishment: Restaurant Zabaglione. It's one of those places that sports a decent wine list, some delicious sounding menu items, a small -number-of-seats-to-price ratio to make the uninitiated think that there's something special going on, A ZAGAT RATING (OMGP0NIES), and a precious, dated, cramped decor.

And everything tastes the same.

Apparently years in cruise ship service have deadened this guys palette to the point of one note. Pork, veal, seafood: all seasoned the same. Lazy.

But I digress.

I'm walking through downtown, all happy, sporting my baguette, feeling very fwanch and ready to get lunched. Things start off well, as "Zabags" is serving Sam Adams Winter Lager, my new binkie. AG had a Chianti.

The service was as goofy as ever, but the staff is so nice and real (and as I was soon to learn: terrified), I didn't care. We shared a Caesar to start (under-dressed for a change, but fine), Adgurl ordered eggplant parm, and I, the chicken marsala.

I had asked our server if I could substitute garlic mashed for the prerequisite ziti and was told (as we had been on the "fine dining" side) NO SUBSTITUTIONS. NO APPETIZERS AS ENTREES.

The $16.95 chicken marsala comes out like convention center rubber. To be fair, there were pockets of edible meat. Just not enough. At all. In fact, I would bet the chicken had been prep cooked, then pan seared and sauced to the point of leather.

Keep in mind that I'm VERY hungry so the idea of sending this back is really bumming me out. I momentarily toy with the idea of taking one for the metabolism.

But I can't. I send it back. I thought I could hear a small weepy whimper from our dear server at that moment.

NOTE: As a former service professional, I have great empathy for those who do restaurant work; front-of-the-house, back, pot washer--all work as a team and deserve great respect. It can be, at times, a shit job--even in the finest establishments. However, I will not *not* send something back if it is poorly executed for fear of hurting some one's feelings. In fact, I am exceedingly polite in doing so. Hey--sometimes mistakes happen.

Sometimes egos do.

Our server brings the dish back to the kitchen, visible from where I sit. I start in on Adgurls parm and enjoy the lager.

There is a community review web site out there with a review of Zabags stating that the service staff is unsmiling and seems miserable. In fact, this afternoon, our server has seemed nervous and apologetic.

It's now 4:30pm. The dinner shift is showing up and the servers are whispering. One distinctly barks: "Here he comes," and goes off to polish a glass.

I look to my right and see who I think is Mike Elpidoforos enter through the front door of the cafe- in his chef whites. Apparently, he has come around from the other side to assess the returned dish. (I assume, given our servers fear, that this is policy and one in which strikes fear in all who work for Zabags). I watch as he enters the kitchen and inspects my former dinner. I expect him to pinch the chicken breast, nod his head, shrug his shoulders and chuck it in the bin.

Uh, nope.

Instead, he picks up the plate, and charges at our table. Halfway to us, he starts in:
"What??? this is cooked perfectly. You don't know what you're talking about,"

He then begins to claw into the chicken marsala and break up the meat as he shoves the plate in my face. His fingers kneading the chicken flesh while he is yelling at me is frightening. And gross.

"What, you want it raw? This...this... is like butter!"

In my mind I'm thinking.. "yeah, well shit is like butter too, dude"... but I'm too afraid..

Still seated, I try to maintain calm. Not that I'm about to lash out, but I'm fucking ASCARED of this guy at this point.

"Chef, it's overcooked. I can't get a fork through it."

The staff has moved to a neutral corner and are mouthing the word "sorry" to me. Customers are in train wreck mode.

"Chef, we liked the other dishes..."

I should mention at this point that chef is a BIG GUY. And now he starts to really amp it up.

"This is not 7-11! This isn't about what you like and don't like. You can't just return OUR food. We know what we're doing, we work hard...."

And then he goes into this loopy diatribe that we can't exactly follow. Adgurl is trying to reason.. I'm getting nervous and I'm expecting the plate thrown at me from very close range. The whole time he's just fingering and manipulating the chicken and stabbing it at me. It's appalling.

"GET OUT AND NEVER COME BAAAAACK!!!!!!" He then gathers up our drinks, Adgurls plate ( I'm amazed at his busing ability) and continues to abuse us verbally. "GET OOOOOOUTTT."

We grab our grocery bag and our coats and head for the safety of Market Street.

Wow.

Adgurl say "You're shaking,"
And I was. Tremors actually. I don't like being treated like that. And a guy that size with the alleged reputation that he has of violent outbursts...

Not to mention that the night before we had just gone through yet *another* unprofessional display... I was wiped. I'm a customer experience consultant who has just experienced a hideous, cliched AFFRONT to all that I love about dining. And customer experience.

I felt robbed.

But so should he and any investors in his restaurant. Adgurl and I put on coats, amazed that he didn't demand payment for the beer, chianti, ceasar salad, or parm. In fact, we even tried to reason with him to calm down, let us pay and call it a draw. Earler in the meal, Adgurl and I discussed getting coffee cocktails after dinner. With the mark up on the drinks alone, the plate costs would have absorbed and exceeded the cost of the returned item. What a dope.

Final irony? As I was leaving he yelled to me: "Open your own restaurant, then!"

Careful what you wish for...chef.