The Pirouette Cafe opened its doors last month in downtown Bellevue. My friend, the SBW (short blonde whirlwind), called me up this morning and insisted we try it. Because I fold easily under peer pressure, I agreed.

The cafe is located in a building that’s in one of those small lanes off the Main Street part of town, where everyone wants to pretend they are funky and individual. If you’re familiar with Bellevue it’s where the Whiffletree used to be. I stay far away from the area whenever possible. The food’s never as good as I hope it’s going to be, and it’s usually overpriced.

Pirouette is no exception. SBW pronounced her meatball minestrone to be good, and the caprese salad to be “ok” (it looked pretty good by the way but I don’t think she’s had one before. I’ve never seen one with a flatbread and on a bed of lettuce, but you get to expect that every chef has their own special way to mess around with a dish). When she got her bill, her eyes bugged out. A small cup of soup ran $5.99, and the salad cost her $8.99. She confessed she hadn’t read the board very clearly, and had thought the $8.99 was for both. No way, lady — you’re in my town now.

On the other hand, I was deeply disappointed, and prepared to be. I had dubiously ordered a “morning or afternoon tea” — an item on the menu which supposedly came with tea, butter, jam, fresh fruit, and either the cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, or the egg salad sandwiches. What’s missing? You’re right: no scones.

Sure enough, when my dish came out, there was no scone. On the side appeared a plated of sliced french bread that tasted like it came from the QFC up the street, and butter and jam. I got one large bitesized piece of canteloupe, and a handful of grapes. I have a small hand. My egg salad sandwich was quite flat, very bland, and toasted. I ground my teeth and tried not to remember the giant egg salad sandwich I had stuffed my face with, at the Main Street Bagel Deli a couple of months earlier. Hadn’t that one cost about $10 too? OK relax, lady, and sip your tea.

The owner came out and chatted with us for a while. That must be the nicest thing about a new restaurant — people are always interested to know what they are doing right and wrong. John obviously hasn’t heard of Seattle Freeze, and he was perfectly amiable and obviously excited about his new venture. I couldn’t make myself tell him that everything was overpriced for what I was getting — besides, here I was in the middle of “Old Bellevue” so what right do I have to tell him to price it like he’s working out of the Crossroads Mall? Instead I stuck to the basics: if you use the term “afternoon tea” be prepared to field a lot of “WHERE’S THE DAMN SCONE” questions, and what the hell is up with the egg salad, anyway? John explained which market they were catering to (retirees). Oh. Well, in that case, you better keep it all bland.

As a final step, we ordered a few desserts to try out. Our waitress Jubilee brought out the tier trays of dessert. They were from a local organic bakery, and were tiny. All were priced at $1.75. SBW was ecstatic. Like all women I know, she’s constantly watching her weight and moaning about how any time you go out to a restaurant, they serve up a giant dessert when all she wants is two bites of something. Well, she, and probably every single woman heading into that cafe has gotten their wish. Tiny little extravagant desserts which are really very tasty (although still just a tad expensive for my taste) and if they’re organic, that means they are good for you, right? Right?

So, I really want to like Pirouette. I like the name. I like the waitress’s name. I like the people who run it. I like the space — it’s light and airy. I need a place where I can go and drink tea and eat something very small and sweet. I just can’t order any of the meals, is all. There’s nothing wrong with what I ate — it’s just that it tastes exactly like I made them. That ain’t right. And I really, really, hope that changes in April, when they finally get their kitchen built, and the crepe machine comes in. Imagine. Crepes, and no having to drive over to 611 Supreme? That’s like a dream come true. I might even pay extra for that.

Oh, and John’s handy hint about my bland egg salad — tell your waitress you want the chef to jazz it up a bit. Maybe next time I’ll tell them to pile up the egg salad a bit more, too. And nix the dubious-looking fruit and give me a scone instead.

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