Unicorns, leprechauns and a decent meal- three things you're unlikely to find in Bakersfield. But Lord knows we keep trying.
The boyfriend received a gift certificate for an Italian restaurant, allegedly one of the nicer ones in town. It wasn't a chain, so we'd be spared another Olive Garden experience. It was a family run operation in an upscale strip mall, which isn't an oxymoron here.
Our first impressions were reasonably good; it had the expected Italian theme park decor and even an older gentlemen playing an accordion off in the corner. They might want to re-think the amplifier.
We showed up around 7 and the place was packed. By the time we were seated it had started to thin out, and by the time the entrees came around 8 the place was empty. I still can't get used to living on "Farmer Time" - dinner time here is between 5 and 7. Dining at 8 is unthinkable and suspiciously European.
It didn't take long before the first warning sign cropped up. The boyfriend ordered a bruschetta appetizer and the waitress gently corrected him...
"It's pronounced 'brew-sketta'..."
What showed up was a pita bread with a lump of Prego in the center.
Next we ordered salads and I was already feeling I should just play it safe. I chose the generic dinner salad but the boyfriend went crazy and ordered a Cesar.
"I'd like to get that with anchovies" he asked.
***crickets***
She'd never heard of 'em.
The rest of the meal isn't worth re-living. Suffice it to say Italian cooking in Bakersfield requires only two things - freezer burned pasta and Elmer's glue.
The waitress seemed surprised when we passed on a doggy bag since we left most of the food on the plate. No really, you keep it. Perhaps there's a pothole out back you can fill with it.
