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.
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.
1 comment:
You are fuckin hilarious.
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