A couple of weeks ago, I decided to hop on the ferry to Bainbridge Island. Partially on a whim, but mostly because it had dawned on me that (somewhat unbelievably) I’d never actually been. In need of a destination, I did some research and determined that Alvin Binuya’s Madoka would be my eventual goal. More on that later.
Explored the island, enjoyed the sun, found a decent wine shop and scored another bottle of that Felsner Grü-V that I’d been enjoying all summer. After finding our way back to the populated portion of the island, we had about 90 minutes to kill before our dinner reservations, so the decision was made to grab a cocktail at that “cute” place right on the harbor that looked promising. Doc’s Marina Grill. That was the beginning of my island nightmare.
Upon entering, the hostess greeted us kindly enough, although I was somewhat taken aback because she seemed to be about twelve years old. She walked us through the restaurant, past the patio, out towards the lawn and finally seated us behind a hedgerow completely obscured from sight by any potential servers. Not that I thought this would be a problem. Why would it be?
About 20 minutes passed watching the endless stream of tourists meander by the marina before I kicked over my chair in frustration and headed for the exit. It was one of those places where any waitstaff who do occasionally materialize somehow manage to avoid your eye with surgical precision. Despite my best intentions, cooler heads around me prevailed and I was coerced into seeking out some service. Somehow I managed to stumble over the 12 year old hostess, politey inquired WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT?, and was given a big thumbs up and a *sparkle*.
Another 20 minutes passed, and still nothing. At this point, I was completely obsessing over the menu. I mean, READ THIS:
Most restaurants go out of their way to please every customer. Not Doc’s! We recognize that our approach won’t be for everybody. Because, frankly, not everybody knows how to have fun (If you’re one of those, we can recommend several fine, local restaurants). Above all, Doc’s is about great food and a good time.
Really? Really Doc’s? It was like they were taunting me now. Throwing the gauntlet. Fearing violence, my dining companion left to try her luck locating a server. And what do you know? Success! Finally! We ordered some wine and inquired after the appetizers, ultimately choosing some sautéed artichoke hearts (QUOTE I’ve had everything on the menu, and that’s one of my favorites ENDQUOTE). So yeah. Those artichoke hearts were pretty much what I imagine Satan’s asshole tastes like. Abomination! Seriously, somebody in the kitchen opened a can, dumped the contents into a saucepan and laughed all the way to the bank. The island bank.
About the only thing I can say in fairness to Doc’s is that there was nowhere else to go. Additionally I should admit that frankly, I just don’t know how to have fun. FRANKLY.