After golf today (Don Templin, 94; some guy named Peter, 95; yrs trly, 89, though reprimanded by Royal Oaks personnel for wearing shirt untucked; Adam, requested that his score not be posted; Eric, did not finish round), we went to lunch at Ozona. (Hello to the FrontBurnervian who shouted, “Hey! Get back to posting on FrontBurner!”) We took a seat on the patio — the patio upon which we heap praise in our upcoming July issue. I was prepared to order the chicken-fried steak — the chicken-fried steak that we called the best in Dallas a few issues ago. And we waited. And we waited. No server to take our drink order and tell us she’d be right back. In fact, worse: there was a server, but she walked by our table several times without even stopping to say she’d be right with us. I’m guessing we sat there somewhere between five and 10 minutes, being ignored. And then we went and ate across the street at Desperados. And you know what? After we named Ozona’s chicken-fried steak the best in town, we heard more than one complaint about the service there.
Ozona, your food is good. Your patio is lovely. But your service needs attention. You’re on notice.
