I suspect many Roseville residents, along with a majority of the Sacramento area will have never heard of The Terraces of Roseville, let alone had the privilege of dining at this members-only resort.
This restaurant–excuse me, “dining room”–does not take reservations. Nor does it take walk-ins. You have to know someone to get into this must-eat establishment.
And the food? Oh my God, let me tell you.
First of all, a bouncer at the door takes your name, the member of whom you are a guest, and the time you arrived. It’s like trying to get through the gate at Paramount Studios or something.
And I’ve never seen a dining room so spacious. Talk about having room to stretch your legs. Why can’t parking lots be more like this? I mean, without the chandeliers.
And before you think this is a prison, I can assure you that those blurry criss-cross lines in the foreground are part of the window decor, not some maximum security crime-deterrent. Members are free to come and go as they please.
But anyway, back to my review of the restaurant.
My host is such a regular here that she gets the same table every time she comes, so we sat just to the left outside the picture above.
I was so impressed with other guests. They were so quiet… and so… uh… okay, they were old.
The club membership application process is really complicated and it takes practically your whole life to even qualify, so it shouldn’t surprise anyone that the people here are somewhat…aged.
As we reached our table, a server immediately poured coffee and water. The menu here changes daily so it’s always various and surprising.
As soon as I saw “Chciken Cordon Bleu” on the menu, I knew I had to have that. The chef must be incredibly innovative and inspired to whip up his own creation of something called “Chciken”.
The Terraces of Roseville is world-famous for its gourmands, having themselves traveled the globe to find wondrous palate-pleasing foods. Did you catch their recent appearance on Good Morning California where they prepared “Sgapetthi” that was nothing short of mouth-watering? I think you can still catch it via OnDemand or hulu.com.
Intrigued by this latest addition to the menu, I decided to embark on a trail few have tread upon, and The Terraces did not disappoint.
Get a load of this!
You wouldn’t know it by looking at it, but it surprisingly smelled and tasted just like its North American cousin, the chicken. How did they do it??? Geniuses, I tell you.
And the dessert? Forget about it.
Why don’t they just call it Manna from Heaven instead of misleading us with “Vanilla Custard Pie”? I mean, really. To die for.
Did I mention the view?
So much greenery! You could drown in that kind of foliage.
And the salad bar?
This food. It never ends!
And let me go on and on about the atmosphere. I can’t begin to tell you the awesomeness of zero children running around screaming.
And for once, it was nice to finally have some mature conversation around a luncheon table. I dined with three ladies old enough to be my grandmothers (actually, one of them was indeed my grandmother) and some of the conversation between my two not-grandmothers went like this:
Lady #1: I got the veal.
Lady #2: What?
Lady #1: I got the veal!
Lady #2: Oh.
(three minutes pass)
Lady #2: How was it?
Lady #1: It was all right.
I tried to tell her she should get a Twitter account because she would easily fit in there, but she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. How rock and roll is that? Acting too cool for Twitter! I decided right then and there, I had to be her friend.
If you’re not squirming with jealousy of me by now here’s two more words:
I don’t why I’m telling you all this, since you’ll probably never get a table. Try as you might, you’re not getting into this place. If you call and make a reservation now, you’ll be lucky to get a seat in about 20 or 30 years, longer if you’re younger.
But if you’re a total suck-up, I might bring you with me some time, although I have to admit, I kind of like being the only person I know who has eaten here.
And holding it over you. Boo-wha-wha-haaaaaa!