I was raised in Leave-It-To-Beaver Land in the middle of America, and you, for all I know, were raised in the mountains of Mongolia. It makes no difference, my brothers and sisters, because no matter how diverse our cultures, we're bonded by this shared memory: our mothers looking us up and down and scolding, You're not leaving this house looking like that! Remember, you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.
The lesson we all learned at our mama's knee seems too easily forgotten in the hubbub of our busy adult days. The folks at Zazarac, one of the new chain prototypes recently launched by Outback, were busy preparing for a big party the first time I tried to visit them, and Mama's words were far from their minds.
I called the restaurant one Saturday, half an hour before opening, asking what time they closed, and which would be the best route to take from Pinellas. An hour later, as I was entering Zazarac's front door, a pair of Banana Republicans, both looking plenty pissed, were exiting. I'm never coming back here! the female half fumed.
Seconds later, the source of their irritation was visited on me when a hostess, whose voice I recognized from the phone, informed me the restaurant was closed for a private party. It's coronation, she crooned. Clearly, she thought the word explained all, but I was baffled. Huh? What? Coronation? I mumbled. Gasparilla coronation she said, nodding her head and enunciating clearly, as if she were speaking to the Rain Man. Tonight's been fully booked for weeks! Ah, indeed! Too bad she hadn't thought to share this with me when I'd called. But then, she'd just assured me everybody knew about this party. By extension of logic, of course, I was exposed as a nobody, a status I humbly acknowledge, unlike the couple ejected before me who took umbrage with this downgrade of their social standing.
Weeks later, I approached that same front door with assurance, armed with reservations made well in advance. I'd studied the menu, solicited opinions from folks who'd eaten there, ranging from Eh, it's OK to We loved it! and read background information stating Zazarac was based on dishes developed by New Orleans Chef Anne Kearney, going well beyond the Queen City's most famous exports, gumbo and jambalaya. I was anticipating a good experience. Or so I thought.
As I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a hostess, guided through the handsome dining room and seated at a table beautifully arranged with white linen, heavy cutlery, sparkling glassware and attractive plates. Servers fluttered around me like butterflies, each one friendly, attentive and trained in the niceties of service that make a diner feel pampered. Most important, they were familiar with the restaurant's food and wine, and able to offer excellent suggestions on pairing them together.
I ordered. Dishes began coming to the table, beginning with a bowl of crab and corn chowder ($5). The waiter held an empty bowl in front of me, upended a silver container of chowder into it and set it before me, thus ensuring that my nose caught the full impact of the chowder's marvelous aroma. It was a lovely bit of showmanship that both my senses and my sense of marketing applauded. The chowder was rich and thick with fresh crab, corn and ample spices, so complex in balance that I lingered over the tasting of it, exploring nuances as I would a fine wine. Mmmm.
Seafood beignets ($6.95) were not as successful, if only because their name aroused unmet expectations. New Orleans is famous for its delicate beignets, sometimes filled with chocolate or strawberry. I envisioned such a pastry with rich seafood filling. When the plate arrived, I thought they'd made a mistake, but no, the eight, doughnut-hole size fritters, some might call them hush puppies, were mine. Though they were fried too long, the interior had good flavor. Still … beignets? Hmmm.
For entrees, I bypassed the server's suggestion of best sellers like the seared 8 oz., gorgonzola-crusted beef filet with shoestring potatoes ($25) or the grilled, boneless lamb loin, marinated in Creole mustard, served with a red wine reduction and homemade pork sausage-potato hash ($21). I went instead for the duck Louisiana ($19) a tender breast of duck nicely balanced by an excellent reduction mildly spiced with molasses and a side of savory stuffing. But a bland casserole of baked onions and chayote squash added nothing. A dish of bronzed grouper, a lighter preparation than blackened ($23) served with jambalaya, only rated average.
The wine list, though filled with excellent choices, offers very few by the glass (glasses average $7-$8.50). Bottles start at $19, with the majority priced well above $40. A look around the room shows me lots of Bud Lite being poured here. Perhaps a wine list with more choices by the glass would encourage grape explorations.
So, tally up: excellent service, good wine, uneven performance in the kitchen, but a menu intriguing enough to warrant further explorations — but I won't be back. My attitude, you see, is tainted. Despite my determination to walk through the door with an open mind, a thin, gray sense of irritation had drifted over me throughout the evening, like a dusty cobweb dripping from the ceiling. Try as I might to be objective, I'd been unable to erase the memory of walking into this room with expectations of a warm welcome, and instead, being rejected like a trespasser. Could Zazarac have handled it better? Undoubtedly. Diners honor a business when they walk through the door. If they must be turned away, for any reason, it should be done with extreme courtesy, even offering some small perk, like a coupon for a glass of wine, as consideration for their inconvenience. Because Mama was right; you never get a second chance to make a good first impression
This article appears in Apr 26 – May 3, 2001.