Crockett’s Public House In Puyallup, Washington Is Terrible

We ate there after a con recently – it seemed like unpretentious food and it had a lot of good reviews – and were astounded at how bad the food was. The hamburgers were tasteless mush (I ordered medium rare and got medium well), the salad was “the worse I’ve ever tasted” and “had some bits still frozen.” One guy said his meatballs were good, but they only served three not-very-large meatballs, which for $17 seems not worth it. No one was happy, and on the drive back to Portland we had to make extended use of the travelers rest areas.

I felt embarrassed, since I was the one who looked up “where to eat in Puyallup, Washington” and recommended we eat there (although a couple of locals told me it was good). In all, our table probably spent $150 on that meal, and it was virtually all a waste.

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4 Responses to Crockett’s Public House In Puyallup, Washington Is Terrible

  1. 1
    gin-and-whiskey says:

    man, I hate it when that happens.

    Who fooled you? Zagat? Yelp? Chowhound? Local papers?

  2. 2
    Ampersand says:

    I think the culprit was Urbanspoon. Plus a couple of locals I asked.

  3. 3
    Marcus the Confused says:

    The worst meal I ever had was at a restaurant called Woody’s in Stratford, Ontario. Before I relate this tale of gastronomical criminality I would like to say that I in no way hold Stratford responsible. It is in fact a wonderful town best known for the Statford Festival (it is also know as the hometown of Justin Bieber, but I don’t hold that against them). It is a beautiful town, a true artistic community, with many great restaurants – a true foodies delight.

    But a turd can hide in a pile of diamonds and that turd, for over a decade, was Woody’s. It has become a tradition for my mother and I to spend four or five days a year in Stratford enjoying the theater, the other art venues, the beautiful riverside parks and, of course, the fabulous restaurants. Rarely have we ever been disappointed by anything; the few times that we have, our experience at Woody’s ranks at the top.

    The silverware and the drinking glasses were dirty.

    The waitress acted like we were an imposition.

    The pop I ordered was warm.

    The salad consisted only of lettuce and a salad dressing that I’m pretty sure was nothing more than ketchup mixed with mayonnaise… and the lettuce was still half frozen with bits of ice in it.

    The lettuce on the under cooked cheeseburger (served between two slices of wonder bread) was also frozen.

    The greatest culinary offence, however, came before the entree. I love escargot and when I saw it on the menu I ordered it for an appetizer. Apparently the chef did not know that you are supposed to wash the brine off of it… but that’s not the worst… oh no, that is nowhere near the worst offence committed.

    Those of you who consider yourselves foodies and connoisseurs of fine dinning might want to sit down for this.

    I swear on all I love and hold dear that I am not making this up.

    The escargot was… wow… after all these years this is still difficult to say.

    Okay Marc, you can do this, just take a deep breath and… the escargot was topped wi… wi… with… with Cheeze Wiz!

    Seriously! I mean it! I really mean it! I am not making that up! THE ESCARGOT WAS TOPPED WITH CHEEZE WIZ!!!!!!!

    My mother and I looked at each other as if we had entered some sort of surreal alternate universe or something. I could almost here Rod Serling saying “for your consideration. A man and his mother enter a seemingly harmless eatery unaware that their culinary innocence is about to be shattered…”

    After that felony against the taste buds, the “salad” and “cheeseburgers,” seemed like mere misdemeanors. We didn’t even bother to protest. We just paid for our barely eaten “meals” and left (I didn’t even tip… and I believe in being a generous tipper), confident that the laws of economics would soon toss Woody’s onto the ash heap of history.

    And therein lies the biggest mystery of all. Woody’s continued to survive. Perhaps they got better and our experience there was an aberration or the growing pains (their growing, our pains) of the owners learning the restaurant business. After ten years we decided to give them a second chance.

    Well, the cutlery was clean, the waiter agreeable and the pop was properly chilled. Escargot was no longer on the menu but the food we did order was… well… it was edible but that was the best one could say about it. We left still perplexed about how Woody’s had managed to survive all this time.

    Last year we saw that Woody’s had finally gone out of business and was replaced by a coffee house. My mother and I considered going in but couldn’t work up the courage. Maybe next year.

    Maybe next year.


  4. 4
    Ruchama says:

    Worst meal I ever had wasn’t horrible for the food so much as for the service. It was a restaurant called Max’s Il Tartuffo. My family and another family went there together on New Years Eve of 1987. I was six at the time. Between the two families, there were four girls, ages 6 through 9. Someone had recommended this restaurant.

    So, we order. I order spaghetti with tomato sauce. The waiter says, “No meatballs?” I say no, spaghetti with tomato sauce. The waiter says, “You must have meatballs! You cannot have spaghetti without meatballs!” I look to my mom for help, and she says, “Order what you want.” I say, spaghetti with tomato sauce. The waiter says, “It is impossible! You cannot have spaghetti without meatballs!” I say fine, spaghetti with meatballs. Everyone else orders without incident.

    Once the waiter leaves, I’m not so sure about the meatballs. I really just want spaghetti with tomato sauce. My mom reminds me that I like meatballs, and that meatballs are good, and finally, I actually get excited that I’m going to get some meatballs.

    The waiter comes back. They’re out of meatballs, he says. I start crying.

    There are no other customers in this restaurant, by the way, which is pretty weird for this area. The food takes a while to come out. All us kids are trying to be good, but even for well-behaved kids, there’s a limit to how long we can keep up restaurant manners. About 45 minutes after we’d placed our order, the waiter comes out again. He tells us that he just got into a fight with the chef, and the chef threw all our food on the floor, so we’re going to have to wait until he cooks it all again.

    At this point, my mom starts suspecting that the restaurant is run by the mob, and wants to leave. My dad also suspects that the restaurant is run by the mob, but is afraid we’ll offend them if we leave. (In the area where I grew up, “this restaurant is run by the mob” isn’t actually a far-fetched conclusion. There were several where we knew that for a fact.)

    About an hour after that, the food arrives. It’s cold. My dad insists that we do not complain to anybody, and that we leave a big tip so as not to offend the mob.

    The restaurant closed a few weeks later.