Euzkadi | 108 E. 4th Street

A little something about me: I’m always on the lookout for an amazing paella. EUZKADI, a truly authentic Basque restaurant in the East Village, always delivers for me. I went for the first time about a year and a half ago and I’ve been back many times since. It’s a great place to go with a date; it’s a great place to go with friends. It’s just a great place all around. The one drawback is that every time I have gone there (with a reservation each time), I’ve had to wait at least 45 minutes for a table. I’m not saying don’t make a reservation – definitely do – but just be prepared to wait for an hour in a cramped space jammed between the bar and a row of tables while the host scurries about variously guiding people to tables, trafficking the wait staff, and changing up the music on the laptop in the corner. To his credit, the music selections are lively and enjoyable, if a little Euro-pop – but hey, you’re in a Basque joint. Get into it.

For those who don’t like to wait, EUZKADI is not for you. For those among us who are patient enough to suck it up and have a few drinks while waiting for an amazing meal, pick up the phone and reserve a table. I suggest making a reservation for a time about an hour before you anticipate being hungry enough to chew off an appendage; it smells good enough in there and you spend so much time staring at other people’s food, you may actually reach that point. One fabulous thing about the folks at EUZKADI is that they are acutely aware that their system of “reservations” is a joke. Because of this, I have many times received a comp drink or two while I wait, “with apologies.” So kudos to them for knowing how to placate me: free booze. All others take note.

When you finally get your table, although you’ll be ravenous hungry and possibly drooling, take a look at the wine list. There are a lot of really tasty Spanish wines at very reasonable prices. The homemade sangria is also boozalicious, so if you’re in the mood for something sweet, I highly recommend it. Once you’re actually seated, the service is swift and attentive and the wait staff is knowledgeable about all aspects of the wine and cuisine. Right off you’ll get the breadbasket and an amazing olive tapenade. I want to kidnap whoever makes this, chain them to my kitchen counter, and have them make it for me morning, noon, and night. I always end up eating more bread than I should because the stuff is just magical. But try to restrain yourself from getting a loaf deep before you get any starters because I have yet to try one – salads, tapas, pintxos, cazuelitas, appetizers – that I haven’t enjoyed. Especially notable are the Spanish cheese and charcuterie plates, the endive salad with Spanish blue cheese, the chorizo cazuelita, and the rosemary goat cheese-stuffed shrimp wrapped in Serrano ham. A word of warning about this last dish: do NOT attempt to share the shrimp – you may end up in a fistfight with a friend or lover.

Now, on to the paella, which is why I first came to EUZKADI and a main reason I keep coming back. It’s fab. I can’t say it enough. The Paella Mariscos, specialty of the house, serves two (though you can definitely split it between three people if you’ve sufficiently gorged yourself on tapenade-smeared bread and starter plates). It arrives at the table in the cast-iron pot in which it was made to order, and they really get it right. The top layer of rice forms a perfectly crispy crust while the grains below remain moist and delicious, infused with the flavor of saffron and the chorizo-chicken-seafood mélange above. A testament to this paella’s power: I went on a date here once with a man who was NOT a fan of seafood, but after I forced him to agree to the two-person paella, he actually found himself really enjoying it. I won both ways on that one – I got to eat amazing paella AND I got a nice, solid “I told you so” out of it. So, thanks, EUZKADI, for the shit-eating grin I got to wear for the rest of that night. I’m sad to report that I’ve never made it past my entrée; by the time dessert rolls around, I’ve already eaten my weight in meat, cheese, and carbs. The desserts look good when other people are eating them, though. One of these days it will happen, EUZKADI – wait for it. I’ll be back soon.

Suba | 109 Ludlow Street

SUBA, a Lower East Side restaurant notable for what it calls its “innovative Spanish cuisine” and its “stunning” décor, really failed us this past Saturday night. Upon arrival, my partner in crime realized that she had been there before and had been unimpressed, to say the least. She had previously eaten at the bar on the entry level (which, I might add, was completely empty at 8:45 on a Saturday) but we decided that, since we were already there and wanted to sit in the lower-level “Grotto area” for the ambiance, we would give the place another try. Bad call.

