The guitarist has packed up and there is no recorded music playing. But it's not as if we entered the restaurant just before closing; we arrived at ten o'clock (Friday night), and the kitchen serves until eleven. I should say the kitchen serves v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, for there are lengthy gaps between courses.
Notwithstanding the distractions, service is polite but unpolished, what you might hope to find on a good night at the Marriott. At the Ritz-Carlton you expect servers to know not to cross over a diner's plate when replacing flatware, and for table linens to be swept of crumbs (and to be of proper size, since some cloths bunched on the floor at all four points).
The food can dazzle, the service could improve, and the table by the
patio door must be avoided
The description of the peanut-butter cup dessert as "brownies, bananas, peanuts, and peanut-butter ice cream" promises more than it delivers -- a chocolate cylinder of extremely modest proportions filled with peanut-studded chocolate cake possessing neither the density nor moistness of a brownie. Sugar-coated banana slices emanate from the cylinder like flower petals, glazed but not colored in what appears to be a pale attempt at caramelization; a small ball of luscious peanut-butter ice cream beckons on the side. This is what Bizcaya considers a $12 dessert? Sweet-potato pie is better (and a relative bargain at eight dollars), a brùlée blanket of airy marshmallow fluff draped over a rectangle of nutmeg-flecked filling. The graham-cracker crust is soggy to the point of texturally melding into the sweet potato, and "chocolate rosemary sauce" tastes like regular old chocolate syrup, but a bonus medley of diced sweet potato and chocolate cake (with rosemary sprig protruding upward) helps compensate for --
Jeez, they've turned the lights up really bright. Looks like they're keeping them that way. Guess we'll skip coffee.