Botulism Beats Benihana

Botulism Beats Benihana
Commentary by Sanford D. Horn
December 27, 2018

Before dining at the Indianapolis Benihana on Keystone Crossing Road, I strongly recommend committing hara-kiri. From start to finish, with little exception in between, calling this an unpleasant experience is an understatement.

Having a 9:30 PM reservation, and arriving on time, I fully expect to be seated no later than 9:35. Judging by the absolutely filthy appearance of the floors in both the main dining room and bar, as well as the report given me by my daughter about the ladies room, leaving would have been the right move. Foolishly, we waited. 

At 9:45 I asked to speak with the manager. Without an apology for our wait, he proceeded to regale me with excuses - a staff member got sick (probably ate what my wife ate), the restaurant got slammed with walk-ins, and because it was Christmas. We were told our wait would be just a few more minutes. The correct answer would have been to offer us seats in the bar with a round of drinks/appetizers on the house. Or comping us one of our three meals, yet no such offer was forthcoming.

Finally ushered to our seats at 10 PM, still no apology from the same manager. The hibachi table, at which we were seated, was not nearly as clean as it could have been, in spite of the fact that the table would reach 500 degrees in order to cook our food.

The apron worn by Matt, the cook, was filthy. Does Benihana not provide their cooks with clean aprons throughout their shifts? And his must have been a very long shift, as Matt complained while preparing the meals as to how many hours he worked in the previous several days, how many days in a row he had been working, while going through his shtick flipping shrimp tails into the top of his even more filthy chef’s hat. The inside of the top of that grungy hat also included old eggshells.

The food was fair, at best, for most of us, except for my wife who spent the remainder of the evening making repeat visits to the bathroom upon returning home.

Because we had been seated so late, by the time the cook was done cooking each course and serving us, the time was pushing 11:30 and the waitress who served us soup, salad, and refilled our water glasses, brought us the bill and demanded we pay at once even while we were still eating. I commented that we clearly, were still eating. Jonesha said they wanted to cash out, and thus the rush to collect as we continued eating.

During that visit to the table, Jonesha took it upon herself, with no prompting from anyone at the table, neither the three of us nor the five people in the other party, to offer an opinion on her animus of President Donald Trump and the border wall. Completely inappropriate. If I want political commentary I’ll either read it in the newspaper or watch it on television; or better still, write it myself (www.sanfordspeaksout.blogspot.com). This monologue lasted about two minutes.

Upon returning, when just the three of us in our party remained, Jonesha once again took to her soapbox, this time telling us former President George W. Bush was personally responsible for the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 - something she claimed she learned in school from her fifth grade teacher. She added that Bush was personally “buddy-buddy” with Osama bin Laden, and this diatribe lasted a painfully long four to five minutes before I slammed my hands on the table declaring that this was just wrong. My wife mentioned that we lost friends on 9/11 in the Twin Towers, and Jonesha excused herself from the table. I held my tongue the entire time, yet remained livid throughout this entire Twilight Zone experience. Those who know me, know that was the Christmas miracle of all miracles.

Not only did we lose friends on that fateful date, I grew up in North Jersey, in the shadow of the towers, and was a working journalist in Northern Virginia, just 10 minutes from the Pentagon on September 11. While that is my personal story, it is actually irrelevant because the opinion of a restaurant worker, or any employee involving customer service is uncalled for. If my wife, daughter, or I mouthed off on a job like that we would have been fired, and rightfully so. (Truth be told, even had the server extolled the virtues of Trump, the wall, Bush, etc., it still would have been inappropriate while working representing the restaurant.)

In relating this story to the manager, and noting I planned to share the entire evening’s experience with Benihana corporate, he told me that corporate would merely “bounce this back” to him to handle. While he agreed Jonesha was wrong and he would review restaurant policies with her, we left the restaurant completely unsatisfied, with no plans to return again.

By the way, in addition to the miserable experience, and waste of time and money, Benihana has failed to live up to their advertised “Chef’s Table” promotion found on their website. Registering with the restaurant is supposed to net patrons a $30 certificate during the month of one’s birthday. In my five years of membership, I have yet to receive even one email providing me the appropriate birthday certificate.

Customer service, etiquette, and cleanliness are just as important as the food itself in ensuring the entire restaurant experience start to finish are worth of a return visit. Benihana in Indianapolis failed on all counts and for my money we will go elsewhere - anywhere else. (This column has been shared with Benihana Corporate, as well as posted to Yelp.)

Sanford D. Horn is a writer and educator living in Westfield, IN.

Aladdin Pita: a Merrillville Oasis

Aladdin Pita, a Merrillville Oasis
Commentary by Sanford D. Horn
May 22, 2013

Admittedly not a big fan of Middle Eastern cuisine, I recently enjoyed, not one, not two, but three good meals at good prices at Aladdin Pita in Merrillville, IN, at the behest of my girlfriend, who had dined there frequently in the past.

