I've only visited the newly-opened restaurant twice. The first time was one weeknight in March when Claire treated Cams and me (nakantsyawan) to an entire 18-inch pizza of mixed flavors. Not surprisingly, the lines in front of their counters were long. Probably terrified that the indecisive girls in front of us might become double homicide victims in my hands, Claire suggested that Cams and I go ahead to Cams' place while she queued. We added some churros to our order, because I figured if we were going to wait long for our pizza, then we might as well have dessert too. We left Claire still in line at around 7:45 PM. We got to eat our pizzas and churros, thankfully still hot, at 10.
I had left this blog entry sitting silently in my drafts since. Until last Saturday, that is, when after many nights of passing by the restaurant post-workout I finally gave in to my pizza craving. It was noon and my date and I were getting two boxes of pizza for our Jurassic Park movie marathon at home (in preparation for Jurassic World). It should have been easy enough. The lines were short and two crew members were assisting the one dude in front of us at order counter 1. Three customers later at counter 2, however, and we were still waiting, because Marielle and the other girl behind counter 1 essentially made us wait with the dude before us to get his pizzas when they could have asked him to do that at the claim counter.
Then came our turn and it was one of those rare instances I thought I couldn't have possibly become peeved when the cashier interrupts me with a question mid-order. Ours was short and simple. "Two boxes. One garlic and shrimp. One pepperoni," I told Marielle. But she and her assistant only got one thing right from what I said. "Two." They thought I was ordering two pizza slices, not boxes, and the flavor she apparently heard was "combo." Peeved I still became.
|Bavarian churros. Can't decide if they're better than the cinnamon ones, because both flavors are good.|