Liz G.'s Profile

As Valentine's Day is approaching, it's a good time to reflect on the little relationship milestones that happened in the past year like first kiss, first trip together, the day you decided it was okay to drop the charade and start farting in front of each other, etc.

Kebab Factory is responsible for one of my favorite relationship milestones: The First Time He Saved My Life.

This memory is so cherished and so vivid in my mind that I honestly don't remember what I had to eat at Kebab Factory. We started with some soup that was really good -- I think everyone gets it for free and I'd gladly go back and just eat free soup for a while. I think one of us got saag paneer and one of us got something in a milky curry. If that's in fact true, then I'd get the saag again. The dish I think I'm remembering correctly was tasty.

Really rich curries like the one I had at the Kebab Factory kind of remind me of these cheesy pretzels I used to get in college where I'd excitedly eat the entire 14-serving bag in one hour and then feel sick for a week and then spend a week not being sick and then completely forget about the sick week and eat an entire 14-serving bag of pretzels in one hour again and repeat the cycle. I really need to stop eating them. I did enjoy it while I was eating it though.

The rich curry has nothing to do with The First Time He Saved My Life. That stuff doesn't kill you until you're like 45.

The bill had nothing to do with it either. It was reasonable. No heart attacks there.

Instead, we left Kebab Factory with our lives intact and started walking home. We got about 2 blocks and decided to cross Beacon Street with the help of a WALK SIGN. Despite our right of way, a car decided to make a speedy left turn. Fortunately, he had faster reflexes than I did and yanked me out of the way just in time. He claims he only saved me from like, a broken collarbone or something because the car wasn't moving that fast, but it was scary nonetheless.

The really crazy part, though, was that we caught a glimpse of the car as it went on its way without stopping to apologize or slowing down or anything nice, and it was a KEBAB FACTORY DELIVERY CAR.

I don't know WHY they wanted to kill us -- we left a nice tip, didn't make a mess, and didn't, like, punch anyone during dinner.

Maybe we'll commemorate the event this Valentine's Day with a Kebab Factory dinner. But we'll get takeout. And have someone else pick it up. And bring it to us in some other anonymous location. Far away.

I had never been contacted by an actual business before (probably because I typically review like random Dunkin Donutses or write things that are at best tangentially relevant) until a few days ago when a manager at American Express Travel contacted me to assure me that my experience was abnormal.

Since I've only been there once, I can't vouch for whether it's normal or abnormal myself, but I can say the following:

1. This is the only time I have ever been here.
2. I figure a business that contacts the writers of bad reviews to apologize months after the fact (rather than, say, suing them) is more committed to good service than my review might lead you to believe.

Differences between my car and the Bolt bus:

1. Bolt always has wireless, whereas my car only has wireless when I drive near a Starbucks or something.

2. Furthermore, it's harder for me to use the Internet while I'm driving. I mean, not that I would know from experience. Just, uh, making an educated guess here.

3. The driver of my car stops when I get hungry instead of driving straight to New York with no breaks.

4. The bus has a bathroom, whereas my car only has some empty coffee cups.

5. So a 1990 Volvo was not designed with fuel efficiency or even, like, basic aerodynamics in mind, but there's pretty much no way to go to New York in a car for $1. Or even $17, at least in my car. Or probably ever. The conversion from dollars to gallons to miles is not something I feel like doing in my head so I don't really know.

6. The driver of my car doesn't get lost driving to New York EVEN when she's hungover, had 4 hours of sleep the night before, and didn't look up directions ahead of time. Basically, there are NO EXCUSES for why we were randomly touring the New York City environs, bus driver.

7. None of the bus's headlights are attached to the bus with a large hair tie.

8. Also, I don't know this for sure, but I would guess you can turn off the windshield wipers on the bus without having to turn off the entire bus. The same is not true for my car.

