RANT - Cafe Jacqueline, North Beach, San Francisco

First of all, this dinner would have been a complete disaster if it wasn't for Cheri and Gareth, who joined us for 3.5 hours in this horrible restaurant. Also, to stave off any "grumpy old man" aspersions, I wasn't feeling 100% when I went into the place. And so ...

Anyone peeking in through the window of this North Beach tiddler would think I've gone off the rails. True, first appearances are of the quaint living room of an elderly French maid. However, once inside, this wolf in sheep's clothing reveals its teeth.

After being seated by a gruff waiter (American, not French), my heart sank when I realized that everything on the menu was a freaking souffle. This place has no website, so there's no way in advance to learn of the total lack of variety. Now, I know that souffles are somewhat of a culinary art form, but I don't count Asparagus Souffle, Cauliflower Souffle, Spinach Souffle, Cheese Souffle, ad nauseum (literally), as any kind of entree choice. And each souffle had to be shared by two guests, so that cut the table choices down even further.

I could go on, but I'll summarize a few things that made this place such a wash-up.

1. It was over ONE HOUR from being seated to getting our first course - soup!

2. It was TWO HOURS before we got our entree!

3. And it was THREE HOURS by the time we got dessert! My Writer's Guild aspirations prevent me from having more than one exclamation mark after each of those zingers.

4. They only had one white wine chilled - and it wasn't the one we wanted. It wasn't much of a hardship to drink a Crozes Hermitage (red) while we waited for the white to chill, but it was strange that the tardy onion soup was scaldingly hot while they couldn't serve a sufficiently cold white wine.

5. You know how it is when you've been driving for several hours, and you arrive at home, park and switch off the engine, and you sigh. Deep. At that point you realize how negative the droning, incessant noise of the road, the engine, the traffic had been. That's exactly how it felt when Mme Jacqueline turned off her bloody Cuisinart after each souffle. The noise was constant and intrusive, adding to the already booming noise from the tables.

6. After all the web reviews about the "fabulous" souffles, they weren't. In future I'll remember to discount most of those tourist comments, and lump them in with the rest of the weak-ass "tiramisu was to die for" group.