But by then, it's often too late. You're committed, with little option other than to walk out. You really don't want to give up, though, because when the relationship is working, it's good. And besides, you're really hungry.
I'm referring, of course, to the agony of being stuck in a bad relationship with an incompetent restaurant server. It's co-dependence with you on the losing end -- even if you withhold your tip, your server holds the ultimate power over your life for the next hour or so.
Such is the story at Pinnacle Peak's new Cafe Isabelle. There's no question my youthful waiter and I don't hit it off -- he doesn't even bother to pretend. A clearly inexperienced hostess doesn't help matters, cramming us into a table we don't want with an excuse so poor that even she stammers. The only way the service at this cute cafe could have been worse, in fact, is if the waiter had treated me as poorly as he treated my dining companion.
It's sad, because the food at Cafe Isabelle is topnotch. Unfortunately, poor service seems to be the routine these days.
The problem, I think, is that the staff at this new Cafe Isabelle hasn't yet graduated from the restaurant's casual, sandwich-and-a-soda beginnings. Open since the spring, the Pinnacle Peak restaurant is a more upscale offshoot of the self-service salon Cafe Isabelle in Gainey Ranch. Dinner is a new addition at this location, and the transition hasn't been entirely smooth -- witness the luncheon sacks of potato chips displayed on the service counter when we're paying $19 for a steak.
Consider the confusing service hours and menu choices between the two Isabelles. At lunch, the Pinnacle Peak shop mimics its twin with gourmet soup, salad and sandwich offerings. Yet, though the sign on the window at the Pinnacle Peak shop says it's open at 8 a.m. for breakfast, it actually opens at 10:30 (the Gainey Ranch cafe does have breakfast beginning at 7:30 a.m., but ignore the notation on the menu that says pizzas are served until 5 p.m. -- the place closes at 4). The hostess answering the phone has to apologize that even she can't keep up with the schedule.
She does know that the small restaurant doesn't take reservations, except for parties of eight or more. Arrive before 7 p.m., or after 7:30 p.m., though, and there should be no problem being seated (what occurs in this magical half-hour window, I don't know -- I never see any changes in traffic level).
We figure we're safe with a 6:30 p.m. meeting time, and we're right -- the place is mostly empty, with about a half-dozen tables for four available. After standing ignored and in lonely embarrassment at the podium for several minutes, we're led to a claustrophobic table for two next to a salad cooler/display case. But no, we can't have a larger table, our hostess tells us, because they're all reserved. With a "no reservations" policy, I query? In mere minutes, she swears, hordes of parties of eight will be converging, and she'll be pushing all the tables together.
Hmmm. Policy is policy, but staffers don't need to lie. By the time we leave almost two hours later, not a single large group has shown up.
The glow of the salad cooler makes reading Cafe Isabelle's menu easier in the softly lighted, candle flickering room. And we've got plenty of time to absorb the offerings because no one ever returns. Bread? Water? Wine? Anything, please? There must be a certain skill involved when servers can so adroitly ignore customers, skating within mere inches of contact, then spinning away, not breaking their gaze as they march past just out of polite calling distance, finally asking, "Oh, have you been helped?", then trotting away, never to be seen again. We become very familiar with the rear end of another server, who manages to cater adjoining tables, presenting his posterior to us but never an order pad.
Finally, we finagle water from the hostess, and things spiral downhill from there. A diet cola takes two requests until it arrives after our appetizers, and water refills never materialize. When dinner finally shows up, my dining companion is given the wrong entree (tenderloin). He's told emphatically that's what he ordered; our server eventually admits that it's not, and then informs us he'll have to wait another 20 minutes for the correct dish (pork). We can't wait, so to compensate for the mix-up, the server offers me a complimentary glass of wine and ignores my companion (fine with me, actually, but my companion feels otherwise). We order the correct item to go, instead, and are charged full price.
Am I being picky? You bet. I'm also walking out with a dinner tab that breaks $100.
It's a sloppiness that's surprising given the obvious attention paid to Cafe Isabelle's food. Owner Michael Yono is in the kitchen, creating delicious, contemporary classic dishes like roasted, stuffed chicken breast with sun-dried tomatoes, garlic and coriander; roasted eggplant dip with garlic, lemon juice and tahini; and classic watercress and romaine salad with roma tomatoes, bleu cheese, pecans and balsamic vinaigrette. Ingredients are fresh, presentation is pretty, and flavors consistently pleasing.