9. People don't like when I sing loudly on the bus.

10. No one has ever pulled out a rank smelling fish sandwich of some sort in my car and eaten it right next to me without so much as offering me a bite.

Oh man. They are lucky the food was really good (and that I loove Southern food) because they got off to a pretty bad start.

I'll begin with the good things:

1. Ribs
2. Shrimp Grits
3. Cornbread
4. Additional Cornbread
5. Catfish
6. Chocolate cake
7. Sweet Tea served in a Mason jar!
8. Gnocchi

So wait. I watched enough Sesame Street to know that one of these things is not like the other. Neither I nor wikipedia associate gnocchi with the South. It hardly matters because the gnocchi dish was so good I ate all the vegetables in it without even remembering I kinda hate vegetables, but... just saying.

Okay. Now for the bad:

My roommate made a reservation for 9 PM around 6:30ish, I think. I was so excited to try lots of food at this place that I spent basically the entire time in between running. My roommate spent the entire time in between at yoga. My other roommate... is a leggy blonde and therefore is welcome to eat as much food as she wants whenever she wants as far as I'm concerned.

The point is that when we showed up at 9 we were hungry mothers. I'm not sure exactly how long after we showed up we had to wait for a table because I was too busy looking for things to gnaw on, but it was pretty egregious given that we had a reservation for 9.

I think while we were waiting, we talked about:

* our respective days
* how freakin hungry we were
* what we were planning on ordering
* my roommate's trip to Minnesota
* the order of magnitude of the number of lakes in Minnesota
* how freaking hungry we were NOW
* how people we know are starting to have babies oh my god
* whether it's appropriate to leave a 4 year old home alone
* how cranky we get when we are hungry
* how the economy can't possibly be tanking when it's this hard to get a seat at 9 PM on a Tuesday in Cambridge
* whether unbuttoning more buttons on our clothes would get us seated faster (it didn't)

So that gives you an idea of how long we had to wait. The host suggested a few times that we grab a drink at the bar while we waited, but that was just adding insult to injury because there were no seats at the bar. It's a very small bar area in general and not very conducive to standing around.

To be fair, once we got seated, the service was excellent and the experience was great from there on out. Well, almost. We did JUST miss the last piece of peach shortcake for the night (probably thanks to all the waiting), which was very disappointing for everyone involved.

I will probably return to sample the cocktail menu and, with any luck, the shortcake. But I'll have a snack first.

Have you ever been dancing alone in your bedroom to some pop music you like or something and thought to yourself, "I wish a swarm of strange sweaty men in striped shirts were falling all over each other to touch my butt right now. I'd even pay like ten bucks to make that shit happen."

If so, you'd probably enjoy Gypsy Bar.

Okay, I'm not gonna lie. I totally judged this place rather harshly based on the name alone.

I feel like I had this conversation with various friends a whole bunch of times this year.

Friend: Where should we eat?
My brain: THINK OF SOMETHING HEALTHYISH
Me: Hmm. How about Punjabi Dhaba?
My brain: WRONG THAT IS NOT HEALTHY
Me: Uhh... but I ... uh ... don't feel like Indian food?
Friend: How about All-Star Sandwich Bar?
Me (to brain): Brain, what is All-Star Sandwich Bar?
My brain: WELL WE HAVENT BEEN THERE BUT WITH A NAME LIKE ALL-STAR ITS PROBABLY SOME SORT OF LOW BUDGET SUBWAY
Me (to brain): Ohhh crap.
My brain: DONT SAY ANYTHING AND HE WILL COME UP WITH SOMEWHERE ELSE TO EAT
Me: (stares off into space)
Friend: Or... we could just go to Felipe's again.
Me: Okay!
My brain: THATS NOT EXACTLY HEALTHYISH
Me (to brain): Hush! It involves vegetables.

But today a different friend suggested All-Star, and I was too hot to try to pretend I didn't hear him, so we ended up going. I'm really glad we did because it was

a. Not at all what I was expecting and
b. In a really good way.

