Michael and I went out tonight with friends to one of our favorite restaurants in Santa Barbara.
Actually, Sly’s is in Carpinteria but thanks to chef James Sly and his wife Annie, it attracts discerning diners from near and far. Never mind that the menu is so packed with tempting items that you wish you could order everything on it. The point is that whatever you do order is cooked perfectly and served by a knowledgeable and friendly waitstaff. Always. That’s what I love about the restaurant: the consistency. Well, I love the ambiance too; for a place that’s upscale it’s never snooty or pretentious.
Tonight I had Dover Sole, which I haven’t ordered in years. It was light and buttery and sweet, and I savored every morsel. Among my side orders was a dish of sugar snap peas, talk about sweet; they tasted as fresh as if they’d just been picked from the fields.
But the best reason to go to Sly’s is their famous sundae.
Oh my God. I don’t know what they put in that hot fudge sauce but it doesn’t taste like any HFS I’ve ever had. And don’t get me started on the whipped cream and candied pecans.
There was only one sour note during the evening. We were halfway into our meal when a party of eight sat down at a nearby table and were incredibly noisy. Why is it that women make the biggest racket when they drink? Their laughter sounded more like shrieks and it forced us to yell across the table at each other. Do people scream like that when they’re home? Probably not. So why must they do it when they’re out? Makes no sense to me.