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I think we’ve previously established I love the newly discovered Blind Pig.

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Their cocktail list can not be beat and I’m trying my damnedest to work my way through it before the fall rewrite.

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Pear mojito? Sorry… I drank it too quickly to get a photo.

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Candy apple margarita? Yes please.

But then it happened.

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My spinach artichoke dip? Dry and tasteless.

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The husband’s riblet appetizer? Tough, fatty and bland.

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Even the comical shirt worn by this waitress couldn’t take the sting out of bad food.

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My lemon pepper baked haddock was nice, though the addition of squash chunks in the risotto left a lot to be desired.

But my husband has never been thrilled with this establishment’s menu, and I fear the era of his making do because I love the cocktails has reached its conclusion .

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This tomato bisque was the last straw. It had smokey bacon and some weird spice mixture that totally turned my other half off. I knew it was coming, but when he said he wasn’t in any hurry to return?

Oh! The horror!

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I slowly savored one last blackberry bramble and silently prayed I could change his mind.

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