In Mother Russia, there are no substitutions

Wow.  What a great dinner.  Cas had a gift certificate for The Woodlands Grill.  It is on the Northeast corner of Preston and Forest, where you don't really expect much in the way of fanciness.  It shares that corner with a number of businesses, most notably, a grocery store.  There's a nail salon, a Chipotle, a Jimmy Johns, a discount hair salon and a bunch of other storefronts that don't exactly scream out "fancy restaurant-adjacent."  Still, it was a beautiful place and we ate wonderful food.  When the wine was all gone, the waitress with the thick Russian accent informed Cas that he should get me another glass of wine.  I said I was fine, and she said she was from Russia, and she admitted, "we drink a lot."  I believe I have heard something like that.

She was funny.  He wanted the house special, but he is not crazy about the sides that were offered with the dish.  He asked if he could make a substitution, and she started making recommendations.  This lady was all about making recommendations.  We had narrowed our appetizer choice down to two items, and when we told her which ones, she recommended three totally different items.  When Cas admitted he was no fan of broccolini, she recommended something else.  He had already planned out what he was after, but she kept firing away with a list of stuff he didn't want.  When he finally said he wanted the pasta side, she seemed to disapprove.  The same thing happened with dessert.  We had it all narrowed down to the cobbler or the brownie.  She sang the praises of the crème brûlèe and some kind of cake.  We went brownie.  She seemed really determined to sell us on her favorites and let our personal tastes and preferences be damned.  We didn't listen.  We got exactly what we wanted, and everything was beautiful and delicious. 

By the end of the meal, I was more interested in a nap than anything else.  It was an embarrassingly large amount of food, and I left no forkful behind.  It was too good to be modest or make a sorry effort at manners. 

After we finished up, we asked the host to take a photo.  Cas was saying the other day that he didn't have enough photos of the two of us together.  He took a kind of cute one, so here it is- this is what it looks like just after we eat far too much fancy food.