Category: Reviews

So let's be real here -- I have many Japanese (and Japanese culture-phile) friends who know their soba and take it very seriously. If you put a bowl of handmade soba and a bowl of packaged cheapo soba in front of me, I hope that I'd be able to tell the difference. But I don't know that I could; I haven't had enough experience with soba to call myself an authority by any means.

But still, it either tastes good to me or it doesn't, right? So you can take my layman's review with a grain of salt (or a drop of shoyu, I guess). Last night, three friends and I went to Sobakoh, the new soba place in the East Village. At 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night, we were expecting a long wait, but were pleasantly surprised that we got a nice roomy fourtop in the back of the low capacity but very roomy restaurant. I liked what I saw -- dark veneer tables offset by white wood in the front, and bright but not blinding incandescent light fixtures overhead, so I could see my food and my good-looking companions. To those places with little to no light, I ask, what are you trying to hide? Or what do you think I'm trying to hide? I like to be visually stimulated by my food, visually stimulated by my dining partners. And sometimes I like to read when I eat. So let there be light, dammit!

I digress. We go over the perfect-length, uncomplicated menus together as we sip what I believe is sobacha, a sweet-edged, mild cereal tea made with roasted soba bits. How could we resist the specials? Last night's list included a small bowl of perfectly cooked asparagus and a mild white sesame sauce, which was lovely and plain; a lovely, refreshing salad made with translucent ribbons of shaved daikon, with various crunchy green veggies, a touch of shaved bonito, and a soy/yuzu dressing; and a super silky crab chawan mushi that I could have eaten 5 of.

From the regular menu, we shared the miso-marinated, grilled duck breast, which came sliced and fanned on the plate with a blob of freshly grated, olive colored wasabi, and a small pile of completely unnecessary, disgusting little sprouts. But the duck was really interesting, each reddish piece with a wide toupee of fat -- as Chris said, "It's like duck bacon! I love when bacon can be made from something other than the pig." And unlike D'Artagnan's duck bacon, it had a thickness that really gave it a lovely bacon lardon texture.

Finally, our generous bowls of hot soba came out, along with a little shichimi togarashi dispenser. Sobakoh hand makes their buckwheat noodles, and the beautiful noodles have the slightest variations in uniformity to indicate it. The broth really sings, with a little soy sweetness and a slight acid finish -- it has the perfect amount of salt for a noodle soup, enough to season the noodles, but not so much that you can't drink it down alone. The little bits of mitsuba provide the tiniest bit of crunch and herbacious freshness. And the soba was fantastic, as far as I could tell -- very lovely texture. I must balk a little at the price though. The plain soba (which would be really amazing on its own) is $9.50, while the shrimp tempura soba is $18. That means that the one (albeit large) shrimp tempura floating and getting soggy in my soup was $8.50. It was pretty tough on each end too -- I couldn't quite tell if it was overcooked or just the nature of the steroid shrimp.

My dining companions ordered the fried soft-shell crab soba, which looked delicious too, but I didn't try it. Sobakoh also serves plenty of cold soba, which I hear is quite good and the way to go, but it was all about the broth for me, which I think was as good as Honmura-An's -- and the portions get you much closer to being full at the end of the meal. (Whereas at Honmura-An, while the duck soba is divine, I always have enough room for a hamburger afterwards.)

Grade: A-

Total: $33 per person, for my share of four appetizers between four people and a bowl of ebi tempura hot soba.

Will I return? Yes. Next time, as long as the weather is still cool, I'd like to order the vegetable tempura hot soba. And when it gets hot, what could be better than that cool daikon slaw and some cold soba with dunking sauce?

Sobakoh

309 E. 5th St., between 2nd Ave. and 1st Ave
212-254-2244

F Train to 2nd Ave., 6 train to Astor Pl., R train to 8th St.

If I could actually open a window at the office I'm working in, I could probably spit on the Shake Shack.  Not that I'd want to.  Because today, I went down at 11:45 to beat the lunchtime crowd for the first of what will probably be many artery-assaulting visits over the course of the summer.  After a five minute wait on line to order and another 7 minutes waiting at the pick up window on this gorgeous spring day, I had 18 minutes left to wolf down my lunch.  It's a shame, because I'd love to be one of those park loiterers, enjoying a slow lunch by the gurgling fountain under the budding trees of Madison Square Park. 