I will share a secret initially shared with me upon my first foray into Aladdin Pita’s menu – there is a daily lunch special not found on said menu. For six bucks patrons can enjoys a dinner’s worth of food for lunch.

Having eaten this lunch special three times, I can attest that it is enjoyable, filling, and mostly consistent. Seated in a dimly lit restaurant in a non-descript strip mall-ette of fewer than a half dozen forgettable stores, the low key wait staff brings small dishes of humus, baba ghanoush, and a cucumber, tomato, cilantro combo, along with fresh baked pita bread. While the pita is freely replenished, don’t eat the contents of the small dishes too quickly as extra costs a buck a dish.

While eating the appetizers, the lentil soup arrives – thick – almost a pea soup consistency, but yellow in hue with a slice of lemon accompanying. Never one for lentil soup, this is quite savory, and for a cup, leaves one wanting more.

The entrees should have been, and were, served in a reasonable amount of time as in each visit, Aladdin Pita was sparsely filled.

Surrounding a mound of yellow seasoned basmati rice are a delightfully spiced shredded beef – called shwarma, chunks of seasoned kabab chicken, two link sausage-shaped pieces of lamb – called keftah, some more of the cucumber salad, served with a tiny ramekin-shaped dish of tasty tahini, and a falafel ball atop the rice.

In two of three visits, leftovers were brought home. In all cases the beef was excellent and the lamb was consistently good. The chicken was dry in two of three cases and overcooked in the third.

If the regular menu is anything like the lunch special, I am confident there will be something for just about everyone. From vegetarian dishes to sandwiches to salads to kababs the menu is rich with ethnic specialties and numerous options.

Service is consistent and steady, but not personable.

Attached to Aladdin Pita is the restaurant’s store featuring even more ethnic options any fan of Middle Eastern cuisine will enjoy.

Sanford D. Horn is a writer and educator living in Westfield, IN.

Buca Means Get Your Butt off My Coat

Buca Means Get Your Butt off My Coat

Commentary by Sanford D. Horn

February 20, 2013

Were it not Vicky’s birthday, we would not have braved the oh, so frigid, windy, blustery snowy evening in Indy to enjoy a dinner out. Staying home would have been the better option, by far.

Instead, we combated the elements for comfort food at Buca di Beppo at their Castleton Square location in Indy. Having our pick of spots in the vacant lot, we parked as close to the front entrance as possible and waited for more than a minute before being greeted by a hostess/manager.

Apologizing for keeping us waiting she proceeded to give us a tour of the restaurant where nary a patron could be seen nor heard. We literally had our pick of tables, rooms, and even the kitchen which is equipped to seat a couple of diners.

Choosing a table in the “Cardinal” room, I joked that I don’t even like the Cardinals because I am a Mets fan. Having perused the menu on-line I knew which appetizer we both wanted and placed an order for the fried calamari. In asking about a sauce other than the traditional marinara we were told that was the only option, but when we asked about a garlic-butter sauce we were told they would make some for us. Bonus point for the server, who was pleasant and helpful – not to mention we were the only patrons, so it cost them nothing to satisfy a small request.

Because Buca is a family-style restaurant, the portions are planned as either for two or four people. We were told the two-person portions were generous enough to easily serve three people. Three midgets on diets perhaps, but not three people with dinner appetites.

Olive oil and balsamic vinegar poured somewhat sloppily onto a plate, but bread, a distant future supply which finally arrived with the calamari. While the calamari was good, not too chewy, not over fried, it was a little heavy on the spices and featured an abundance of tentacles by ratio to the rings.

Adding to the unevenness of the kitchen work, the entrée of veal Marsala came out before we were halfway finished with the appetizer. When given the choice of taking the entrée or having it sit under a heat lamp to dry out in the kitchen, opt for the former.

Three veal medallions each roughly the size of two silver dollars sat upon a plate with sliced canned mushrooms and a thin, but tasty, Marsala sauce. This plate should have been service for one, not two to three as advertised.

I was but one bite into my piece of veal when Vicky emitted a gasp from across the table. A hair was embedded in her piece of veal. And by embedded, it was not simply atop the food, but positioned in such a manner that it could only have been cooked into the veal when the medallions were being fried. Beyond gross. We’ve patronized enough restaurants – good, bad, and ugly to know nobody’s perfect, but, eww, hair?

As our server was nowhere to be found for more than several minutes, I wandered into the kitchen to track her down. Returning to the table with me she was extremely apologetic and immediately left to find the manager, who was not nearly as remorseful.

Adding insult to injury, the manager – the same woman who gave us the tour and seated us – instantly took to the defensive, gave Vicky a visual once over then said that no one in her kitchen has long hair. Only then did she manage an apology.

