Showing posts with label Hagadone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hagadone. Show all posts

Monday, May 16, 2011

Tito's Italian Grill and Wine Shop

Tito's Italian Grill and Wine Shop
210 Sherman Ave, Coeur d'Alene
(208) 667-2782

Buh-bye, Macaroni! At some point within the last month or two, the Hagadone-owed Italian eatery known as Tito Macaroni's underwent a much-needed image overhaul and axed the wacky from its name (except for on all the signs out front). After 15 years as the anchor eatery inside the Coeur d'Alene Resort's Shopping Plaza, Tito's is all grown up now, and has adopted the somewhat blander, more mature moniker "Tito's Italian Grill and Wine Shop".

The name is printed across the front of the new, soft beige menu in minimal, elegant burgundy fonts and shapes, as if to say "the marketing and design departments had eleven meetings trying to come up with this classy shit, so you'd better appreciate your damn lunch, okay - we're fancy now, get it?"

Ironically, the menu itself seems to have taken in some random, decidedly not fancy and not very Italian residents. Do they eat a lot of tuna melts in Italy? Perhaps, but I was scared I was going to run into nude pictures of Snooki and J-Woww if I did a Google search for "Italian hot tuna", so I skipped it. While strolling the streets of old Milano looking for some local old country specialties to satisfy your yen for a real taste of Italy, does one often come across a Grilled Angus Burger with caramelized onions, cheddar cheese, applewood smoked bacon and with fries, soup or salad? I guess I just don't know.

Perhaps new Tito's head chef Jim Barrett (who, it seems, has also been head chef at every Hagadone restaurant in existence)  was trying to broaden their culinary approach in order to cater to customers at the new Splash nightclub, which is opening very soon next door. I'm thinking that the majority of drunk people don't necessarily find a gigantic plate of Artichoke Spinach Mushroom Cannelloni in Garlic Alfredo Sauce for $14 very appealing.

Tipsy folk would be more likely to choose a nice burger and fries or a plate of mozzarella sticks, so I do see the logic in offering them and would guess that Tito's is likely to expand their hours later to try and cash in on all the munchie-struck tourists and meat-market-goers partying the night away next door. At least the "go-go girls" I've seen touted in advertisements for Splash will probably be hungry as hell after hours and hours of hardcore shimmying.

Still, Italian cuisine is the ciabatta and butter of what Tito's is all about, and there is plenty on offer. Plenty of the old Plain Italian Janes appear:spaghetti,fettuccine Alfredo,lasagna, minestrone,Parmesan chicken, etc. The dinner menu does offer a few tempting surprises, such as the Pesto Grilled Prawns and Tortellini, which is cheese-filled spinach tortellinis topped with prawns, Chardonnay cream, herbs and Parmesan cheese ($16).

If you have the kind of sadistic, cruel streak that allows you to stomach the idea of dining on an adorable, innocent baby cow with big, cute eyes, which was most likely tortured horrifically during its brief, sad existence, then you'll surely enjoy the Veal Piccata ($14) with capers, tomatoes and mushrooms in a lemon garlic caper sauce. Yes, please.

Pizza may be a more humane option and Tito's gets fairly creative with what they do. The "Buffalo Blue" includes white sauce, crispy chicken, Frank’s hot sauce, slivered celery and blue cheese and the Rueben (white sauce, stone-ground mustard, corned beef, sauerkraut, mozzarella, and 1000 Island) gets the "Why Didn't I Think of That" award of the month for originality.

Tito's crispsy, brick-oven pizzas have actually always been my main reason for occasionally allowing myself to break my no-Hagadone rule and darken their doorway, but overall I've never been a tremendous fan of the place. Jesi, Carissa, and I decided to join the throngs of folks relaxing downtown one recent smashingly sunny afternoon. We had parked on the roof of the Resort Parking Garage to enjoy the view for a few moments when suddenly hunger pangs hit us on the head like fresh seagull droppings.

Tito's won because it was pretty much the closest and none of us had been there in ages (Carissa never had been at all). Our hostess, Mittu, seemed like one big, gigantic smile as she led us outside to a sidewalk table in the shade of the warm spring sun. Passing through, I noticed that despite the slight name change, Tito's was pretty much the same as it always had been decor-wise - maybe a splash of paint here and there or a bit of dusting and de-cluttering, but nothing too eye-catching and dramatic.

The place was hopping with a late lunch rush, inside and out, which might explain the noticeable delay in our server, Katrina, arriving with our obligatory glasses  of water. Things weren't off to a great start - when she did arrive and filled our plastic red cups, the water was room temperature with only a few scant, ghosty traces of ice cubes that disappeared within moments. Regular readers may remember a pet peeve of mine - either no water upon being seated or unacceptably warm, ick water. I need mine fresh and frosty with a nice, juicy lemon, yo!

