I know this was only our second date and all, but I love you.
I truly do.
Remember when Panda and I sampled your cocktails? That was a deliciously good time.
We ate mini-crocks of macaroni and cheese! It was simply delicious. They’re not on the menu right now, but I suspect (re: hope) that they’ll come back with the cooler weather.
And flatbread! We mangia’d on what you called the market flatbread as well that trip. I was a little wary of the whole fried-egg-on-top thing, I’ll admit, but it turns out you knew of what you cooked, and the melding of the egg over the crispy, chewy bread with sea salt and parmesan cheese and spicy arugula and peas demanded the whole of my tongue’s tastebuds, and it’s entirely possible that I punched out Panda so I could eat the last slice while she lay unconscious on the floor.
Which brings me to my point.
You’ve changed, B&O.
You’ve changed your market flatbread.
I knew it was different when I saw “potato” in the ingredient listings on the menu last night, but everything else looked similar. I didn’t remember having potatoes on it the first time around, but I blamed a faulty memory, and barring that, decided that was okay, even if this was new, and different than before, that’s okay, right? New is good. Change is good. Invigoratingly delicious. Maybe a surprise new hit.
And you know, change is good. This new version of your market flatbread, with the sliced potatoes, is good. Really good. I ate the whole thing.
But it wasn’t great.
It didn’t make my salt-loving self sing praises and salivate long after the meal just thinking about when I could go back and have it again.
It didn’t wow me.
I’m glad I tried it, and if someone put it in front of me, I’d eat it. But I wouldn’t order it again.
Don’t worry, B&O, this by no means I will stop patronizing your saucy, debonair establishment.
It just means I’ll be trying something new next time we meet.
And new might be good. New might even be better. You just never know.
At the very least, we’ll always have Hobo Colas.