On Saturday, we aged several years while attempting to eat crepes on Smith Street. After taking a seat at the half-full Crepe Factory, several staff people glide right by and smile spacily at us, but no one brings us menus. Fifteen minutes later my boyfriend ducks over to the counter and picked them up, which prompts a friendly waitress to apologize profusely and animatedly. She returns to take our order, but the diet coke we'd requested never appears. When we finally ask about it, another waiter starts elaborately miming spraying motions and explains that the dispenser was broken and that the first waiter probably hadn't known.
A half an hour later: no food. Friendly waiter ambles by, beams at us beatifically. When we mention our order she looks blank, then horrified, offers us a free dessert, and scrambles away to put in the order. The same routine repeats itself with desert: long wait, polite inquiry, embarrassment, mad rush.
Needless to say, when the bill came, she had forgotten to make the dessert free, which provoked a long conference at the bar between her and several other employees.
Anyway, they deliver. But you might want to order ahead. Way ahead.