I have an idea for restaurants everywhere. Maybe, just maybe, you should do some analysis. How long does your average party of two take up a table? Your average party of four? Your tables that make reservations? Your tables that don’t make reservations? If you do this type of analysis, you will avoid treating your customers poorly.

Like Chick ‘n’ Sours did to me when I popped in at 12:20 pm on a Sunday, hoping for a quick lunch. I knew I’d be in and out in 45 minutes. I know myself well. I don’t know if you can believe this, but I’ve been feeding myself for over 40 years! Unless there was a problem in the kitchen — the restaurant’s fault, not  mine — I would be quick. Very quick.

So I walked in off the street and asked for a table at a restaurant that doesn’t really seem like the type of place where you need a booking. I was led downstairs to an empty dining room. I lie. There were maybe two tables seated and it’s a pretty small dining room so it wasn’t empty. The host asked me “Where would you like to sit?”

“Well,” I responded, if you’re not too busy, I’d love a table.” (I prefer not to perch.)

Immediately, she responded. “Well…I don’t know…we have a lot of bookings today…I’ll have to check.”

Restaurants everywhere, don’t ask the question if it’s a false choice. And don’t make a big deal about this if your restaurant is still going to be half empty an hour later when I leave. (And for the record, I’d be the first person to take the bar if the restaurant were full.)

Why do restaurants prefer mysterious unknown **future** business over mysterious unknown business sitting **right in front of them**? Money, I know.  But if they did the analysis I suggest, they would not freak out about these situations. I imagine a world in which they instead think, “Ah party of one. She’ll be done in 45 minutes. We’re usually pretty quiet between 12 and 1 pm. We’ll be fine.” I’ll chalk this one up to inexperience and move on.

I liked my fried chicken at Chick ‘n’ Sours (unphotogenic as it was) although maybe the xian xian spice was a little too subtle. I also REALLY liked my fried aubergine.  And the wall of print blocks from an old printer in Manchester on the wall. And the light fixtures. Hipster central! And the music! I really liked the fun music.

The Verdict: Go, but make a booking and sit where they tell you to if you want to maximize their utility and forget about your own. Even when they are empty.

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A woman comes up the back stairs and sees me. She looks at me, oddly, and then looks at the people behind the bar. She does one of those head nod things to them. The “UM THERE’S SOMEONE HERE” head nod. The staff turn and look at me.

“Oh! Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, just wanted to have a late lunch and I’m pretty sure you are open all day, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Do you want to sit at the bar?”

All the tables are empty. Except for the one occupied one. I don’t want to sit at the bar. I have a big bag with me (Mulberry Sample Sale) and my handbag weighs 20 pounds and I just want to sit down and have some space.  They let me sit down at a table.

A server drops by and takes my order. Pulled pork sandwich and a side of mashed potatoes. Although they don’t call them mashed potatoes. That’s fine. I just can’t remember what they’re called. I order a class of the house wine on tap too.

And I wait. And I wait. And I wait. They bring me my tap water. And I drink that, because I am thirsty. I am pretty sure they leave the bottle with me because I pour another glass, but later, the bottle disappears when I am not paying attention and I wonder why they would do that, take the bottle away. Because I still want water.

And I wait some more. And finally, they bring me my glass of wine. Finally. “Sorry for the delay,” they say.

And eventually, my pulled pork with a side of potatoes and two pickled okra arrives. I had joked about the lack of veg at Shotgun on Instagram a few weeks earlier. Green salad for you, or nothing. “You could have the pickled okra,” they told me. It’s not obvious on the menu. Next time, I will ask for a whole big portion because it’s great and okra is hard to get right.

And my pulled pork sandwich is great too. Although I am still not a fan of the bread, which is just too soft for me. Too wet. I need more structure. I mentioned this on Instagram too a few weeks back and Marina told me that she prefers the soft stuff.

I have never been one for white bread so consider that.

During my first visit to Shotgun, I had the brisket. It was fantastic. So get that. But the service was off then too. “We need the table back at 7,” they told us. “Yes, we know,” we told them. “We’re flexible so kick us out whenever.” The hostesses stood there at their stand, staring at us, willing us to leave.

The eye…the window to the soul.

(Later, the staff give us a glass of wine each, on the house, at the very narrow bar.)

The Verdict: Go, and eat all the delicious meat. But beware staying longer than 1 hour and 45 minutes. And don’t go to hang out at the bar either. It’s only meant for sitting. 

The post Shotgun, Soho first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

Best part? COWSHED PRODUCTS in the bathroom. SOHO HOUSE CHICAGO, I am coming for you.

