The Aerie

Not happy with Oceanaire

Yes, it's another insomnia journal. It's 1:40 a.m., and I have to be up at 5:30 a.m. So it's possible at this point that I'll just stay up all night.

I think this is all the fault of the Oceanaire Restaurant.

Now, before I complain, let me just say that very nice people have sent me to the Oceanaire several times. I cannot complain about the gift. News anchor Randi Kaye was kind enough to send my wife and I there after I spent a couple of fruitless days trying to get her DSL hooked up (Qwest was, as usual, clueless and useless -- I eventually tracked it down to a technical problem in the local junction, but Randi gave up and went Cable before it was resolved). And my business partner sent me there as well. So thank you, sincerely, guys, for the kind gifts.

But in three, maybe four trips, I have failed utterly to be impressed.

Now, okay, "fresh" seafood in Minneapolis is a very nice concept. And, really, you can't go wrong serving a nice piece of fish, piping hot, and not overcooked or overgarnished. A little lemon or a little oil, and that fish is ready to eat.

Oceanaire has this top-notch reputation locally, but it just doesn't do it for me.

First of all I have to admit the Snob Factor colors my views. Everyone in the place reeks of money and entitlement. Is it just me? If I met them in another setting would I think the same thing? I can't honestly say. But when I'm there, they do. From the crone with too many facelifts wearing her granddaughter's clothes, to the guy with the turtleneck and jacket talking about Armani with a martini in one hand, to the cold-eyed perfect young women, I feel out-of-my-social-class (I'm sure there's a Russian word for that feeling, probably proletevski bourgoisie or something).

But okay, beyond the Snob Factor, there's the setting. Review sites about the Oceanaire crow about its decor, but all I've ever seen are tiny, tiny tables, crowded together so closely that no two people can pass between them. Not that two people should be crowding past one another in a restaurant, but I mean, these tables are close. In circumstances like that, the line between "elegant restaurant" and "cafeteria" gets a little blurry for me.

Then there's the Rush: the place is frantic. The busboys clear your table as if their children are being held hostage for the china. I've had plates removed from beneath my active fork. One time the fellow was in such a rush he dropped a gravy-laden spoon into my lap, staining my pants. Worse, he didn't notice! I had to point the infraction out -- the female maitre'd offered to pay for dry cleaning. Who the heck wants dry cleaning, I want the guy not to drop food in my lap!

Okay, so we've got a crowded setting, Snobs, and a big Rush. Let's skip Prices -- we know some places are just expensive -- there's the Upsell I can't stand. Two glasses of wine, $25.

Knowing all this, we went there tonight because our nearly-year-old gift certificate was about to expire (And why should a gift certificate expire? They've GOT the money! Why would it matter if you didn't come in for 10 years: all it means is they'd have 10 years of interest on the money, and you'd have ten years of inflation reducing your purchasing power).

We deliberately ordered cheap, and the waiter made sure we knew he knew it. We didn't want wine, we wanted beer -- he was scandalized! No "beer list", he just recited the beers aloud. Fortunately for my diet they had Michelob Ultra, which is a "low carb" beer in the same way that America was a "kinder, gentler nation" under George Bush Sr. I ordered the soup and salad because, honestly, I wanted the chowder and salad. That these were two of the cheapest items on the menu was just a coincidence... really!.

But that's not why I'm up at two-frinkin'-ayam. I'm up at two because they slipped me caffeinated coffee.

It's hard to be sure, but I think so. At one point a very eager looking young man held forth a silver tureen and offered to fill my cup. I hadn't seen him fill any OTHER cups, and I asked, "Is this decaf?"

"Si!" he replied.

So, I'm wondering, maybe he didn't quite hear me, or maybe English isn't his first language, or maybe both.. but for whatever reason, I think he slipped me the Joe.

Combined with a thin slice of chocolate cake (after four days of moderately-intense Atkins-izing) and I think I may have Mr. Coffee Nerves haunting my sleep.

So maybe that will be our last time at the hoity-toity Oceanaire. The $70 we spent on dinner would get me a week of breakfast's at Al's. And while it's crowded, rushed, and most of the staff doesn't speak English real good neither, well, at least nobody there is snooty!

Posted by Albatross at January 19, 2004 2:08 AM