So I go out with my cousin on Thursday for our monthly keep-in-touch lunch. We decide to go to Restaurant Eugene, because I keep hearing it's wonderful. Lunch is great (Oh-my-gosh the chicken livers! there's a phrase you don't hear very often...). I get a to-go box of my leftovers and head back to the office, where I discover, to my chagrin, that whomever packed the box included my roast chicken and the lone remaining asparagus spear, but did not put in the leftover sublime polenta. I, being in favor of schmancy places having schmancy service, give the restaurant a call and tell the nice lady (very nicely) that they might want to remind their servers to include any remaining sides when packing up to-go boxes. I figure the next person won't get stuck without their polenta and I've helped the restaurant - I also figure that's the end of the matter.
Half an hour later, I get a call on my cell phone from Rick, the manager, who has figured out who I am and tracked me based on the info I left for the reservation. Rick's message says something along the lines of we're so sorry about the polenta - can can we run some out to you so you can still enjoy it tonight? By the time I get the message, I'm on my way home to Fayetteville and dinner rush is starting, so I figure I'll just call and say thanks in the morning.
I call Rick on Friday afternoon to thank him for taking it seriously and explain about Fayetteville and all that and he asks where my office is - it's in Midtown - Would you like me to bring it to you now?- Are you serious? Yes!
Long story slightly shorter, less than an hour later I am in posession of a pint of unbelievably good polenta, a cookie and an overwhelming need to tell everyone I know that Restaurant Eugene is the place to go for service (as well as the best chicken livers ever). If you get the chance to go, dress up and get yourself down there.