I'm not too proud to admit that I'm a sucker for slightly overpriced but delicious sandwiches with unexpected ingredients, so the turkey with cornbread stuffing and chipotle mustard for like $8.95 hit the spot. There were several other sandwiches on the menu that sounded excellent.

Next time one of my friends suggests All-Star Sandwich bar, I will not act like they just suggested Wendy's and just kind of stand there until they think of something else. In fact, I might even suggest it first.

Oh, and finally, I have to give props to our waitress for deftly handling one of the most awkward ordering experiences I've ever been privy to.

Specifically:

My friend: I'd like the extra funky sandwich* and...(turns to the drink page)... a grilled cheese.
Me: (bursts out laughing)
My friend: Uhh... I mean a lemonade.
Me: WHAT?
Waitress: Okay... uhm... start over.

* the extra funky had chicken, almonds, slaw, and some other stuff I can't remember. It looked yummy!

Two of my roommates recently moved to Davis Square.

This turn of events has proven confusing. I had mentally labeled most of the things in the common areas of the apartment as 'mine' or 'not mine', and now I am learning the hard way which of the 'not mine' items belonged to them. For example, the couch was theirs. The pizza cutter was theirs. Most of the plates and silverware were theirs.

I had big plans to sit on the living room floor eating an entire pizza with my hands, but then they invited me out to dinner in their new neighborhood. Whew.

I was impressed. The dinner was tasty, the prices were surprisingly reasonable, and they refilled the water glasses whenever they got below half full (Note: this was actually *really* impressive because we had a party of 6 serious water-guzzlers).

Oh, AND they brought us surprise baklava because one of us had ordered tortellini (a word it took me 9 tries to spell correctly) and they were out of it. I highly recommend ordering things they are out of. The baklava is goood.

So, like, seriously, if you live near this place, what could you possibly need with all those plates and pizza cutters and stuff? Bring them back! I'll be waiting here at home, sitting on the floor pouring milk and cereal directly into my mouth. Luckily, the mop is still here.

This is the least intuitive grocery store you could possibly design.

Okay, so maybe this is not the way most people tackle shopping, but when I go to the store, I have a very short list of specific items that I intend to purchase. Usually it looks something like today's list:

1. Stacy's pita chips
2. Reese's peanut butter cups
3. Something healthy so I feel less bad about eating only junk food.

I got lucky with the peanut butter cups in that I happened to walk by random displays of them while looking for the pita chips. I also found a display of bananas as I was leaving, so I got something healthy. The pita chips were a whole other story.

Here is how I think shopping for pita chips should look:

Step 1. The chip aisle. Pita chips are chips, so this is where they are. Yay!

Here is what it's like at Star Market:

Step 0. I happened to walk by the cracker aisle since it was the first aisle. No pita chips here, but this is not really where I expected to find them so I won't count this.

Step 1. The chip aisle. No pita chips in the chip aisle. Hmph.

Step 2. My next guess was the bread aisle since pita is a bread. Nope. But for future reference, this IS where they keep the rice cakes and rice-cake-like chips.

Step 3. I glanced down the international foods aisle, because pita chips are, while not remotely international, at least less American than, like, cheez puffs and anyway I was running out of ideas. Nope.

Step 4. The organic chip section.

Okay, I need to pause for a minute and mention that I particularly hate this section because it means I have to look in at least two places for EVERYTHING. It's pretty easy to tell what broad category a food falls into. It's also pretty easy to figure out if a food comes from America or not, so I don't really mind the International Foods aisle. But it is IMPOSSIBLE to tell if a food I want is organic or not if I don't have the package in front of me. I get so irrationally mad every time I have to go to the Wild Harvest section of the store. I don't understand. Are yuppies made so uncomfortable by the very existence of, like, Fritos and Little Debbie that they need a whole trans-fat free oasis in another part of the store? Or maybe people who eat Fritos don't want to be around Amy's Gourmet Vegetarian Entrees because they'll lose their appetites? Whatever.

