Chima

My stroll through the restaurant did find one happy stop, at the bar, where head bartender Greg Woerner launched into a fascinating lecture on cachaça, the Brazilian sugarcane spirit that fires up his superb caipirinha cocktails. Chima's good collection ranges from the woody, traditional Velho Barreiro to the smoother modern style of Cognac barrel-aged LeBlon. And Woerner's passion for the drink, doled out in tiny samples, mixed cocktails, and historical commentary, was a pleasure to share.

It seemed to even moderately improve my luck with Chima's kitchen. The bar's limited menu of a la carte nibbles - like the chunks of rare ribeye or bowls of warm cheese popovers served with smoked turkey spread - were more satisfying (and a less expensive commitment) than the all-out fixed-price feast in the dining room.

Unfortunately, Woerner is Chima's corporate bartender, and is scheduled to leave to open the chain's next branch in North Carolina. And the remaining wait staff is not impressive. In a restaurant where their duties are more table maintenance and drink orders than anything else, I spent the night gazing around for more water, staring at crusty plates left over from the salad course, and wiping blue cheese mousse from cutlery no one bothered to change when the gauchos came with meats. We were also charged for a drink we hadn't ordered - a goof that was quickly corrected.

That didn't prevent our server, though, from laying on a sudden burst of personal attention when the bill came. He placed his hand on my shoulder, gave it a soft, icky squeeze, and told us: "Just so you know, cash tips are great because our payroll goes through Brazil."

It is an odd and unexpected transcontinental detour for that local tip to travel. But after so many puzzling and unsavory moments at Chima, why am I not surprised?