This particular nitpick aside, Katrina's service was perfectly adequate. She returned moments later with our sodas and beers and the warm water was forgotten. For some reason, she also brought one white paper chef's hat and chose Carissa's head to stick it on. She spent the rest of the day wandering with us downtown wearing it proudly with a pair of enormous 80s sunglasses and a grin. Jesi was mortified to be seen in public with such a bespectacled chef-hat weirdo, so of course I told Carissa how great she looked and made her keep it on her head everywhere we went. (photo is pre-chef hat)

It was a gorgeous day and folks were milling past us constantly, so we enjoyed our lunch with some old-fashioned people watching. The first items to arrive were a heaping basket of delicious garlic bread chunks, which we dipped in olive oil and devoured in moments, and Carissa's garden salad, which she declared "totally killer" with ranch-dressing smeared lips.

Our main courses arrived in a sensible amount of time, although the appearance and temperature of my "North Shore" pizza (Capicola, sopressata, pineapple, mozzarella, Romano) ($9) did give me a suspicious feeling that it had just been hanging out for a while, just chilling while someone finished putting together everyone else's lunches.

Still, it actually tasted pretty yummy, with a slightly sweet sauce, a thin crust which was tender and chewy toward the center but cracker-crispy and seared golden-brown on the edges.It was larger than I remember Tito's pizzas as being, and my leftovers almost tasted better re-heated in my oven for breakfast the next day.

I swiped a few forkfuls of Jesi's Spring Pea Salad with Pesto Prawns (peas, celery, water chestnuts, pine nuts with a lemon dill dressing) ($11) after it cased her big face to light up with joy, and indeed it was quite delicious although I can't say I'd personally want to plunk down eleven hard earned dollars for four shrimp atop a scoop of peas in mayo, which it basically was.

Behind her chef hat and sunglasses, Carissa wasn't enormously enthralled by her Tomato-Basil soup (with sandwich, $6), saying that it was too thick and rather bland, and that Tomato Street serves a much better specimen. She said her grilled cheese panini  was nothing to hire a skywriter about, but was a bit more enjoyable than the soup. However, like my pizza, it seemed to have had a bit too much free time recently while waiting to be served and would have been much more wonderful if it had arrived hot and melty instead of warm and congealed.

After a bit of discussion, we rated our Tito's Italian Grill lunch experience approximately a 6.239 out of 10. We enjoyed the active sidewalk atmosphere, and the service was generally fine, but for the most part our food was average. Not at all disgustoso but hardly magnifico either.

On the way out of the plaza, we had a run-in with an especially chatty Mayor Sandi Bloem, who was just coming out of  one of the clothing boutiques after picking up something most likely devastatingly fabulous to wear. She declared "Oh, I love that place" after we told her rather unenthusiastically that we'd just eaten at Tito's. We didn't argue, and her Sandiness seemed completely unfazed by Carissa's incredibly silly hat and glasses look, although I could tell Jesi was dying inside of embarrassment, . Meanwhile, I was too caught up in the mayor's tiny, perfectly painted purple toenails and chic silver sandal flats to even care.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Retro Review: Bonsai Bistro

Bonsai Bistro
101 E. Sherman Ave
Coeur d'Alene
765-4321
www.bonsaibistro.com

(You may have noticed there was no new Get Out column yesterday. I actually got the week off due to the fact that the Handle Extra wasn't published in order to run the Spokesman-Review's annual High School Graduates section. So I decided to dig deep into the archives and re-run a classic review I wrote over t
hree years ago for the old making Flippy Floppy blog right after Bonsai Bistro first opened. I wasn't very impressed. Since becoming published, I've been avoiding reviewing Hagadone Corp. establishments for several reasons but back then I sure wasn't afraid to let 'em have it...)

Not to be overly crass, but to me the most amazing thing about the new Bonsai Bistro restaurant was how they got rid rid of that assy smell. Anyone who ever worked at this former bank/bomb shelter during its incarnation as Dakotah Direct (which I had the misfortune of doing for three years) will know what I mean. For years, the interior of this building was filled with an odor that can only be described as: grade A ass. This was an unfortunate side effect of a poor ventilation system in a call center filled with an endless succession of patricularly sweaty and expressive asses. It was an odor that lingered here for a long time, and something that everyone assumed was here to stay.


