Fig Tree Cafe — Restaurant in San Diego

This review is directed solely towards the management of this establishment. I strongly believe our terrible experience and this review both could have been avoided if some sort of management could have taken the time out of their apparently unbelievably busy schedule to speak with me. My boyfriend and I arrived at the liberty station location about 930am on a Thursday morning. We were sat on the patio seeing that we had brought our pup along. Waters were immediately brought to the table by a man and then about 5 minutes later our server came and asked us what we'd like to drink. We both ordered coffee and I let her know we were ready to order as well. After I ordered, my boyfriend was disappointed to hear they had run out of the entree he had chosen. He asked for some time to look over the menu some more and when she returned he decided on the breakfast burrito. The service at this point was good except you could tell our server was overwhelmed. Our coffees sat empty while waiting for our food. When it arrived, the person who dropped it off did not offer coffee or ask if we needed anything. Our server finally checked on us after several minutes had passed. We told her what we needed and a couple minutes later a man arrived with everything we asked for but still no coffee. Getting more and more frustrated as the time passes I attempted a few times to flag down another member of the staff and was shocked to see several workers just standing around while our server was swamped. She finally returned with the coffee and I told her we were ready to go. Both of us barely touched our food seeing we waited so long to get the condiments and coffee we were looking to enjoy with our food. At this point we just wanted to leave. Unfortunately, we could not go just yet because our check was wrong. I don't blame the server, she was so busy and none of her Co workers seemed to care. After finishing up our much waited for coffee, I decided to let a manager know about our sub par experience in hopes someone can learn from this. I walked up to the host stand and asked her if a manager was available. She said she would go get her. She then returned and said "my manager is on a conference call so she can't talk to you, have a nice day." I stood there for a second absolutely dumbfounded. Not only is the manager not on the floor for one of the restaurants busiest parts of the morning but apparently I was not important enough to speak with. Seriously??? Having worked in several restaurants throughout my career, both as a server and manager, I was absolutely taken back by all of this. Still willing to give this manager another try I decided to call the restaurant after lunch service was over. About 2pm I called the liberty station location and asked to speak to a manager. I was told she was not there but she still be back later. I then told them I was looking to speak to her about a bad experience I had in the restaurant. She said the manager will probably be too busy to call me that night but should be able to call me tomorrow. Once again, I could not believe what I was hearing. Feeling helpless, I gave her my number and waited. Now, here I am writing this review because I never received that call I was promised. I honestly hope you don't have any issues when you visit this location because if you do, good luck getting a manager to give a care about it. We will certainly not...

Title: The Symphony of Self

In the vibrant city of San Diego, where the sun kisses the ocean daily, lived Gio, a woman whose charm was as calculated as a chess grandmaster's final move. Gio was not just any woman; she was an orchestrator of emotion, a maestro of manipulation. Her beauty was her instrument, and her narcissism, the score she played to.

Gio's days were spent in the chic cafes of Little Italy, her laughter ringing out like bells, always calculated to draw eyes. Her smile was her currency, spent generously on men who fell for her staged vulnerability. "Oh, I just forgot my wallet at home," she'd say with a flutter of eyelashes, and dinner would be paid for, her meal free as the air, compliments of her latest admirer.

Her Spotify premium, a luxury she deemed necessary for her curated life, was often a topic of conversation. "I can't stand ads interrupting my day," she'd sigh, and somehow, by the end of the evening, a new 'generous friend' would gift her a subscription, under the guise of wanting to hear her playlists without interruption.

Gio's life was a performance, and her apartment near Balboa Park, a stage set for her narratives. She'd invite suitors over, each time rearranging her space to tell a story of her supposed wealth or taste, all the while using their gifts to furnish her life. Her emotional manipulation was an art; she could make you feel like the sun shone for you alone, only to leave you wondering what went wrong when the warmth vanished.

Her financial abuse was subtle, woven into her charm. "Can you help me with this bill? It's just temporary," she'd plead, her eyes wide with feigned desperation. Men, caught in her web, would help, not realizing they were funding her lifestyle, not sharing it.

But Gio's greatest performance was her self-objectification, a paradox where she controlled the narrative by letting others believe they had control. She'd post on social media, selfies with captions like, "Who will buy me dinner tonight? 😘" or "Just realized my Spotify premium ran out... anyone care to restore my music sanctuary? 🎶" Each post, a bait, each like, a validation of her worth.

One evening, while dining at a trendy eatery in La Jolla with Johan, a hippie restaurant entrepreneur with a heart too big for his own good, Gio's game began to unravel. Johan, with his love for organic, sustainable living, had been her most generous sponsor yet, often inviting her to his eco-friendly eateries where the conversation flowed as freely as the organic wine. But tonight, he brought a friend, an old college buddy, who recognized Gio from a different life, a different city, under a different name.

The friend, with a mix of amusement and pity, revealed to Johan her modus operandi, her history of leaving a trail of financially lighter men across states. Johan, confronted with the truth, watched as Gio's mask slipped, revealing not anger, but a cold calculation as she calculated her next move.

Gio left the restaurant alone that night, her charm armor dented but not broken. She knew there were always more cafes, more dinners, more subscriptions to obtain. Her story was not over; it was merely the end of an act. As she walked away, her heels clicking a staccato against the San Diego pavement, she was already composing the next symphony of her life, where she would always be the star, even if her stage was built on the...

Worst breakfast experience in San Diego starting from the very beginning. Rarely will I ever leave a negative review, but if I could give 0 stars I would. It started with getting on the list, told it was 30-40 min wait and we patiently waited 45 min, watching couple after couple that showed up after us get seated figuring maybe they had checked in and left and come back, and then when we asked found out they had never actually put us on the list. Once we finally got to a table (after another 15 min), our server Daniel took 10 min to show up, took our order, and it took 20 min just to get our drinks. Never saw our server Daniel again. We had to ask the host to check on our drinks and he basically just told us, sorry, our other bartender just left and we’re backed up (apparently coffee and cold brew is too tough to grab). Our food came out and the banana foster French toast was really just regular French toast with some bananas chopped up and tossed on it. The chicken sausage omelette was actually pretty decent, but the service was terrible. Did I mention we never saw our server again in the entire hour we were there? The bus boy cleaning the table next to us was the highlight of the experience. We had asked for a couple items that were missed on our meals and drinks and he got them right away. He was awesome! I had to go to the bar to ask for our check since our server never came back to our table (in a section that was only half full). I signed the check right there at the bar and asked to speak to the manager. The server pointed them out to me and said he’d be right over. He made eye contact with me, then turned around and walked the other direction. It wasn’t till we walked out that another manager, Refina, caught up to us on the street as we were getting in our car to ask if there was anything she could do (maybe comp a check next time???). Told her we would not be back but I appreciated her following up. There’s a dozen other places you could go, Richard Walkers, Original Pancake House, Snooze, Breakfast...