We, a party of three, arrived expecting a long wait, but were told only 15 minutes. While we were waiting for our table, we couldn’t help noticing the impressive over-staffing at the front of the house. Outside, a valet parker, then an attractive female with an electronic device in her ear opening the front door for us. Then two young ladies to greet us and take our details. A male managerial type was hovering there as well. We lost count of the young lovelies in this area whose job seemed to be to take the diners to their seats or to stand there looking young and lovely. We wondered if all the black mini-dresses available in Coquitlam stores, maybe Burnaby too, might now be on display for our enjoyment and approval. But despite this magnum show of hospitality force, somehow a party of three who came in some time after us managed to be seated before us. Our turn came when a female supervisor, if that is what the gizmo in the ear is supposed to signify, arrived after about 20 minutes or so.
The table that we were taken to was not ready for us at that moment, as evidenced by the complete absence of menus or cutlery, which could be a sign that the front house had realised that we had been kept waiting in error, and hoped that by taking us to any old table, we hadn’t noticed as well (we had).
Eventually, a very attractive server arrived with the menus and asked if we would like something to drink – I guess she had assumed that we had come by earlier in the day and already knew what was on the menu. We asked for a few more minutes. When she returned, our questions about the wines on offer were answered with “I’m not sure about that – I’ll find out for you”. So we guessed.
We waited a very long time for the drinks to arrive, and during that wait, despite the highly intrusive big-screen TVs showing an NBA game, my thoughts were distracted by and old Sex Pistols song containing the stanza “You’re so pretty, you’re so pretty….vacant” going round and round in my head.
Our food order seemed to take a long time as well, a circumstance that we were rapidly getting used to, but which went against the evidence passing before our eyes of a succession of black-attired lovelies whom we had not set eyes on before. Two more ladies eventually stopped by to drop off the plates, followed shortly by another one offering fresh-ground black pepper, and a minute or so later, another one offering freshly-ground black pepper.
$18.99 for a half-order of ribs, a bowl of very fresh but spindly fries, a spoonful of coleslaw and a pot of ketchup. I hadn’t realised that my meal was paying for a large part of the beauty pageant as well.
When the bill arrived, the beer I’d ordered was the first item, and the cost was 20 cents more than the price printed on the menu. Now I know that 20 cents is nothing to someone who can drop nineteen bucks on the rib order I’d just finished, but I was keen to know why there was a discrepancy, so I asked our server to find out. What followed put me in mind of that Monty Python sketch where the diner makes a small comment about the slightly dirty fork. The restaurant manager personally came to the table to explain that the bar manager had been taken out and shot, but not before they had deducted the cost of the beer from the outstanding wages to be paid to his widow and kids. OK, it wasn’t as dramatic as that, but they did take the beer off the bill when all I would have wanted was a correction. I can’t walk past a crooked picture without straightening it either.
I must say that one of the reasons for going to Joey’s was the glowing reports I’d read on this website. My experience was a little less impressive. Oh, and the valet parking stops when the rain starts.