Bluebird Bust

Dear Besties,

Last night I insisted, nay demanded, that my friends meet me at Burlington’s most hyped resto, the Bluebird Tavern and Gastropub, for a little spot of supper. A little spot is about all we got, so I’m glad they didn’t come expecting a meal.

Let’s back up a tick. Whenever I read about anything that is crazy hyped, my palms start to sweat and my ears get fiery red. I think I just get a little uncomfortable at the idea that something is too cool for school. And, because I am a so-called journalist, my bee-ess alarm starts jangling in my head. I ask myself, why are people getting all hot and bothered about this? So of course, I had to employ that question when everyone started drooling over the Bluebird Tavern months before it even opened. Yesterday, I figured I’d get to the bottom of it. Just call me Nancy Drew.

The seven of us rolled in to the Bluebird and set about trying to decipher the menu. I say decipher because I practically needed a secret decoder ring to figure the damn thing out. Now, I’m not some fine-dining neophyte. I know my poutine from my terrine (and I’m good at rhyming) and I didn’t just fall off the proverbial turnip truck. But this menu stumped me. Was it a tapas menu or were the dishes big enough for one person’s dinner? I feel bad for the servers there who must have to tell people over and over and over again that the plates do not really contain enough provisions to sate a full-sized human. But at Bluebird’s fairly insulting prices, they should be.

Once we decoded the menu, we ordered. For the table we got pots of pickles and some tomato bread. We nibbled on those for about 35 minutes until our “main dishes” arrived. Around the table there were mussels, clams, a heart attack double burger, frites, some overmarinated vegetables, a fistful of oily pasta, a dish of kale the toughness of old sneakers and a wafer-thin squash and ricotta flatbread slightly longer than a chocolate bar. This was not nearly enough food for this high-metabolism crew. But with average prices cresting the $15 mark, we’d have to get our sustenance somewhere else.

The service was mediocre and I thought our server was a bit standoffish, but perhaps that’s because she had to give an academic recitation of the menu to every one of her tables. I have to admit to feeling not only crestfallen at the fact that my food, and that of my compatriots was not exactly filling or all that scrumptious, but also angry at the hype around this place. I feel like I was duped. And the prices were offensive.

For all their local, seasonal spiel, it doesn’t seem like they’re using a ton of local ingredients. Their meat-heavy menu doesn’t really take advantage of the great agricultural bounty of the area. I’m sure my leathery kale was local and hopefully the heirloom tomatoes and micro-basil in my forkful of pasta were also from the area. Fingers crossed the frites were local, but I’m not sure there are too many local potatoes yet. The beef, we were told (but only because we asked) was from Boyden Farms. But what of the rabbit? And the lamb? Of course, the many seafood dishes weren’t local. I would have liked it if they promoted the local products they were using on the menu so I could see where my food was coming from.

We left the Bluebird feeling underwhelmed, stomachs grumbling. We hightailed it the closest creemee stand and ended the evening on a high note, albeit quite a bit lighter in the wallet.