Cafe Nola seems like a good idea. It's in an Art Museum. It has a beautiful view of Hemming Plaza. It has a menu that's classier than the average sandwich and soda joint.
But much like Communism, Cafe Nola sounds great on paper, but in reality, not so much.
Their rolls were very good. Their blueberry spread on the rolls was awesome. If I had eaten a roll and left, it would've been a great experience.
Instead, I waited 40 minutes for my food. On a weekday lunch hour. Because, you know, I can stroll back into work any time I like without a care in the world. Upon giving the waitress a "WTF?!" she explained that my pizza had gone to the wrong table, and mine would be coming out momentarily. At this point, I ask her just to box it so I can eat it at work.
Moments later, my food is presented on a plate. I'm told it's complimentary. It's beautiful, and I figure I can eat quickly, so I strap on the feedbag and go to town.
I get through 2 of 5 pieces before I notice. Is that? I poke at it with a fork. I ask my friend, "Is that?"
Chicken. They put shreaded fucking chicken on my fucking pizza. I specifically mentioned to the waitress when ordering, "I'd like this pizza if I can get it without chicken. I don't eat meat, so if that's a problem, let me know and I'll pick something else."
Currently, I am unsure if my overwhelming feeling of nausea is caused directly from the fact that I haven't had chicken in more than 1.5 years, or if it's a mental thing, and I'm making myself sick. My bet is a little of both.
My Creative Director is now walking around the office clucking like a chicken. If I do hurl, I know exactly who I'm aiming for.