Tucked away in the basement of Vaudeville is their bistro.
Originally when I began writing this post (about 3 seconds after I tasted my cappuccino), it was going to be about this treasure I had found with, quite simply, THE best cappuccino I have indulged in west of the Atlantic and east of the Pacific. And anyone who knows me in real life will attest to my love of coffee. Obsession, some might suggest. But no, just true love.
Those who have heard, visited, or grown up in Fredericksburg, Texas know its deep German roots. So when I say that I was transported to Europe as I descended into the basement bistro, you might be thinking Munich or Berlin or Frankfurt, but no. Paris. That’s what came to mind.
I called my friend, whom I was meeting elsewhere for lunch, and suggested we switch to Vaudeville.
Everything was great–the food, the beer, the dessert–until it came time to pay the bill. Their credit card machine was not reading the card. Nor could they type the card number into their machine (although I’m not sure why). Rather than suggest alternatives, the waitress got flustered and we were vilified to the point that we had to come up with a solution (go back to street level, walk to the end of the block, and pay surcharges to get cash out of an ATM), and then to top it all off, the waitress didn’t even bring back the correct amount of change.
Having worked a very long time in both the restaurant and customer service world, I knew exactly how I would have handled the entire transaction. There were numerous ways, none of which would have included throwing up my hands and yelling “I don’t know why your card isn’t reading!” and walking away from a table. A simple “I’m sorry” would have gone a long way.
That, however, was never offered. So despite all the delicious goodies consumed, the entire lunch left such a bad taste in our mouths that no amount amazing cappuccinos could even begin to make up for it.