I took my dad there Sunday night—I figured it was a no-brainer. And while I still give them a huge points on service (and pickles, oh those delicious house-made pickles) the rest of the meal fell flat.
My dad is not a picky man, and he reported that his roasted chicken was Sahara-in-the-heat-of-summer dry. My vegetarian entrée (again, not on the menu, but graciously offered by the waitress) was simply a rehash of my opening salad. Same ingredients, warmed up. Plus, this time, it kind of missed the mark. Instead of serving the vegetables over a creamed spinach with green garlic, they sat on top of a squash puree, which was way too sweet.
I thought about just lettin’ it go. But if you’d decided to go Salt House on my recommendation, then had a completely uninspired meal, would you ever trust me again?
Nah. I that’s what I thought.