by Reynaldo Mentgen on 05.28.10 I swore I would never end up here again. But there I was, hopping out of a cab and into a mob of people in line. I am impatient. It's just not a virtue that I possess. I'm working on it, I swear. But I am impatient. Being in lines that don't move do not make me happy. Especially when the promoters with the guest list don't know what they're doing. E.G. - we reserved two tables for a birthday/going away party. We are on their VIP/table guestlist. A handful of us show up together. Our names are in the same general area. The girl looks at my ID and goes, I don't see your name. When it was RIGHT THERE under the person she had checked off five seconds prior. I pointed it out to her. Oh, she says. Nothing else. Excuse me, but isn't the entirety of your job to read IDs and match it to your list?! I digress... The experience inside is completely different. I've been on both sides of the rope (with a table and without). The table experience is infinitely better than the latter. Especially considering that tables take up half the space in the venue. If you are my friend, please don't make me come here again. Unless you can pinky swear that I won't have to wait in line and we'll have a table?
by Jess K. on We went here for brunch and each ordered an entree (I created my own omelet, yum) but then on top of that we shared the french toast. The french toast was a show stopper. It was fantastic. Magic in fact. The service was slow but we spent the time looking at the crabs hanging out on rocks (wow, we are boring...) and just enjoying our surroundings. It's not every day I get to eat outside with water below me and on three sides of me. We had some drinks with brunch too and the bill was entirely reasonable. I love brunch. What an amazing meal.
by Gayle Husselbee on i got roofied here. for serious. i think the roofie came from the same guy who kept asking me if i wanted to "hit this bullet" while shoving his stylish little brushed-silver coke sniffer in my face. the good part is i don't really recall losing consciousness and falling down the stairs here, at which point the security guards failed to recognize my roofied-ness and kicked me out of the club, so i sat half-passed out, outside on the curb while my friends were inside looking for me. the dumpster behind the DNA is a nice place to throw up.