Yet somehow, through the miracle of Hagadone, that assy smell is gone. Long before Dakotah Direct went the way of the mastodon, Duane Hagadone had plans for this ugly little building. Or, to be more accurate, it was his wife Lola (who, by the way, I adore) that had the brainstorm of turning it into a "Pan-Asian" restaurant, inspired by some place she had seen while skipping around the globe on thier yacht, the Lady Lola. Mrs. H pulled a few chefs and some management from her hubby's other restaurants and put together a team to realize her "concept." After a month or two of letting the place air out, it opened with the usual outrageous amount of hype that is heaped on anything Hagadone.

People came in droves to see what they had done to the place, which I will admit, was rather impressive. The decor is very California, with an array of boring but tasteful beiges and browns with typical faux-asian (bamboo) highlights. The impressive part to me is the little koi pond that was installed right into the floor, which adds an aura of tranquility to the place. Although, it might be a bit uncomfortable to enjoy your sushi with an innocent koi giving you googly-eyes.

After less-than-delightful experiences at other Hagadone places (poor service, overpriced, small portions), I was actually planning on avoiding the Bonsai Bistro forever, but my father suggested the place for my birthday lunch and I thought "If he's paying why not?" After the initial shock and amazement that the assy smell was gone, I settled into the menu. Ouch! This was no cheap and easy Chinese joint, that's for sure. The menu was filled with items whose descriptions made them sound delicious, but that also seemed a little bit "forced". In other words, the menu was irritatingly pretentious as if it were written exclusivly to impress tourists with its "big city gourmet" selections.

Even more stunningly impressive was the fact they had the nerve to charge these kinds of prices. It takes a lot of cajones to charge six dollars for a little bowl of edamame (steamed soybeans), or almost seven dollars for a damn egg roll. Ah, but this is "gourmet", of course. We gladly pay extra for that fake Hagadone "ambience." I was kind of embarrassed that my dad was going to have to pay such a huge bill, so I ordered "cheap" (General Tso's chicken for around $14.95).

Our perfectly adequate but instantly forgettable waitress showed up and began fiddling around with some sauces on our table, creating a bowl of what she referred to as the "house sauce" which, I think was just soy sauce with some hot mustard and cocktail sauce mixed in. The way she went about this task was too cutesy, as if she were letting us in on a little secret, and this was our exclusive little wonder sauce. Well, the effect was ruined when I saw her making the same sauce for the next table. Our secret super sauce remained untouched by both myself and my dad for the entire meal.

The waitress took our order and brought us our drinks. For some reason, everytime I order a regular Pepsi in a Hagadone place they bring me a diet instead. "Oh, I always do that!" she said as she quickly did a switcheroo. I'm beginning to think this is part of thier act, that they are trained to do this. The food arrived. General Tso's chicken is not something I normally order at a Chinese place, but I always get it when I'm in Seattle from the fast food Chinese joint on Broadway (Magic Dragon, I think). There, the Gerenal Tso's is a dark, spicy affair with red peppers and covered in sesame seeds, a heaping order for six bucks. Delicious. Here, at the Bonsai Bistro, the General Tso's chicken is eight and half boring pieces of lightly tempura'd chicken cooked only to the point of barely done-ness and covered in a bland glaze that tastes vaguely orangey. The menu had an exclamation point next to the dish, indicating that there would some kick to it. However, there were no exclamation points in the actual food, only question marks. Did they run out of glaze? Is there a fryer oil shortage? Is the chef high on Valium? How can they charge 15 bucks for this?

Even after finishing the few bites of plain white rice that was served with the chicken, I was still hungry. Yet again I had fallen victim to the Hagadone curse: lots of hype for nothing, and small portions that are jaw-droppingly overpriced. To be fair, I did not get a chance to sample thier sushi, which I've heard is great and worth the price (my father would have gotten queasy at the sight of raw fish - he's a meat and potoatoes kind of guy.) Actually, I was surprised when my dad announced that his stir-fry was delicious and filling and to his credit, he never complained once about the bill. I reminded him that our poor waitress was being paid $3.00/hr or so by old Mr. H, and so he tipped her 10 bucks, our good deed for the day.

Overall, the most impressive aspect of this place is the amazing ass-free transformation of the interior. As for the food and value, I was not overly impressed. However, like the other Hagadone restaurants, the place will likely thrive on unknowing tourists who are suckered in by the hype, and on transplanted Californians, homesick for an overpriced taste of pretentiousness. Rating: Ambience 8/10 Food 3/10



Saturday, May 12, 2007

Shore Lounge Karaoke

Shore Lounge Karaoke
Lobby Level
Coeur d’Alene Resort
765-5000

Sunday nights in downtown Coeur d’Alene can be a little eerie. Most of the week, the area is full of nightlife, revelers hopping from bar to bar, live music pouring out onto the streets. However, on Sunday evenings the place turns into a virtual ghost town. Most of the pubs and cocktail lounges are closed, and the ones that do open close their doors early.

