3014 Granville Street, south of the bridge – closer to the Chinese Consulate than your average Tibetan would prefer.
I almost feel bad reviewing this "restaurant" as the server, the same server I've had all three times I've eaten here, is such a nice guy.
His "chef", however, is a douchebag.
And Bistro?
C'mon, who are we fooling here.
This is a confused atmosphere - part Mardi Gras, part wannabe jazz lounge, part run-down 80s bar and grill (big part), part Cajun (in idea, not execution - with a nice menu that simply doesn't deliver on the plate.
The first time I ate here, I had the 'Jackson Square' - a delightful benny alternative. Well, on paper it is a nice benny alternative.
It's described as, and I'm paraphrasing from memory, 2 poached eggs on house made crab cakes with sauce Choron and pan fries.
You get the picture. The first thing I noticed was the broken sauce. For those who don't know, sauce Choron is basically bearnaise sauce with tomato puree added to it. It's not Cajun, it's French, but that isn’t important – or a significant distinction, really. What’s bearnaise, you ask? It’s basically a hollandaise but the base reduction is made with shallot and it’s seasoned with tarragon. Bearnaise breaks easily if it's not made properly, or if it's kept in a steam table.
The second thing I noticed kept we from questioning the sauce - the perfect little crab cakes. They were truly delightful: big chunks of crab, nice smoky seasoning (Hungarian paprika, no doubt, judging by the mess of it around the edge of my plate), and a nice crispy crust. Lovely.
And the pan fries - obviously done in a fryer and not a pan - were not exceptional. Who cares, right?
Right.
On to the second trip.
Now, I live in the neighbourhood, and the non-Caffe Barney options around here are few and awful (see my review of Paul's Place), so Ouisi is more of a default than an actual destination. But, this trip was magical.
The coffee was still mediocre, but I'm an Italian espresso drinker so I seldom enjoy brunch joint coffee. It was way better than Paul's truck stop blend, however.
(Paul's Place really fucking sucks)
I ordered the same dish - the Jackson Square.
It arrived at my table and I was stricken aback.
Everything was perfect; well, there was still a mess of spices around the edge of my plate, but everything else was spot on.
The sauce was gorgeous - not the broken, yet tasty, mess I had experienced previously. It was creamy, zesty, and magical.
The eggs were a perfect soft poach and the crab cakes were as described above. The "pan" fries were essentially the same, but potatoes are always good when they're not burned (again, see my review of Paul's Place - a really shitty joint).
The food was great, the service was impeccable, and the tip was large.
My new favourite brunch spot, yes?
No.
I returned last week.
Well, it had been more than 6 months since my last visit, and I immediately realised that things had changed. There was nobody to meet my partner and I at the door, so we sat ourselves - taking menus from the stand by the door.
Our server came out - yes, the same delightful fellow - and barked that we had the wrong menus. So get a fucking staffed host station, jerks; don't fucking blame your customers.
Anyhow, the most important factor is the food.
I, quite uninterestingly, ordered the same dish yet again. I mean, after the last trip how could I not?
My dish arrived and I was immediately disappointed.
The sauce was not only broken, but clearly the butter to egg ration was off by a large margin in favour of butter.
Underneath the disaster of a sauce were rock hard, brutally overcooked, eggs.
Okay, I think, at least the crab cakes will be awesome.
Fuck.
Underneath what was already a disaster was the worst disaster of all. I don't know that the crab cakes were frozen – although I suspect it - but I do know that they were reheated in a microwave. So it doesn't really matter what their initial state might have been.
I simply cannot tolerate microwaved food, particularly when I am paying restaurant prices for it. Their crab cakes had been so delicious in the past, it's a shame to see that they are no more.
I complain, of course.
Now, my partner and I are seated by the front window, spitting distance from the kitchen pass through. Our server clearly had no idea what I meant when I said the sauce was broken, but any chef would know. We can hear the conversation in the kitchen, and it went like this:
"He doesn't like it. He says the sauce is 'broken'?"
"Yeah, there's nothing I can do about that," says the 'chef' without a care.
That was all I needed to hear. A so-called chef who doesn't care that someone was disappointed with his food, and has no clue about how to keep a hollandaise variant from breaking.
Fucking pathetic.
So the server returns to the table and explains that that's just how the sauce is, that it melts when it hits the hot eggs.
I feel bad for the server - he only knows what the hack cook told him - but I can't be nice to him any longer.
If I'm served crap, fine. But, don't tell me it's perfect.
I know food. In fact, I went home and made a sauce Choron and it was great - didn't break at all. See:
 |
| I wish I had taken my camera to Ouisi with me so I could show you the garbage they tried to pass off as food. This is the meal I threw together at home. The sauce Choron was perfect, and it didn't require a lot of effort, just a bit of knowledge and care. |
On a final note, my partner is a commercial inspector. She commented - after leaving, as she is much more polite than I - that there was horrible grease build up on the equipment in the kitchen.
I would wager they serve it with eggs.
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