I went for the classics for my inaugural meal -- a junior whopper sized Shack Burger with American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and "Shack sauce", cheese fries, and a root beer float with their frozen custard (think Mister Softee, except made of real cream, tastes good and actually melts).  I was pleasantly surprised by the superiority of each item.  The burger was perfect -- savory and flavorful with excellent browning along the crisp edges, on a pillowy but not fragile bun.  I can't say the Shack sauce tasted like anything special -- in fact, it needed a little ketchup help.  The crinkle-cut fries were well-seasoned and perfectly crisp, with a melted American cheese sauce that began to congeal quickly as it cooled, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.  The crowning acheivement was the root beer float in a tall waxed paper cup, one large blob of incredibly creamy and light vanilla frozen custard floating in root beer bubbles.  Portion sizes are perfect for me, but others might find them a little meager.  When I'm eating this kind of food, it feels much better to not overdo it; that way, I don't have to feel guilty about going back very, very soon. 

Grade: A

Total: $11.50 for a Shack burger, cheese fries, and a root beer float

Will I return?  Yes.  Possibly Saturday.  Possibly sooner.  I'm intrigued by the Shack Trilogy (Shack burger topped with mushroom and...another burger?) and the concretes.  Where else are you going to get Valhrona chocolate chunks to mix in your ice cream?

Shake Shack

Madison Square Park
At 23rd St & Madison Ave

R train to 23rd St., 6 train to 23rd St., F to 23rd St.

Our stretch of Sunset Park isn't particularly glamorous. I often need to get my milk and eggs from Mobil On the Run, occasionally stocking up on cans of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni for my more desperate moments. Our closest supermarket is a National, where a teenage kid standing by the entrance waits with numbered clothespins to check the bags customers walk in with. And my house is only a few blocks from an astonishing variety of fast food joints -- McDonald's, Taco Bell, Subway, Blimpie's, White Castle, and KFC. As much as I used to love me some KFC when I was a kid, my last encounter with the Sunset Park Colonel was a contentious one -- the foyer entrance smelled like someone had been pissing in it (which I'm sure someone had), and my oil-soaked, soft-skinned Original Recipe was nowhere near as good as it smelled. Disillusioned (with emphasis on the "ill"), I decided not to subject myself to such gastronomical masochism anymore.

But there's a new kid in town, and though he has the misfortune of wearing an apron that looks an awful lot like a diaper, my new spicy Latin lover has seduced the fast-food hater in me into remission. Last night, my roommate and I left the house on a whim for a party in the West Village, chugging two glasses of cava before we got on the train. I had one more glass of champagne at the bar and proceeded to sink sleepily into a booth for the rest of the evening, propping my boots up on the weathered leather. The next afternoon, on the hangover walk to the greengrocer for fruit salad ingredients, the devil in me said to my roommate, "Wouldn't fried chicken be great right now?"

"Oh yeah, we could get KFC on the way home," my roommate said.

"No, no, I meant Pollo Campero."

Lucky for me, my roommate is easily tempted by evil food suggestions, and after we made the fruit salad, we promptly refrigerated it and headed back out in the rain to get fried chicken.

We each ordered a three piece meal with two sides and took a seat at one of the bright orange tables in their extremely clean, pleasant dining room. Minutes later, a green uniformed worker delivered a tray with our plastic plates. For a fast food joint, I have to say that Pollo Campero's chicken tastes very fresh, never exceedingly greasy. Every crevice, every square millimeter of surface area is saturated with the reddish-orange blend of their own savory, fragrant, distinctly Latin blend of spices, encasing tender, moist flesh. And the skin! Oh, fried chicken skin, how appalled my mother would be if she knew how much I loved you -- so intensely well-seasoned, so wafer-thin and crisp, so rich and without starchy excess. Let's face it, fried chicken is all about the yummy, crispy skin. The equally crisp, light, and very hot tostones with a gentle sprinkling of salt were better than most fries I've had, especially dipped in the excellent roasted green tomatillo salsa from their generous salsa bar. Unfortunately, the dinner rolls are a travesty, they never seem to have biscuits when I'm there, and the tortillas are just tortillas. The real revelation comes with the beans -- tender pintos are stewed in a tasty chorizo-packed sofrito sauce. As my roommate said, "This may be the best fast food side dish ever." Their cole slaw and mashed potatoes with gravy taste like concessions to their adopted home -- certainly not worse than KFC's, but not an improvement either. I wish there were more veggie options for sides -- a little green goes a long way when you're eating this many fats, proteins and starches in one sitting.