The Verdict: Go for the chandeliers! And wash your hands with all the Cowshed! Have the chicken liver with ALL the toast. For sure.

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Seriously…the pace of change in London is unbelievable. There’s a new skyscraper — The Shard — and London Bridge Station is completely unrecognizable. (Classic moment: I had to ask one of the station masters WHERE TO FIND THE TRAINS. Also, where did M&S go?? I found it. Eventually.) The area around Old Street even more so unrecognizable. There are new coffee shops everywhere, and the dodgy Chinese ballroom is now Rotary Diner, with the most gorgeous of jewelbox bars in the basement.

I was in London for the 4th of July. What do all the American employees of an American company in London do in London on the 4th of July? They go to the Rotary Bar Diner for PULLED PORK. And it is unbelievable fantastic. (Although the corn bread was a little on the dry side.) Amazing to see “American” done so well on this side of the Atlantic, but after Pitt Cue Co., I should not be surprised.

Also, the lemonade is AWESOME.

All that being said, they revealed their British side by only providing us with ONE measly little napkin each. Why don’t British people like napkins??? I have always wondered this. Also, the service at Rotary was slllooooowwwww.

The Verdict: Go, please. Although I hear they might only be a pop-up so go soon.

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Long-term readers will know that on Fridays during the summer, I can leave work early if I want to. And I’ve been trying to do that this summer, trying to get out there and explore places and do things and see things. Someone told me that I would love Beatrix so I went to Beatrix on one of my Friday afternoons. Because I am trusting like that.

And I did like Beatrix. Sort of. I mean, I liked the chairs. There are a lot of different chairs at Beatrix. It’s one of those new-school/old-school all day free-wifi restaurants with lots and lots of chairs for people so you can sit down or you can stand up or you can stay for 20 minutes or you can stay for EIGHT HOURS (like the people across from me did). Lots of interesting, different chairs. Really, there’s something for everyone. Really, it felt like a total ripoff of London’s Hoxton Hotel.

“Have the burger,” some guy at the bar urged me. “I just did and it was really really good.”

Apparently that man has never had a burger in HIS ENTIRE LIFE.

Because the burger was shite. Super shite. Overcooked sawdust.

And the fries were undercooked.

And the pickled vegetables were still too raw.

When I left, I was angry at myself for wasting my Friday lunch here. Very angry.

All that being said, they were jackhammering the road outside the restaurant and you never would have known it inside the restaurant. That’s some good sound-proofing they’ve got going there.

The Verdict: But no.

The post Beatrix, Chicago first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

I eat at Carriage House a lot. Sometimes, I get off the train after work and I think to myself “Whole wheat pasta in the microwave at home or dinner at the bar at Carriage House?” That is WAY too easy a decision to make. I like it here. I like their wines, I like their service, I like their food. Sadly, the Lyonnaise salad and its soft pillows of pork belly is off the menu for now — I’ve been eating a lot of that — but then the asparagus popped up and it is LUSCIOUS.  Slow poached egg, sherry and sorghum vinaigrette, cornbread crumbs, crawfish tails and béarnaise. Pretty fantastic. But also, apparently, now off the menu. God damnit.

So here’s what I think of though while I sit at the bar at Carriage House. I look out the window and I see all the people all going to all the sports bars and I wonder…with food this good RIGHT HERE, why would you go to a sports bar for waffle fries? Why?

The post Carriage House, Chicago first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

While in DC, I forced Julie to go to an oyster place (palace!) and watch me eat. And here’s what I realized…it’s no fun having lunch with someone, ordering oysters, but being the only person who eats the oysters. I REALLY wanted Julie to like oysters. But she doesn’t. So I ate all six by myself. And I felt a little lonely, even though Julie was sitting RIGHT THERE.

I liked Pearl Dive. If I could do it all over again, I would definitely eat in the bar area and try to pick up some guys in seersucker and boat shoes.

The Verdict: Do it. If you like oysters, that is. Gentlemen, if you’re reading this, wear your boat shoes and your belts with those boats on them. I’ll be there, waiting for you.

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Ah, Little Goat. You are trying to kill ALL OF US, aren’t you? There is nothing healthy on your menu, is there? I ordered the Caesar salad once, which is generally not a healthy choice either, but I like how you took it to the next level and DEEP-FRIED THE ANCHOVIES. Thank you for that, thank you. Above, my fish tostadas. What a beautiful mess. How deliciously engrossing. (Really, this was really delicious.) Ah, my cholesterol, my arteries, my heart. Really, we are all going to die, thanks to Stephanie Izard.

