A recent trip to the Sand Crab Tavern in Escondido for Sunday Brunch w/live entertainment (Blues) revealed an atmosphere of insanity, insatiability, instability suitability or downright f**king clumsiness. Well, I’m not quite sure what I just said . . . except the clumsiness part.
First of all, for our Sunday Brunch, the menu was not what we had expected from a Sunday Brunch anywhere in San Diego. I guess we were expecting the buffet, the omelet bar, plenty of oysters and maybe a nice cheese and salad spread.
What we got was a Prix Fixe menu for the St. Patrick’s day kick-off. I think you’ll agree that the menu is still pretty expansive for selection purposes and well along the lines of definition for “brunch”. Both of our main entrées had elements of both breakfast and lunch. The prix fixe price was better than you would pay for individual items that were also available. Plus we decided to throw in the endless mimosas for an extra $3.50. That’s when all the fun began.
I guess this place got broken into the previous week and they had a piece of plywood on the swing style door that led to the outside patio. My wife decided to be seated, or hidden, behind the “now” piece of plywood so she could face the band. The live blues coming from these guys was actually quite inviting, not loud and great sounding. The Tavern was actually a full house , but not seemingly over busy, and there was no waiting to be seated. It did seem to take several minutes for us to be contacted by our server. She seemed to really be scrambling, for some reason, and in a hurry. Well we finally ordered. Our mimosas were finally arriving and then “crash”. The server’s hurriedness caused her to slam one glass of mimosa into the edge of the table. Glass and juicy champagne everywhere narrowly missing me other than a couple of very small drops. The server apologized and quickly fetched me another. I had not got into about three sips of that mimosa and then “crash”. Now, the owner had toppled a stack-full of dishes he was clearing from one of the inside tables.
Well, we listened to the music and talked a bit and our mimosas were refilled by the bottom of a bottle of champagne and empty orange juice pitcher. Mimosa Boy promised he’d be right back . . . never did. Then the owner comes from around the plywood door, passing our table, with a full bottle and pitcher, to fill the glasses of the folks sitting at the table next to us. Then the owner turns, checks the tables around the outside patio area where we were sitting, doesn’t even give us even a single look and begins to walk back inside. My wife said, “excuse me”, pointing now to our glasses and saying nothing else as she gave the owner some serious stink eye. She just waved her pointing finger in some kind of circular motion at the glasses. It was kinda funny. That’s when the owner explained that he had recently got broken into, and the area where we were seated, had become a blind spot with the “now’ plywood door.
Our food came and we started eating. The food was quite delicious. My wife had the Crab Cake Benedict and I, the Ponchartrain Duck Hash. Both had perfect poached eggs atop. My hash was delicious with the Woodland Mushroom Cream Sauce, and hers had really good crab cakes with a nice Bernaise sauce. We both agreed that both dishes tasted just a bit better with the onions and bell peppers from the country potatoes that accompanied each dish. As we progressed through our meal, the mimosas were doing their job and the music got better and better. Soon Mimosa Boy stopped by once again to refill our glasses. As he began to pour I could see his vantage point to my wife’s glass was being blocked by the pitcher he was pouring from; and sure enough . . . he just totally misses the glass as he just starts pouring away all over the table. My wife had about enough of this and says out loud, “are you kiddin’ me? . . . what’s up with you people? . . . have you all been drinking these mimosas?” “Breaking shit and pouring shit all over”, she concluded. “Good thing there are rolls of paper towels on each table cause ours got some use today!”
Ok, so now we ate and are full. We pay the tab, tip the server and begin to walk out and the band guys says through the microphone while singing and playing, “Ok, thanks for coming . . . have a nice day”. If that mother f**ker didn’t get a few bucks from us. Damn, cornered ! ! ! It worked . . . I went back to give the band a tip. I guess that’s what you need to do sometimes to make a good day’s worth of tips. Yes, at least he said, “thank you”, again while still singing. The band was professional and deserved the tip . . . I’m just given ’em a hard time. Not a bad ploy though.
Check ’em out! And don’t forget some money . . . they’re still not cheap!