So anyway, I didn't actually think Stacy's pita chips were a yuppie food, but I figured I should check the organic chip section. They weren't there either.

Step 5. Asking the manager.

Step 6. The manager takes me to...

...wait for it...

THE PRODUCE SECTION.

I mean, okay, so this is more reasonable than the greeting cards aisle or tucked away next to the feminine napkins, but seriously, pita chips are not fruits and/or vegetables. It's misconceptions like this that are making America fat, you guys. Gahhhh.

So I've been studying economics full time for a few months now, which is a problem because

1. I haven't reviewed anything on Yelp in a long time.
1a. This is because the part of my brain that used to be funny has been co-opted by math.
2. Everything I encounter in my daily life reminds me of economics.

For example, Match. I went to Match on a Saturday night with one of my single girlfriends. When two single women go out to a bar on a Saturday night, meeting men is generally on the agenda, but this endeavor was wholly unsuccessful (and not just because I was radiating economics vibes!).

So I started thinking about how Match is a great example of market failure. Here's why:

- the crowd at Match was like 90% women*
- the men who WERE there were clearly on dates
- if there were a bar in Boston where 90% of the people were women, this would attract men, and the bar would no longer be 90% women
- EVEN if this bar's specialty drink is a fruity martini rimmed with Pop Rocks. I mean, come ON, guys. Just because it's on the menu doesn't mean you have to ORDER it. Okay, fine, so Match has a romantic atmosphere what with the dim lighting and the fire and all, and they do serve a wide range of really delicious and creative martinis that happen to appeal primarily to women, but I'm sure you could order a double whiskey with an ice cold Budweiser chaser or whatever it is the men are drinking these days and they'd be able to scrounge up something

So either there aren't any single men in Boston, or they haven't figured out that bars that appeal to women are... full of women. Neither option bodes well, but at least now I have a place to go with my girlfriends to complain about it over crazy good martinis and Pop Rocks.

*Speaking of which, my friends and I once tried to come up with a female equivalent of a "sausagefest" and decided the best choice was "clambake".

Okay, so Tosci's isn't going to win the Oscar for accounting anytime soon. But I can't think of another business that would be able to raise $31,000 in community donations, in the very same week, if it found itself in financial trouble. I've seen some of my favorite places close in Boston and San Francisco, really great places that deserve a chance, in communities where people claim to be passionate about local businesses, and I've never seen anyone actually DO anything about it.

Tosci's must be doing something right.

They have a superior product. I will admit that I generally get my coffee wherever is closest, and Tosci's is right around the corner from where I live, but if I ever moved, I'd still go out of my way to get their coffee.

And it's a struggle not to get ice cream with my coffee every day. Making the ice cream in house allows them to experiment with unique flavors in a way that most other places can't and I've loved everything I've tried.

I don't think a superior product is enough to raise thousands of dollars in donations, though, or else that would happen a lot more than it does.  I think somehow Tosci's interacts with the community differently from most businesses. There's evidently a large group of people out there who feels that keeping Tosci's around is a good thing for the community, and I think that says a lot about the business. People differentiate between chain coffee shops and local coffee shops, but I think in general, people see local coffee shops as relatively interchangeable.

Tosci's is different. When they got into trouble, people made a big deal about their community involvement, but I think what really sets Tosci's apart is the customer experience within the store. Going to Tosci's makes me happy. Everyone is friendly and patient and helpful. One example: when I showed up with only an American Express (which they don't take) once, they let me come back later with cash. It's the kind of business people of my generation read about or see on classic TV but never really get to experience. Even "local businesses" are rarely run like this.

I know it can be frustrating to see what looks like someone breaking the rules and not getting in trouble for it, but I don't think that's the case here. They did do something wrong, but they ultimately got back on their feet afterwards because they do so many other things so fantastically right.