Nevertheless, you’re bored and surely you can’t be the only one in town with a wild hair to go have some fun on a sleepy Sunday. Where is everyone at? Well, dear reader, I know the answer. They’re tucked away deep inside the Coeur d’Alene Resort at the Shore Lounge for Karaoke Night. On a typical Sunday after 9 p.m., this dimly-lit, touristy lounge with the vaguely nautical theme transforms into a packed showcase for local singers and non-singers alike. Despite it’s location inside the stuffy confines of the resort, this Karaoke night has been known to get a bit weird and wild.

Your hostess for the evening is the gorgeous and talented Karaoke diva Tequila Leah (pictured above). For the most part, she keeps things rolling along smoothly, always injecting some of her acrid sense of humor into the proceedings and amazing regulars with her edgy fashion sense. She would never come right out and insult a bad singer, but she has a charming trick of getting the message across in a passively aggressive way, without actually hurting any feelings. She always insists that the audience give a big hand to the last singer, no matter how tone-deaf their performance.

Leah’s bubbly personality keeps the atmosphere fun and lighthearted, and even if you screech like a maimed kitty-cat during your performance of “My Heart Will Go On”, she will make a little joke, insist the audience applaud, give you a hug and ask you what song you want to sing next. She makes everyone feel so good about their singing, that it can create an occasional problem - certain not-so-hotso singers have developed a false sense of grandeur about their abilities and insist on terrorizing the crowd at every opportunity. In reality, the vast majority of people that get up to sing actually perform very well. Several of the regular singers could feasibly pull off a career in pop music and even seem to have developed small fan bases here at the lounge.

The stage set up here can be a little bit intimidating. Traditionally, in Japan where Karaoke was invented, people stay put right at their table and the microphone is handed around to the different participants. At the Shore Lounge, singers have to get up on a stage in front of everyone, complete with a spotlight shining directly on your big face. You’re the star, and there’s no escaping it. Most of the regulars here embrace the idea and really ham it up. Some people even dress up for the night – a couple of twenty-something dudes like to show up in ungodly ugly polyester leisure suits from the ‘70’s and sing the hits of Barry Manilow. There’s guaranteed to be a hardcore cowboy or two, dressed in full regalia, and singing some bombastic patriotic country hit. The crowd here is entertainingly diverse – it seems like everyone from the other nightspots end up here on Sundays since their regular haunts are closed.

Sometimes the chaotic nature of the crowd leads to wild excitement. It was here a while back that I witnessed one of the goriest girl fights ever. I had just returned to my table after singing a rousing rendition of Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life.” Suddenly we heard a girl hiss “You bitch!” She had been completely. drenched when another girl threw a drink at her. In seconds, both girls were on the floor struggling, ripping out huge chunks of each other’s fried hair. The music stopped, the house lights went up and people were piling up, trying to get the girls to break it up.

One of the girls finally got up off the floor and we watched as she spit something out of her mouth, it went flying across the room. She immediately brushed herself off and promptly slipped out the front door before security even had a chance to arrive. Meanwhile, the other girl let out a chilling cry: “My finger! She bit my finger off!” and our jaws dropped as we realized that what the other girl had spit across the room was a fingertip. Gross! The excitement died down and Tequila Leah fired things back up as medics hauled to poor girl away.

Being that this is the Coeur d’Alene resort, the drinks here are certainly not cheap, so bring some extra cash if you need some liquid encouragement before tackling your Karaoke tune. If you’re on a budget, go with the beer special – five dollars for an extra tall mug (about 3 pints worth) of draught beer, your choice. Sit down and grab a song book. Leah has an awesome selection of over 15,000 songs and she gets updates all the time, so whether you’re dying to re-interpret Patsy Cline, Metallica, or Fergie’s “Fergalicious”, she’s got you covered.

I’m a firm believer that everyone has the ability to get into Karaoke – it doesn’t matter if you can sing or not if you’ve got some schtick. Be creative. Some people need to delve into choreography or props to distract from their lack of vocal talent, but who cares as long as you’re entertaining. Get into the spirit, conquer your stage fright and just get up there and do it. I swear, all it takes is once to wipe away all your fears, and suddenly you’re a Karaoke addict. You’ll be braving the fabulous chaos of the Shore Lounge every Sunday night.