Mike and I finally had our long-planned much-delayed lunch at Mamou at Rockwell. While perusing the menu we discussed the US Open finals, Djokovic owning Nadal, and Federer’s crankiness in his interview after he let the Djoker escape in the semifinal. We say this as longtime (since 2001) Federites who worship the ground he treads so lightly on: His Majesty has always been cranky. One doesn’t notice this when he’s winning, but when he’s not it becomes more apparent. Masunget ang lola namin.
“He was probably mad at himself,” said Mike.
“Naah, he was railing at randomness. That shot that saved Djokovic—pure dumb luck.”
“But he’s made so many lucky shots in the past.”
“Yeah, but he hit them beautifully.”
Mamou is great because you can point to the menu at random and whatever you order will be delicious. We usually have the black pork sinigang (with the thick broth), but Mike said steak steak steak. So we had Grana Padano cheese and honey, tuyo salad, beer-battered fish (non-greasy fish and chips), and the prime rib, medium well done. Then pecan pie and coffee.
We liked everything, but the prime rib was spectacular. It’s so good that we skipped dinner, not because we were too full but because we wanted to retain the memory of its taste.
Our one beef (haha) with this fine joint (haha again) is that the acoustics are horrendous. The noise level is such that you can hear every conversation but the one you are having. Fortunately we started lunch at 2pm when there were fewer diners.
Wait, we have one and a half beefs, not just with Mamou but with many restaurants we patronize regularly. Have you ever been in the middle of an intense, highly-animated discussion with your friends, only to have the waiter interrupt with a “How is your food?” It stops the conversation completely. And when you resume your discussion, the intensity/animation level has dropped.
We appreciate being asked, and we know the waiters are probably trained to ask, but please don’t ask us while we’re in the middle of a matter of life and death talk (which, if you know us, is at least half the time). If you have to ask, time your question for when no one is speaking, or when they are perusing the bill.
Even establishments with the most dependable service can trip up. A few weeks ago Mike was dining at a hotel restaurant with a foreign guest who had just come from Malaysia and wanted to change his ringgits. Mike had once asked the concierge if he could have his Indonesian rupiah changed to pesos, and the concierge said they could do it. So Mike asked the guy at the desk if they could exchange the ringgits.
The guy at the desk heaved a loud sigh and gave Mike the look of pure and utter snootiness. You know, the look that a headwaiter at a fine dining restaurant would bestow on you if you stare at the pate de foie gras and ask him if you could have Reno liver spread instead (and by the way, we love Reno liver spread). Finally, he deigned to give Mike an answer. “No.” (Mike reported this and got an apology from the management.)
Then there are establishments that won’t be alive long enough to get a reputation. Mike is addicted to online dining and travel deals and he has an entire folder of vouchers he has to use up. (Read his blog, Walk and Eat.) Recently he realized that one of the restaurant vouchers was expiring at the end of August, so he called to make a reservation. It turned out that the restaurant would be closed during the four-day weekend, so he could only use the voucher on August 31.
“I didn’t know you would be closed during the four-day holiday,” Mike told the restaurant PR staff who took his call. “Isn’t that a long time to stay closed?”
“Our regular clients are from the offices in the area,” the PR staff replied. “I don’t know why you had to wait until the last day to redeem your voucher.”
“Whether I use it on the first day of the promo or the last day is entirely up to me,” Mike pointed out.
The PR staff continued trying to lecture Mike. Mike cut him off. He used the voucher at that restaurant. The place was pretentious and the food was awful. Figures.
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