We ordered a chicken dish and our server assured us our meal would be “taken care of.” The chicken dish proved to be barely larger than its predecessor which included artichokes and capers – both favorites of ours. However, the artichoke pieces had a tough exterior indicating that one additional layer should have been removed. The artichokes, like the mushrooms, were canned.

While eating the chicken, the manager returned, at which point I politely informed her that she had insulted Vicky with the insinuation that because no one in the kitchen had long hair, Vicky must have been at fault. The manager attempted to mollify Vicky by assuring her she meant no disrespect. Yet, all she did was make Vicky more upset. The manager imposed herself upon our dinner not just by sitting down, but by sitting on Vicky’s coat, scarf, and phone.

Note to restaurant employees, managers, and even owners: unless invited, do not assume to be so familiar as to join us at our table. We are neither pretentious nor snobs, but we prefer to have a two-way conversation after a long day instead of a three-way conversation. We spent more time talking to restaurant staff than to each other which also detracted from the now less than celebratory mood of the evening.

Exit manager; reenter server, who asked if we were having dessert. Normally the answer would be no, but as this was Vicky’s birthday, we opted for the bragged-about tiramisu. Eh, not so much about which to brag – cold, stiff, and sticking to the bottom of the dish.

The coup de grace came minutes later when the check came and the server apologized before even presenting it to me as she informed us the manager was charging us for the dessert. This after we were told by the server the meal would be “taken care of.”

Clearly, a fine time was not had by all, or even by any.

This column should serve as a warning to diners who care about how they spend their hard-earned dollars. Buca di Beppo should be ristorante non-grata. And a happy birthday to Vicky.

Sanford D. Horn is a writer and educator living in Westfield, IN.

No Christmas Cheer at Mark Pi's

No Christmas Cheer at Mark Pi’s

Commentary by Sanford D. Horn

December 27, 2012

To enter the service and culinary gates of hell, visit Mark Pi’s China Gate and Sushi Bar on North Meridian Street in Carmel.

Surly to bed and surly to rise should be the philosophy of the management and wait staff at Mark Pi’s who did themselves a disservice by remaining open on Christmas.

For openers, there was the waitress who at first appeared to want to take our order, but while we briefly deliberated over a particular menu item, turned and walked away not to return for several  minutes. On her next attempt at taking our order she directed her attention to a neighboring table. When asked if she was planning on taking our order, she snapped that she was busy and seemed irritated that we dared to bother her.

Several minutes later the waitress brought me my Miso soup, slamming it down on the table to the shock of the four of us, and with such force that enough soup flew out of the bowl to fill the bottom of the saucer. She also forcefully dropped the four empty plates on the table as though they were radioactive.

Clearly by the look on my face the waitress knew she was in the wrong, took my soup away, and brought back a fresh one that remained in the bowl along with an apology.

Next up were the Spring Rolls – six on a plate, each roughly the size of a wine bottle neck. Tasteless and greasy at best; devoid of any nutritional value.

Bring on the entrees, bring on the spice. I ordered the Classic Hunan which as advertised is spicy hot, but as food is supposedly made to order, I specifically requested non-spicy. One bite and I was reminded of a Bobby Slayton stand-up bit eating spicy Chinese – “head on fire!” More chili peppers than a Santa Fe ranch. Back it goes. Second attempt was better, but there should not have been a need for a second attempt if the server was doing her job and looking at the actual plate prior to serving it.

Then there was the Pad Thai – or should I say the Pad the bill Thai. Two orders of Pad Thai proving that all dishes are not created equally. Both were ordered with chicken (at an additional charge, no less) and while one was appropriately prepared, the other may have had two minute pieces of something resembling poultry. Back it went, this time with an exasperated waitress. Clearly, sifting through the dish, it was painfully obvious that the restaurant was trying to rip us off.

But adding to the culinary cacophony was the speed by which the waitress brought the bill – two of us were barely halfway through our entrees and she made us feel a part of the Indy 500. The four of us agreed we had not felt this rushed in ages.

And adding insult to injury was the insolent attitude of the manager who couldn’t be less patient listening to our legitimate concerns – concerns that when addressed properly would make future patrons’ visits more enjoyable than ours. This manager, said his last name was Wang, claimed not to have fielded a complaint in his 30-plus years in the restaurant business – a virtual impossibility.

Needless to say, a fine time was not had by all as this was the first and last visit to Mark Pi’s in Carmel. I am happy to furnish a copy of this review to their corporate office in Columbus, OH.

Sanford D. Horn is a writer and educator living in Westfield, IN. He has enjoyed fine Chinese cuisine and service in New York City’s Chinatown, NJ, Washington, DC and Chicago among other locales.