The Verdict: Don’t go here if you have had long conversations with your doctor about your lab results.

The post Little Goat, Chicago first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

Quickly…over Christmas, I did that thing I usually do. I headed up to Orlando to visit my dad’s side of the family. My aunt and uncle have a timeshare in Orlando and — gasp — they actually use it. (Most Americans buy timeshares and then quickly realize they just can’t use them and then they try to sell them and can’t.) We stayed one night at the Marriott Cypress Harbour and boy am I glad my dad is a senior citizen, because without his discount, this would have cost us over $400 bucks just for one night. (My father was happy to stay at the Quality Inn 4.5 miles away for $62 bucks a night. Not me.) We got 15% off our rate because he is over 65.

The Marriott Cypress Harbour is an apartment hotel and our room was HUGE. As was the hot tub. A little disconcerting, this hot tub. I let my dad have this room. I took the smaller guest bedroom, above.

I guess if I were a family with two children, this place would have been the perfect setup. For a father and daughter traveling together though, there was no easy access to alcohol, which was a problem. There was no minibar and the bar at the clubhouse required a car to get there. (I often joke that my father would never survive a trip to Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. No red wine.) That being said, my bed was comfortable and the blackout curtains were awesome.

While in Orlando, we had lunch at the Copper Canyon Grill, where my order of rotisserie chicken was large enough to feed fourteen people. (America, this is why you’re fat. Really.) Our server also told us he was a green beret in Afghanistan, and my dad and my uncle, both servicemen themselves, thought he was lying. So that was awkward. (We didn’t tell him he was lying. We just discussed it during and afterwards.) Everything here was nice enough by big-box-chain-restaurant standards though. Speedy service, plenty of tap water, and they very easily dealt with our party of ten.

And before we sped off to the airport the next morning, we stopped at Denny’s at 11037 International Drive. (Remember, I’m not as sophisticated as you might think I am.) And I was again given pause for thought. Do you wonder why there is an obesity epidemic in America? Things like The Grand Slamwich exist, that’s why. Potato bread!! That being said, the service at Denny’s was super-chipper and speedy. There’s something about diner service in America: these servers are not precious, they’ve seen it all, and they are as flexible as flexible can be.

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I don’t know what they do to it. Some sort of breading. Some sort of deliciousness. Some sort of breaded delicious perfection. Some sort of MIRACLE HANGOVER CURE. That being said, the place is a shit hole. (Shithole?) Water dripping from the ceiling, ripped up stools, recycling that hasn’t been emptied for months. You know what I mean.

The guy at the counter did have some nice things to say about my eyes though. And he gave me some free fried catfish, which was AWESOME. You can love my eyes and give me free catfish anytime you want, mister.

The Verdict: If you are hungover and if you want to eat some chicken, you should order from here. Do not eat in; it is gross. And remember, quality takes time. These guys fresh fry everything. It will take time. A lot of time. Bring a newspaper. Or your iPhone. Or something.

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The post The Last Meal of 2012 first appeared on Passport Delicious | Solo Travel Blog | Solo Female Travel.

Yardbird, 1600 Lennox Avenue: If I had been smart, I would have eaten here multiple times. Reservations were hard to come by, so bar seating for us. Yardbird is one of the new breed of southern-focused restaurants. I had — surprise — the fried chicken. But what really amazed me with its deliciousness was the salad with mango, pecans and tomatoes, all local to South Florida. Florida used to be all agriculture. Now it’s all strip malls and strip clubs. Yardbird reminded me of the old days. The Verdict: GO.

BLT Steak, 1440 Ocean Drive, at The Betsy: This is totally a chain, but I loved the peaceful plantation vibe and attentive service. Also, my delicious grilled cheese and tomato soup. All too often, people mess up grilled cheese. Not here. I had the place to myself on a weekday afternoon and I loved it. The Verdict: Very very nice.

The Dutch, 2201 Collins Avenue, in the W Hotel: I’m not quite sure why I did so much hotel eating, but I did. The Dutch is all white subway tile and feels like an old soda fountain. I love that. What I didn’t love? The food. Mainly because although I was one of the only diners, my corn chowder (bisque?) was served lukewarm. My pasta main was unmemorable. The Verdict: OK.  More style than substance.

The Front Porch Cafe, 1458 Ocean Drive, in the Z Hotel: This place packs them in, and I’m really not sure why. If you like a dirty restaurant with inattentive service and a lot of people drinking heavily early in the morning, maybe this place is for you. I could barely touch my breakfast. Meh. The Verdict: Don’t go here.

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