Skipping out on Babbo

Sometimes going out for a small glass, has its perils. Such as last night.

 My friend was in from Portland. She wanted to case out Lowcountry on west 10th. Night, with Jupitor piggybacking the moon, was balmy. I locked up my bike. She, who has been boxing, had new cut arms. Nice. We looked at the wines by the glass. Supermarket selections which made us suspicious of their cocktails. Our instincts told us, go. 

We left. 

Her final destination was Blue Hill so we thought, what the hell, maybe we can hang out at the bar at Babbo. It's been a while. Yes, Babbo is a star-studded place and phooey on us that we think we can go just because we're native New Yorkers and know Babbo back when Mario was in that small spot on Cornelia Street. 

We score a seat at the bar.  Unbelievable. It was there waiting for us, it was fated. Jupiter was on our side.

We plunk our coats on the stool and consider the options. We are thinking about the Schiopetto sauvignon, we finally get some attention,  get a little taste. I forgot that I never liked the producer but this reminded me; skunky and then blasting with sweetened grapefruit juice.  Nix.

She goes for some Abruzzo white blend (mostly pecorino)  and I go for the Lini Lambrusco, which I just had the week before at Rachel's in Bklyn. Anyway, I know Lini and I know it mostly to be a safe zone in questionable waters. After all, we're not in David Lynch (past somm) territory anymore.  

Glasses arrive. The Lini is supposed to be a glass but it's as big as a quartino. Her white is not thrilling, but decent. The Lini is flat and sweet. 

I'm afraid to speak up. But then the woman behind the bar looks at us, cockeyed, like what the hell are you doing here? Silently, she starts setting up the place in front of us for service.  We have the feeling we're getting displaced, but first I ask, "I know this wine and this is awfully sweet, and there's no fizz:

"It's always a fruit forward wine," she says.

Fruit forward? Heck, it was a cold port with no frizzante.  I suppose, who is going to order Lambrusco at Babbo? The juice in my glass, was that flat sickly sweet chestnut honey liquid that needed a pecorino--in cheese form.

Then she delivers the punchline:  "You have to move." A guest will be dining where we were hovering. Lisa and I, not exactly Thelma and Louise, but friends for enough years we often don't need words. We look around, there is no spot to move to. None. We slowly take our coats and split without paying our bill or taking more than a sip each from our glasses.

Now, Lisa D. is  a restaurant pro and I've been around the block a few times. The ethics cops would tell us...what? We were wrong for stiffing the bartenders? On the other hand could you say that if we had paid our bill we were the victims of bandits?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what would you do?

 (we went across the street to NorthSquare. Upon entry we were greeted. Lisa said, "Already the service is better."

We passed plenty of bottom spread and congenial gray hair, and then in the back boite,  Crochet rosé--$12. We paid, we tipped, we conquered.) 

Comments

[Kevin Hamel]

"You have to move." = this one's on you baby. No question...

[LCFwino]

That's what James Brown always said.

[Account Deleted]

While I understand the impulse, I've known you for more than 20 years, and the phrase "I was afraid to speak up" barely fits on the same planet, let alone in a restaurant with you. And as you said, Lisa's a pro, and you've been around. Taking the low road just because someone else does has never been your style. I don't buy it, so what was really going on?

The appropriate responses in order would have been - "This wine has gone flat and is bad, I'd like another glass from a new bottle, or something else." "If you needed the spaces you should have told us when we sat down, we're not moving." and "I'd like to speak to a manager, now." Babbo has never been known for its service, it's always been a churn them in-turn them out experience, and I imagine you knew that before you set foot in the place, but assuming the description of events is accurate, that's off even for them.

[Alicefeiring]

Hi Dan, There was room for us at the beginning. We didn't need service, just a drink. That seemed doable upon entry. Some battles just aren't worth it. The woman was pitting her knowledge against mine, she was right. I was wrong. It took a long time to get any attention in the first place. No one was giving eye contact and anyway, there was no time to drink the wine so why bother? Literally after being poured we were asked to vacate. Lisa and I had little time to actually visit, so we wanted to make the most of what we had left.

[Kevin Hamel]

You may be rich, child
You may be poor
But when the Lord gets ready
You gotta move
More lyrics: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/r/rolling+stones/#share

[Acevola.blogspot.com]

I'm with Kevin - let the cockeyed cockblocking bartender figure it out. That place gives me the creeps

[Alicefeiring]

I'm with you guys too!

[Icebucketselect]

Seems like a victimless crime. If they don't care about you, the consumer, why should you care about them? If you had refused to pay verbally, they would probably have been OK with that anyway.

[Jfritchie]

Careful if you ever try to go to Eataly, they probably have your picture up on some official bulletin board.