As far as spontaneous restaurants go, Fish Bones was a pleasant surprise. We ventured up and down Sand Lake road (the bad part, not Restaurant Row.) Looking for a bite to eat, and stumbled across Fish Bones. The restaurant decision was originally made based on the idea that we thought it was the Bonefish Grill, which we had heard about from a friend, but our misfortune soon turned to delight.
The low-lit dining area was an awkward surprise. I’m beginning to despise garish, brightly lit rooms with all sorts of “crazy s**t on the walls”. While the wall decorations were still slightly gauche, the ill-lit quality of the walls fortold only tales of dim photos of poorly painted fish leaping from bodies of water. That with the addtion of actual fishing tackle pasted to the walls, the darkness seemed an attempt to hide some bad decorating decisions. All decorum aside, it was a nearly pleasant atmosphere with the colorful lamps.
So, we ordered our meals. Man-biscuit can tell you about his, but I’ve got stories about my own. I started with a house salad, which while looking a little ominous and monochromatic, turned out to be a pure delight. Fresh vegetables, sharp cheese and just the right amount of dressing.
Since we were in a fish restaurant, you would think we would order some fish, but this time around we were on a budget (as usual,) and ordered accordingly. I was surprised to find that the Florida Orange Duck (a half duck with florida orange marmalade,) was only around $12. I ordered that and awaited my delights.
The duck arrived in good time and I dug in. The duck was perfectly cooked, moist and delicious. The marmalade would have been overly sweet if not for the bit of zest in it, so it balanced well. The skin was crisp and flavorful and the salt of the meat played well with the sweet coating. I completely ignored the lifeless veggies that came with it. Well, not completely – I ate a piece and gave up. It was uninspiring. However, the duck was quite good.
Now comes the bad part. Marmalade = sticky.
When our server had brought the half-bird, I surveyed the plate and knew immediately of my sticky fate. So, I asked our mildly pleasant watier what I would do when I was all sticky. He replied smugly that he would return with hot wet towels to wipe away my gooey misery. That sounded wonderful, so I dug in, all hands on duck.
Some time later, when I had eaten my fill, I was quite sticky. My hands, fingers, elbows, forearms and many parts of my face had been treated with wandering marmalade. Now, I could have gotten up and made my way to the restroom, but unfortunately there was a fancy cloth napkin on my lap, and I would have liked to bring my purse. So, I sat there, hands splayed out, awaiting my hot, moist towel. 30 minutes later, I was still waiting. Our waiter had abandoned me to my sticky fate. Man-biscuit was parcehd, and his drink remained empty. I was trapped in marmalade hell.
The rest of the wait staff was miserable. Their backs sagged like they were hefting invisible boulders. They huddled in refugee groups, not quite under cover behind the server station, and eyed us as if waiting for the inevitable whistle or beckoning finger. When I did prop a questioning eyebrow in their directoin, they froze like deer in headlights. I added an “excuse me?” to the mix and they remained frozen.
Then, they scattered. Heading off in varying directions, I assumed they were off to find my moist hot towels. They never were seen nor heard from again. Finally, our waiter sped by the table, and I imagined sticking my tacky hand to his pant-leg. I wanted to so much that my fingers clenched to keep them from this act. Instead, man-biscuit rose from his seat to give them what-for. Finally, they shambled off to bring back our towels and check.
He returned in a few minutes with the promised towels, and I de-stickified myself. We left in a huff. This was a sticky situation. While the decorations, lighting, wati-staff and everything was decideldly unacceptable, the food was delicious. So, my suggestion is to ask for a take-out menu.