Waiter, There’s a Hair-Band in my Soup

‘Twas a beautiful evening Sunday. The sun shone, the clouds meandered, the river splashed and frolicked on its scoot to the bay. I could not have pictured a more lovely evening for riverside dining. My lovely companion and I took a table at Scott’s Seafood on the river, ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir, and watched the world and the shadows lazily drift by. As we toasted to our rare fortune to live in such a beautiful place, and to our great blessings of health and happiness, we were serenaded by the strains of “STROKE ME, STROKE ME.”

Yes indeed, at Scott’s, a place where you’re lucky to get dinner for two for less than $100, the music du jour was taken directly from a 1981 episode of Headbanger’s Ball.

Poison. AC/DC. Billy Squier. Then a little blast from the past with REO and BTO.

Unfortunately, it didn’t really help my nearly inedible mascarpone and fava bean raviolis, and my bouillabaisse so bland that it made Allen Greenspan look like Charlie Sheen. Even when the dulcet tones of Billy Idol were brought to the waiter’s attention, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah it’s what they play in the bar and they pipe it out here.”

I don’t care where they’re playing it, or for whom. Pull your head out of your ass and switch on something that’s background music. Make a judgement call dude. Most of your clientele that night was over 50. I doubt they were digging it.

And honestly, Scott’s, you haven’t come up with a good new dish in about a decade. You’ve been resting on that macadamia nut crusted thing like a hack stand-up still doing Ollie North jokes. I’m just a little fumed at the whole thing. But on a positive note, the fish and chips were radical! Brett Michaels would have loved them.