Some friends and I met up at Dell’Uva to celebrate Memorial Day. It’s my go-to bar in North Beach because they have cheap, high-quality food and awesome wines. Among other things, they offer an $11 charcuterie plate, a $7 cheese plate, personal-sized pizzas for $6.50, and a kick-ass macaroni and cheese with truffle oil. They are all delicious, especially after a few glasses of wine.
This time, I got a champagne flight while the other people had beers, food, and shared a bottle of wine. While the food and drinks at Dell’Uva are satisfactory, the service–specifically, the middle-aged blond lady who runs/owns the place–is decidedly not. The Boyfriend had pointed out her rudeness to me on numerous occasions throughout the past year, but until this time, I’d always been too drunk to notice.
The sub-par service started with a waitress who, in the process of serving my champagne, completely forgot her spiel. She spazzed out completely while introducing the second and fourth champagnes and actually said, “Wow, I’m completely spacing out.” Since she seemed nice, I told her I didn’t give a shit and was just happy to drink. So that was still fine.
About half an hour later, the blond manager lady came out and told us that she had to give us the bill right then because “the waitress’ shift is over and she wants to get the hell out of here” so could we “hurry up and pay.” I understand that in some hipster establishments, this sort of thing is debatably ok and perhaps funny. However, Dell’Uva is not one of these establishments, and the lady did not say it in an ironic my-words-are-rude-but-I’m-still-good-natured manner. She came back about a minute later, saw that we were still figuring out change (we were a six-person group, so the bill-splitting process took a little longer than usual), and told us peevishly that she’d “just come back later” as that would “make it easier for me.” By “me,” she meant herself. Not us.
I really don’t understand what her problem is. Maybe she’s a drug addict. Being on crack can really change a person. Maybe she’s in an abusive relationship or going through a bad divorce. I don’t care. I just want her to stop being a bitch and tainting an otherwise awesome dining experience.
a photo of my champagne flight, courtesy of my friend H: