Somewhere between the straight-from-Winn-Dixie hamburger bun collapsing to pieces and side items like Ruffles potato chips (which, sadly, taste just like Ruffles potato chips) and one packet of “fancy ketchup,” one thing becomes clear: This restaurant lacks artistic risk.
Café Risque is a Micanopy-based dining establishment owned by Asher Sullivan III of the Floridian food-famous Sullivans. The restaurant is characterized by romantic, dim lighting accented by neon lights.
The menu, however, is deficient of the luxurious, gasp-inducing cuisine typically found in restaurants with French-sounding names.
Instead, patrons are treated with a bland mix of Americana. Hamburgers. Bacon hamburgers. Eggs. Omelets. BLTs. Chicken sandwiches. Chicken wings.
And let’s not start with the equally yawn-inspiring drink menu, which is nonexistent. Café Risque does not offer any alcoholic beverages, meaning thirsts for a pre-dinner Trimbach Riesling or an Austrian Pepper Grüner Veltliner will go unquenched.
Any hope for the stimulating conversation that only accompanies fine drink is dead the moment you walk in the door — a perplexing element considering the restaurant prides itself as a great place for upwardly mobile men to meet nice young ladies.
Sadly, the lack of palette diversity overshadows the most positive aspect of the Café: its service. The restaurant is, without exception, staffed with friendly people.
Patrons are told to sit wherever they’d like and are not pressured into ordering food until they’ve examined the menu. Of course, the café’s menu is so humdrum that customers will likely be disappointed before even meeting the friendly servers.
Once you order, however, the staff will check in every five minutes to ensure you have exactly what you need. After eating for about 15 minutes, I became overwhelmed with the attention I received.
One waitress, a youthful girl named Skyler, even asked if I would like to dance with her “in private.” Being your dedicated food critic, I declined to focus on the “fancy ketchup.”
Skyler’s request was unique from all other establishments I’ve critiqued and seemed a little too forward. But perhaps that is a result of my New York elitism not blending with the down-home warmth of southern ladies.
Speaking of which, the gender of the café’s personnel seemed oddly disproportionate, as every worker was female. This could have happened simply by chance. Maybe the schedules of every female worker coincided with that particular Monday afternoon.
Regardless, the efficiency with which this all-women staff ran the café should be celebrated as a sign of female power and an affront to all chauvinistic men. Oh, how Sojourner Truth and Susan B. Anthony would smile!
The only complaint about the staff would be their overall flippant attitude toward attire. Several waitresses dressed unprofessionally, and some overtly flaunted their sexuality in an attempt to garner tips. With that type of attitude, the waitresses cost the café a spot on my annual list of great places to impress a date in northern Florida (out this December).
Despite their friendliness, patrons will understandably worry about receiving food from the waitresses. If they don’t care about their dress, assuming they don’t care about hygiene is not a stretch.
Alas, these worries are quelled the moment you walk in the bathroom, where a sign reads: “All Employees Must Wash Hands.”
Rating: 2 stars out of 5
