- 整體 5
- 食物 4
- 服務 5
- 氛圍 5
One does not simply visit Wally’s—one indulges in its unpretentious charm, a rare bastion of consistency in an otherwise fickle culinary landscape. Let us begin with the Llama Malbec, a sanguine pour as velvety as a bespoke smoking jacket. At a mere $10 during their aperitif hour (a phrase far more palatable than the gauche “Happy Hour”), it is an astonishingly reasonable tariff for such robust sophistication.
Now, the BLT Iceberg Wedge: a composition that nearly ascends to greatness. The components are, in theory, faultless—hickory-smoked bacon, crumbled with finesse; vine-ripened tomatoes, blushing with ripeness; pickled red onion, offering a piquant counterpoint; and creamy bleu cheese dressing, which I regrettably must address. The grilled chicken, an addendum I endorsed, was indeed succulent—a triumph of protein.
Alas, the execution stumbled at the final furlong. The salad arrived drenched, my dears, as though the kitchen had mistaken the wedge for a sponge in need of saturation. A wedge, by its very architecture, ought to be a crisp, structural marvel—a cathedral of lettuce. Drowning it in dressing reduces it to rubble. A gentle profferment: Always request the dressing à côté. Chopped salads, while fashionable in certain nouveau circles, are a folly here. The wedge’s integrity is sacrosanct.
Yet let this critique not overshadow Wally’s virtues. Their commitment to reliability is a rare gem in today’s gastronomic carnival of fleeting trends. I shall return—armed with the wisdom to safeguard my lettuce—for there is comfort in knowing some establishments still heed the call of timeless standards.
Final note: To the chef—a lighter hand with the dressing, and you shall have perfected the art of the wedge. Until then, I remain… steadfastly loyal, if mildly vigilant.