It was a Wednesday night after a two and a half hour class. I naively drove to the nearest sit down restaurant, a hole in the wall called, The Mango Tree, on South Reynolds Road. As well as the middle-aged man behind me, there sat a group of employees who worked at an area pool installation company. The waitresses were old and rustic, and the décor as if a mirror of the restaurant in John Candy’s “The Great Outdoors.”
I ordered a house salad with Caesar dressing, and received, of course, a Caesar salad. I also ate an amazing turtle soup, though it tasted, looked, and felt like beef with a hint of fishiness. Finally, I asked for a ten ounce strip steak, which Mango hand cuts. I requested bloody, explained as rare and juicy. The steak arrived dry and unseasoned, with nifty grill marks and a lemon wedge.
There is a strong debate as to whether any restaurant on Reynolds Road is worth the trouble. And for years I passed by Mango, almost knowing deep inside that I’d be disappointed. Being hungry is like a drug.