Friday, November 12, 2004 Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville

Changes in Attitude: The hostesses at Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville seem as lost as the famed shaker of salt

Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville is a colorful spot on the Strip that's nearly always busy. Photo by John Gurzinski.

Pages from the Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville Our-Guests-Don't-Have-a-Clue Training Manual:

• When we arrived at the hostess' podium, she told us the wait would be at least an hour and a half. I actually wasn't surprised, because they don't take reservations, a convention of thick-necked men was in town, and, in my experience, thick-necked men tend to love places that sell burgers and beer and play beach music. If we had had a choice, we'd have moved on. But, as I've told you, this job has its shortcomings. One little problem: They were out of pagers. So she gave us a piece of paper and told us to come back in an hour for one. And I'm wondering, Geez, Jimmy, this is a high-volume place, and you're kinda raking it in. How much do pagers cost, anyway? And if you tend to lose them because people decide they don't want to wait an hour and a half after all, maybe you should install a box for pager drop-off, like other high-volume restaurants. If you still tend to lose a lot of pagers, see sentence beginning, "And I'm wondering, Jimmy..." above.

• We decided to relax in some comfortable chairs on the other side of the sprawling, fully stocked gift shop that, for your convenience, provides a place for you to browse for that hour and a half (and that you have to pass through in order to enter the restaurant). I had a hunch the restaurant and bar didn't exactly use Riedel crystal, but still figured maybe they, like most other non-casino-owned casino restaurants, weren't too keen about glasses walking out the door. I try to be a nice person, so I asked the hostess if it would be OK if we got drinks at the bar and took them to the chairs to wait.

"Sure," she chirped. "This is Vegas. You can drink anywhere." And while I was thinking that Metro might take a little exception to that statement, I also was thinking she'd totally zoned the question. But that, of course, was before I saw that everyone at the bar was drinking out of plastic cups or beer bottles. So I'm still thinking, but at this point it went like this: "Hmmm. Jimmy Buffett equals Florida Keys equals endangered coral reefs and, right in the neighborhood, an $8 billion Everglades restoration project, which equals environmentalists." Even if they recycle all of those plastic cups, that doesn't seem very environmentally friendly. (See sentence that begins "And I'm wondering" above.) And I'm also wondering why the bartender didn't ask if I wanted it frozen or on the rocks. And while $6.50 for a weak Margarita isn't bad by Strip standards, it is when it's for a weak Margarita in a plastic cup. (See sentence beginning, "And I'm wondering" above.) So here's a little piece of advice: If you do choose to wait an hour and a half, use the time to walk down to the Westward Ho, where you can get a weak Margarita in a plastic cup for 99 cents.

• Back we went in about 45 minutes for a pager, at the second hostess stand because you have to do this sort of yellow-brick-road thing before you can get a seat. This second hostess looked at our slip of paper and coolly told us only 30 minutes had passed. And while I was wondering why that mattered and again, why they didn't have enough pagers, I also was wondering if she is a product of Clark County schools because she clearly couldn't do the math. She did give us a pager after we promised we wouldn't do it again.

• When our pager went off, we showed up and identified ourselves as (insert made-up name). Another hostess picked up menus, looked at us and walked away. Did she want us to follow her? Heck if we knew, although we did it anyway because we were hungry and the pager wasn't that appetizing. Maybe she could've said, "Right this way, please." Or "I'll show you to your table." Or even "Follow me." Or anything but " ". When we arrived at our table, she said, "Here." Not, "Will this table be all right?" Not "Is this OK?" Just "Here." And then, "(name withheld) will be your waitress." And I'm withholding the waitress' name here only because she turned into a fairly OK server once things quieted down a bit, after starting out like a cur.

A cur. There's a good word.

Yes, they were busy. Then again, they're probably always busy, because there are a hell of a lot of people who come to this town wanting nothing so much as to waste away in Margaritaville. So they need to get used to it. And that's not even considering that being busy is not an excuse for blowing out your service standards.

Oh, the food? I can't seem to spell the sound-effect I'd use, but it translates to something along the lines of "OK." The Cheeseburger in Paradise ($8.95) was nothing special -- more like a Cheeseburger in an Overcommercialized Restaurant -- but it was OK, and the onion rings on the side ($1 extra if you get them instead of fries) were really good -- crisp-crusted and not greasy.

Volcano nachos ($8.95) was a huge pile with lots of jalapeños and some pretty spicy chili, plus guacamole, sour cream, tomatoes, scallions and a bunch of other stuff. Huge, hearty and a sure bet with the thick-necked men, I'm guessing.

Jamaica Mistaka Wings ($7.95) didn't live up to their name, which is a good thing because it breaks every rule in the Restaurateur Common Sense Dish-Naming Guidebook. They were nice and meaty, and their habanero-honey sauce had a decent depth of flavor that belied the fact that after a couple, the fire in them would sneak up and kick us in the butt. Tricky.

Rudy's Barbecue Ribs ($15.95 for the half-rack we chose, or $18.95 for a full) failed to deliver on the promised "secret spice blend with Dominican-inspired guava barbecue sauce." We don't know who Rudy is, but he needs to get out more. I wondered if the Dominicans in question were Dominican nuns.

And finally, the Mango Creme Brulee ($5.95). Considering the ubiquitousness of creme brulee these days, pretty much everybody has figured out how to caramelize the sugar so the custard doesn't carry the consistency of ground glass. Pretty much everybody except those who work at Margaritaville.

So, OK, I know I've been mincing words; what did I really think? That the atmosphere is pretty cool, with its boat booths and airplane-fuselage booths and amazing views of the Strip. That I don't get why, when they had a band in the lounge being shown upstairs on closed-circuit TV, they had different music coming out of the speakers. That it's not a bad place for a burger and is probably a place everybody should experience once, but no way is it worth and hour-and-a-half wait.

That I now know what a pirate does at 40 (or, actually, 57): He counts his money.

Las Vegas Review-Journal restaurant reviews are unannounced and done anonymously at Review-Journal expense.