First of all, let me say thank you to the host, whose Christian Siriano-inspired Flock of Seagulls hairdo really set the tone for the rest of the evening – a hot mess. As we were being guided down the stairs to the Grotto, a seating area situated above a ground-lit pool, my nostrils were bombarded with the smell of chlorine – conjuring a picnic lunch at an indoor public pool, yummy. When seated, we were given no warning that the seats had no real back railings and that, if we were not mindful, a purse, coat, or cell phone could take a disastrous dip in the standing water beneath us. Luckily, we are both sentient beings and realized quickly that we needed to properly stow our personal items. This brings me to a main point about the service at SUBA: it sucks. It really, really, really sucks. We ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from our freakishly tall waiter and asked for tap water. The bottle arrived relatively quickly and he poured our first glasses, but then he took the bottle from the table and we didn’t see it for another half and hour – and then another half and hour after that. I would have had no problem with the fact that they took the bottle away from the table to keep it chilled if the guy would have refilled our glasses in any sort of timely fashion – he didn’t. He also didn’t bring us any water and proceeded to fill the water glasses of the table on either side of us whilst our glasses remained bone dry. Thanks, buddy.

The amuse bouche was brought out and served by a random member of the wait staff without explanation. I still don’t know what the hell it was. It tasted fine, but I generally prefer to know what it is I’m eating. The same, seemingly mute employee then proceeded to bring out the breadbasket and pour olive oil into a bowl, which he, in his infinite wisdom, placed on the corner of the table approximately four inches from my elbow. Our waiter eventually came back (finally bearing water) and we decided to go with a selection of tapas to share instead of one of their more substantial rice dishes. I’m a sucker for a cheese plate and some tasty charcuterie, so we ordered the selection of four Spanish cheeses and the meat plate with thin-sliced Serrano ham, chorizo, and salchichon, served with pan con tomate. To round out our order, I got the albondigas – pork/veal meatballs with Manchego cheese served with a pork reduction; my friend, who is not physically capable of seeing octopus on a menu and not ordering it, got the Pulpo a la Plancha.

I can sum up this last dish in a word: blech. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to serve a very nicely cooked piece of octopus with chunks of heavy potatoes, but that plate of food was a lukewarm mess from start to finish. The potatoes looked like something my dog would pinch out on a street corner, the octopus was brutally salty, and the dish lacked acidity. The meatballs, while they were tasty, were fairly tough in their consistency, and the “plate to share” consisted of three ping-pong ball-sized meat spheres. I will say that the selection of meats and cheeses was delicious, but neither of those dishes requires anyone to actually cook anything. Perhaps if the meats or cheeses were made in-house I could add something positive to this review but, as it turns out, the cooks at SUBA have a meat slicer and they aren't afraid to use it! Way to go, guys. I’m super impressed. Also impressive was the reaction of our waiter - Gigantor - when a woman at the next table found a hair in her food: “Well, if you haven’t lost your appetite already, I can bring you a new one.” Super.

I will close this review the same way I closed our meal – with an absinthe-based cocktail they call the “green fairy.” What is green about it, you may ask? Well, I believe the moniker “green fairy” actually refers to the guy who brings you your cocktail and does a tableside presentation which consists of – get ready for it – dumping green Pop Rocks into your cocktail with a spoon. Our green fairy also chose to preface this act by explaining to us that it was pointlessly stupid and added nothing but a green tint and some fizz to the drink. Uh, sure. Bring on the Pop Rocks, guy.

In summary, don’t ever go here. The food is unimpressive, the service is laughably awful, and the inexplicably acclaimed ambiance of the place is fabulous in theory only. The only miraculous thing about this restaurant is that it provided me with the drive and material to wake up early this morning, hungover, and start up this blog so that I could slam the place. So, thank you, SUBA – you’ve been an inspiration to me and I’ll never be able to sufficiently show you my gratitude. The tip I left certainly didn’t.