Hunger… it’s a funny thing, take cannibalism for example. How bad do things have to be before you decide to eat Steve? I guess desperate times, call for desperate measures… and my desperation led me to the land of the people who don’t stop at stop signs, drive 10 minutes to the nearest grocery store and whose weekends comprise of picking out tiles at Reno Depot or driving their kids to soccer. Wait, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t headed out to the west to eat humans, but my desperation to find quality Creole cuisine led me 25 mins down the 40 into D.D.O.
Eating at a bad restaurant is like getting a tattoo when you’re drunk – in the moment it seems like a good idea, you pay, don’t remember what just happened and then wake up regretting it the next morning. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been out to eat, looked at my bill and not remember a thing of what I just ate, pay then shake my fists all the way to the car. That’s why I usually base my restaurant outings on suggestions or buzz I’ve picked up from my restaurant spidey senses. Although I know that not everyone has the same tastes, I’m one to always give something a shot and I love to try new things. That’s why when the senses were buzzing about this new spot downtown I knew something was up, also the fact that someone suggested the place to me and had high praises for it solidified my decision of checking out Deville Diner Bar on Stanley, right in downtown.