Crab cakes, one of the latest decorator foods to be done in by commercially produced freezer bags, are knockouts here, with two plump Frisbees of seafood melded with the barest breadcrumb blend. The obviously house-made appetizer critters are meaty, moist and greaseless under a mint green citrus cream sauce dotted with fresh herbs, paired with crunchy, thick cut cucumber and carrot slaw. Soup du jour, spicy Mexican -- no, wait, mushroom, our server scurries back to tell us -- is well-rounded consommé stocked with lots and lots of full-bodied wild mushrooms and onion. Skinny loaves of fresh baked bread are pre-sliced for our creamery butter spreading enjoyment and ample broth dipping.
Portabella are known as "meat" mushrooms for their steaklike consistency, and Cafe Isabelle's appetizer retains the vegetable's macho reputation under aggressive toppings of sautéed tomato niblets, gooey mozzarella, garlic and fresh basil. The secret to its success isn't listed on the menu, though -- a zesty pool of oil and balsamic vinegar that adds a rousing pop! to the plate.
It's difficult to define Cafe Isabelle, with its wide-ranging coffee cafe/deli/Italian/American/Mediterranean/Southwestern theme, but Yono makes it all work. An Asian shrimp appetizer is an offbeat fit into the mix, but I'm happy for its presence, the salad brimming with firm crustaceans dressed in garlic, ginger, cilantro, soy white wine and butter over a warm Napa cabbage, tomato and celery.
Cafe Isabelle focuses on top quality meats, too. Beef tenderloin is expertly prepared, the two juicy medallions flushed out with balsamic marinade and resting on a full-bodied Merlot reduction. A side of sautéed, crisp green beans lounges in a satisfying puddle of shallot butter, dished up with forkfuls of chunky mashed potatoes. And our yearned-for pork turns out to be worth the wait, even as I have to sample it later at home. The chubby chop has been grilled on the bone, and slicked with a barely there (excellent restraint) maple sage butter glaze. It feels festive, holidaylike, paired as it is with sweet potato purée and grilled asparagus.
Seafood also is higher quality than we'd expect from this coffee cafe dressed up as a fine restaurant. Alaskan halibut is an above-average selection, bringing a manageable-size chunk of firm white fish crusted in Parmesan with sides of buttery mashed potatoes and even more buttery carrot, squash, zucchini, red pepper and purple onion. Salmon, too, benefits from noticeably fresh status, served with rice pilaf and steamed vegetables.
I barely pick at my pasta, though, finding it difficult to summon too much excitement in the routine plate of penne, long strips of grilled chicken, fresh mushrooms and asparagus stems. The lackluster sauce of tomato, garlic, basil and Parmesan just doesn't hit it. Linguini is much more interesting, given its lusty pesto cream sauce over shrimp and artichoke hearts energized with tangy sun-dried tomato and Kalamata olives.
Service at Cafe Isabelle hits much better stride at lunch, when the restaurant settles back into casual mode, and servers don't have to, well, serve us. Diners order at a counter, choosing from an ample selection of sandwiches, salads and pizzas -- a huge menu for the size of the place, actually. There's a lot to consider, including a New Yorker, featuring turkey, pastrami, Swiss, lettuce, coleslaw and Thousand Island on rye; or a superior vegetarian sandwich of grilled eggplant, roasted red pepper, lettuce, tomato, fresh basil, provolone and vinaigrette.
This is also Scottsdale, and sandwiches are pricey for the dainty portions -- $6.95 for a very thin Black Forest ham sandwich? It's remarkable meat, though, very sweet, with a light touch of melted Brie and achingly sweet honey mustard on "toasted" pumpernickel (sometimes it's toasted, sometimes not, but who's surprised?).
Roast beef gets livelier with pungent, mustard-toned watercress, plus tomato, Swiss and unfortunately indiscernible horseradish mayo. Grilled specialties, oddly enough, refer to the ingredients, not the bread. Southwest chicken sandwich impresses with thick slabs of marinated breast, a hefty slab of roasted red pepper, romaine, tomato, purple onion and too-mild salsa mayonnaise on soft white bread. The side of black bean salad is breathtaking, combining black beans, corn, chopped red pepper, cilantro and the tiniest onion bits in an exemplary vinegary Italian dressing. This salad is good enough to make a meal if it was served, say, on crunchy romaine with grilled salmon and a side of focaccia.
There's little to improve a massive Greek salad, though, tossing crunchy romaine, big wedges of tomato, cucumber slices, purple onion, red and green peppers, pepperoncinis, Kalamata olives and niblets of feta.
Less sun-dried tomato would improve a Florentine pizza -- the tangy fruit overwhelms bubbly crust, mozzarella, fresh spinach leaves, and even the whole garlic cloves. The medium-size pie (the only one available) makes a respectable lunch entree, with enough left over to spare.
Cafe Isabelle has definite potential. I'm betting that as its staff gets used to coming out from behind the counter, we'll have a gem on our hands. For now, though, even the enjoyable food can't draw me back in for dinner -- this relationship is simply too much work.
