During Miami Spice, places tend to go downhill with quality and service. This anecdote is based purely on fact: the fact that I like to make things up. Even so, I’m usually more lenient during Spice, which is why I’m going to mostly overlook our waiter being as helpful as a canker sore during a lemonade drinking competition (which I’m sure exists somewhere in Japan, probably.)
The first time I visited the Tavern was during a networking event. I sampled, like, half their menu. When I say “sampled”, I say it in the way P. Diddy uses it, which is to say I stole all of that shit for my own benefit. The spread included gazpacho, chicken, steak, shrimp, cookies, and maple-glazed bacon. Maple-glazed bacon might sound like a bad idea to some of you [Jews], but it’s the greatest thing since regular bacon. I’ve never actually seen it on their menu, so I don’t know if it’s a specialty item or something straight out of the chef’s personal food fetish catalog, but if you find it in you to request it, I highly recommend it.
Maple-glazed bacon might sound like a bad idea to some of you [Jews], but it’s the greatest thing since regular bacon.
I gained an unhealthy obsession with their chocolate chip cookies. At that event, I ate four of them and packed one to go so I could share it with my girlfriend. They’re fairly large cookies, so four is enough to ensure sweet-smelling urine. A week or so later, I decided to surprise her with some. So I went down to the Tavern after work, found the first waiter available, and said, “Yes, hi, I’d like to order some cookies to go.” He asked me how many, and I said, “I don’t know, about a dozen, I guess?” A dozen cookies is a normal fucking Tuesday at any bakery anywhere, that’s what I was thinking when I said that. His eyes lit up and he smiled, letting me know he’ll get right on it. He comes back with the bill and I almost shit myself when I saw it said $45 (I’m going by memory, it was 40-something), but I didn’t want to be that guy that started an argument about cookie cost, especially since I should’ve known that ordering a fucking dessert, in bulk, at a restaurant, wasn’t going to come cheap. We’re talking around $3.75 per cookie. After I acted like I meant to spend half-a-Benjamin on cookies and handed over my credit card, the guy was like, “Every two cookies comes with a cup of milk. Do you want the six cups or…” YEAH BRO, I WANT MY SIX FUCKING CUPS OF MILK, BECAUSE MAYBE I CAN SELL THEM ON CRAIGSLIST AND RECOUP SOME FUNDS SO I CAN PAY MY RENT THIS MONTH. “No, thanks, it’s OK. Milk is stupid,” is what I actually said.
What do they look like?
So whatever, I get my dozen big-ass cookies hand-delivered to me by the chef himself, undoubtedly surprised someone bought so many cookies to go. I think he expected a fat guy. Instead, he got a lanky fucker using his iPhone to calculate how many reward points his credit card gave him so he can offset the cost and rationalize how much he actually paid for COOKIES. It took us a week to go through them, and while they were beyond delicious, we regretted both the cost and the consumption of such a ridiculous amount of cookie meat. But whatever, you know that feeling you get when your underwear rides up into your asscrack, but you’re in a meeting and can’t be seen picking at it, so you feign interest and lean in, shifting your buttcheeks until the underwear is released from the crevice? That’s the kind of feeling I had eating those cookies; reward succeeding hidden shame.
Spice. She wanted some cookies again, and I wanted her to try the rest of the food, so we went for Spice since the menu looked pretty good. I had the meatloaf, and I found the quality of my food as good as I expected. They had a decent number of options, but now that I’m looking at the menu to refresh my memory, it almost seems like they have the entire normal menu on there. As an appetizer, I had the Korean chicken wings. I don’t know why I keep doing that to myself. I had Sakaya Kitchen once, had their Korean wings, and thought they tasted like horse anus covered in expired battery acid. I think Koreans should stick to Starcraft and fat pop stars. Leave the chicken wings to America.
…we regretted both the cost and the consumption of such a ridiculous amount of cookie meat.
On the other hand, my girlfriend had the crispy calamari, which she found fine. She requested her shrimp and cheddar grits as not spicy. Homeboy waiter, who’s too cool to write things down, nodded with a smile so fake it was made of Splenda, and went back to being busy serving the customers who didn’t make it to their reservations. She got her food (late, by the way), and I could feel the heat from the spices singing my nostrils. She requested it be toned down a notch, so he took it back to the kitchen. After a few minutes of her eating from her appetizer, bread, and my entree, she started to feel full with just enough space for the cookies, so twenty minutes later when I saw the guy again, we had him just pack up her entree to take home. It was taking him so long to bring us the bill, I was wondering if I should expect it at my mailbox.
I recommend the food, because I’ve yet to eat anything I didn’t enjoy besides the wings, but I’ve concluded that I just don’t like that style of wings altogether. However, if your waiter looks like a Hispanic Guy Fieri, pretend you’re racist or something so you get a different waiter. That’s my advice: be racist.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 146 Biscayne Blvd
- Miami, FL 33132
- (305) 307-8300