Businesses of South Beach, you better be on your best behavior and nurture some class, because Manola doesn't mince her words! Photo by the amazing Miami Fever.
I just wanted to point out that while I am a lover of all things Greek, including hot poolboys who work without green cards at expensive Miami Beach hotels, I will NEVER patronize Taverna Opa South Beach for as long as I live, because I actually like to EAT food and not have napkins strewn all over the table while I am nibbling, much less have some skanky ho from Baltimore purloining a Mediterranean ethnicity while shaking her ass over my tzatziki, furthermore forcing me to scream in my dining companion's ear, because the music is so loud, only worsening my already bad case of tinitis.
However, the food is good. Pity ... maybe you can do take-out and open an otolaryngolist office next door.
And to add insult to indigestion at this part half-assed tourist trap strip-joint, part eatery is the utter rudeness of some bartenders. My first tender poured me exactly what I wanted for $9. Now call me crazy, but on a writer's budget, that's already pretty pricey, but he was young, short, dark, fabulously gay and the citrusy martini was perfect. What could possibly go wrong if the end product of fun, social and warm banter between a lady and her tender is a refreshing beverage? Nothing, right?
Now about an hour and a half later, my second tender poured me the same drink for $12. She was bleached blonde, highly bitchy ... come to think of it, if Jane Austen were alive and writing the sequel to Pride and Prejudice, she would've been one of Bingley's intolerably arrogant sisters.
I asked the first bartender why I was now paying an additional $4 for the same drink even though there was no clear distinction of happy hour. A discussion ensued between both bartenders and she averted her gaze while I signed my tab. He smiled politely. Kudos to him, for not letting his vagina get in the way of good service.
So let me get this straight ... at Taverna Opa, the grand central of all South Beach kitchiness, only one wikipedia entry away from absolutely tacky (I'd rather go to Mango's, at least you're expecting tacky!) ... you will pay more for goods and services, if you happen to have a vagina and another vagina is serving your drink. Not only that, but you have to eat with a vagina shimmying on the table and she's not even stomping on grapes or mortaring your chick peas!
And now this has me concerned. Is South Beach really all that unfriendly to the heterosexual female tourist? I should hope not. I'm a toughened local, but shame, shame, shame to these bitchy servers who would get all PMS on your ass when it comes to hospitality.
Do y'all think we walk around taking blood samples in white slacks and white leather pumps like Calleigh Duquesne on Miami CSI? Or are there real women in this town who want a fair price on their martinis, served happily by gay bartenders? Oh, where's Horatio Cane and his brand of justice when I need him?
PS ... more kudos to Joe's Take-Away, they unquestionably provided change for the parking meter, even though I didn't buy a damn thing. I'm definitely going back there for some quiet nosh.
tags: south beach, greek, bitch