Restaurant Review: Pike Grill

The gray clouds loomed ominously but I didn’t care. The weather was stunning and so was my companion. We strode into Pike Grill, her with some trepidation at its seediness and myself with the confidence of a big, bad motherfucker. It was a small place. A steel bar dominated the view and one patron nursed his drink like a mother badger. He didn’t look up. In the corner two fat men sat in jovial company. They gave us a glance and I returned it full of trouble. The lone waitress was startled.

We sat at a table with a view of Wilson Boulevard. Cars drove past with purpose. A single menu lay on the table, its pages graced with pictures of Bolivian dishes. Our waitress didn’t speak a lick of English. My companion spoke a lick, a single lick, not even enough to reach the center of a Tootsie Pop, of Spanish. This lick and the help of the English-speaking chef was enough to order a steak and chicken dish with a starter of plantains.

As we munched on salted corn kernels, an old Caddy – its insignia torn off years ago – roared into the tiny lot. A single man came out of the car. He left the engine running. In his right hand was a nine-millimeter with a meter-long silencer. Its twin lay nestled in his left hand. He was a badass. He ignored everything but the man at the bar.

“Prepare to die.” The man at the bar was still except for his hands, which played sensuously with the liquor before him. The badass was completely still except for a single vein throbbing angrily on his forehead. As a new song began its rhythms and the fat men laughed, the man at the bar, suddenly, turned, a gun in his hand. A single shot through the head ended his life and the badass left the restaurant, his mission accomplished.

The rhythms were intoxicating and the food came out. My chicken was decent but failed to reach the heady heights of the Peruvian joint down the street. My companion’s steak was excellent, and the spicy chimichurri a perfect complement, like my companion’s beauty to my swagger. With relish, we finished the food. The price was fair. I paid the bill and tipped our server. She spoke her only English words (“Bye Bye”), the man at the bar was gone and the fat men laughed.