I like food—no, scratch that—I love food. Eating makes me very, very happy. Thus when I heard that well-renowned local restaurant was hosting an event that featured a combination of the phrases: bar, all-you-can-eat, Patriots football and meatballs…I was SOOOOOOOO there!!
Then, today, when I did get there it turned out to be a huge freakin’ crock. And not good crock—think crock-pot—but rather bad crock—think, paying to see ‘Blair Witch 2’ in the theater.
Here’s a rundown on how the event was pimped, directly from the restaurant’s website:
“Bundle up, watch the Patriots game on our riverside patio, enjoy a warm fall cocktail from the bar and taste all the meatballs you can handle.”
Sounds great! Sounds like a wonderful time. The website said that for $20 we were going to get “all the meatballs we could handle.” We were going to get to hang out on the lovely riverside patio to watch the Patriots game and enjoy some beverages at the bar—seriously, it sounds awesome, right?! The thing is…there were a few minor problems with this wonderful little scenario they’d laid out.
The event—which was slated to go from two to five in the afternoon–was pretty much on its last legs when we arrived at 3:30pm. However, that isn’t something they felt inclined to mention prior to Grace and I each forking over our cash to get in. Once we were in, we fought through the drunken mass of singing frat boys and get our first taste of delicious meatballs. We’d managed to snag meatballs from two more tables and seemed to be on the right path to meatball-filled bliss when we reached the next table, only to find that they’d long since run out of meatballs.
“Huh, that’s weird, they’re only half-way through and they ran out already,” I mumbled to Grace while choking down meatballs that I’m pretty sure were filled with birdseed.
“Yeah, but it looks like there’s more chefs over that way,” she replied.
She was right. The entire other side of the patio was filled with a long row of chef’s tables and empty meatball pans. Turns out they’d long since run out of meatballs. As we continued down the aisle, we found one final chef who had two cold meatballs left on his table.
…and that was it.
Four different stands. Four meatballs. For our $20, we got four meatballs apiece. Honestly, only two of them were any good. The birdseed one made me want to puke and/or purchase a bird just to ensure it is well-fed for the remainder of its days. The final one was cold and just tasted like a McDonald’s hamburger in itty-bitty, cold-ball form.
Within minutes only one stand was still even giving out meatballs and we were pretty pissed off. I mean seriously, who the hell charges you $20 for four meatballs. The last time I checked “all-you-can-eat” implied that you were done when you could no longer eat anymore—a decision to be made at your discretion, not at the hands of ill-prepared meatball chefs who made enough meatballs for roughly one hour of a three hour event.
As if getting ripped off for my twenty wasn’t bad enough, the riverside patio where we were to enjoy a cocktail and the Patriots game was full of the aforementioned drunken, singing frat boys who were pounding shots and beers at a pace generally reserved for house parties, orgies, cult-meetings and—of course—sweet sixteen parties.
Needless to say the event didn’t exactly live up to the billing and as a result, not only will I not be frequenting the restaurant every again; I am also giving up on meatballs for the remainder of the year!!
…okay, I realize that’s only like six weeks, but come on…I love to eat!