The folks at Pollo Campero are not exactly Ray Kroc's model of efficiency -- today, I had to wait 8 minutes while they finished preparing the mashed potatoes (which I'm sure meant reheating the frozen package). And when I placed an order for a 12 piece bucket the day of our Super Bowl watching party, the lady at the counter told me they ran out of chicken -- could I wait 9 minutes for a fresh batch? I had about 20 minutes to get back in time for the start of the game (which I could really have cared less about, but I wanted the guests to have time to appreciate the chicken before the football could steal their attention). I ran out the door with my square handled box o' chicken and managed to catch a steamy, super-packed bus back home in the nick of time, overwhelming all the crushed folks packed in there with the fatty fragrance of fried food. The happy party guests agreed through their munching -- nine minutes is a small price to pay for incredibly fresh, crisp fried chicken and a guarantee that my dinner hasn't been congealing, unloved, under a heat lamp.

Grade: A-

Total: $7.33 per person for a three piece meal with two sides and a soda

Will I return? If I can manage to walk into Pollo Campero instead of Tacos Matamoros, my favorite taqueria across the street, then yes. I'm really into inviting people over to share a bucket of chicken and a salad while ignoring a major sporting event on TV.

***
Speaking of TV, maybe I should have a Tacos Matamoros Contender finale party. Do you guys watch? Best show EVAH. Go PETAH!

Okay, you know I love City Bakery, with its Greenmarket-reliant savories and perfectly chewy-crisp chocolate chip cookies.  Yesterday after work, I headed over there to get a pre-rehearsal light dinner.  Pickings were a little slim over at the salad bar, so I loaded up on tuna salad and egg salad, passing on the 70 cent baguettes hunks at the end of the line.  As I waited in line to weigh my plate, a counter person floated by with a tray of still warm pretzel croissants, leaving an almost tangible buttery breeze in its wake.  Naturally, I ordered one as a supplement to my my salads, along with one of those chocolate chip cookies. 

I moved my feast to the upstairs dining area and spread out at a corner table.  The pretzel croissant was still radiating warmth from its core, already staining the pulpy plate with its buttery goodness.  I put one croissant tail in my mouth and bit down -- the salt wash across the top stimulated my saliva glands, and the crisp and flaky layers gave way to a slightly sweet, steamy, elastic core of whole wheat flecked pastry; with every chew, the sesame seeds burst into their savory song.  I sat there feeling quite self-congratulatory, knowing with great certainty that I had ordered the best thing on the menu for that particular moment in time at that particular place. 

Grade: A

Total: An eyebrow-raising $19.77 for some veg. and protein selections from the salad bar, a lemonade iced tea, a chocolate chip cookie, and the most seductive, divine croissant experience I've ever had.

Will I return?  Mos def.  I can't stay away, really.  I'm looking forward to raspberry lemonades, fried green tomatoes, maple baked seckel pears and lemon tarts with strawberries.  And whatever else comes fresh off the cooling racks.

City Bakery

3 West 18th Street

btwn 5th Ave. and 6th Ave.

Monday through Friday, 7:30 am - 7:00pm

Saturday, 7:30am - 7:00pm

Take the N Q R W 4 5 6 L to Union Square, or the F to 14th St.

Sunday, 9:00am - 5:30pm.

This town needs another pseudo-hipster sushi/cocktail joint like I need a gall stone. But there we were, a mini-posse of three college buddies in Union Square, looking for an affordable dinner where we could sit and hear each other. We waited by the bar for about twenty minutes in this fairly loud two-level eatery, trying to drown out the vanilla sounds of the New Age-y sitar trance in the background, half-heartedly looking over the extensive bar menu of ho-hum lychee libations and lame "exotic" drinks with names like "Enter the Dragon." (Restaurants, please note: you cannot have a section on your menu called "Champagne cocktails" and then only list drinks made with prosecco. Just like you can't slap a Washington Square pigeon on the grill and call it poulet de bresse. So quit trying.)

We managed to get a table in the upstairs area, looking out over the rest of the gabby, squarish crowd in a long but narrow booth. We got hot steaming hand towels (which I think should precede every meal in any kind of restaurant) and looked over our menus. Or rather, we squinted closely at our menus because there was no light to read them by, except for the colored fluorescents highlighting the extensive selection of alcohol behind us at the upstairs bar. When we were able to spelunk our way through the whole menu, holding the little tealights up by our foreheads, we got a few apps to share and a few rolls each. We each got our own little black iron tetsubin of green tea, along with a small and civilized tea cup, but it was so damned dark in there that I couldn't tell how much tea I had poured in. I kept worrying that my cup would run over and spill all over the table.

The crispy duck spring roll with hoisin sauce came on an unexciting bed of dressed chopped romaine -- it was a little greasy, but the spring roll had a pleasant crispness. The agedashi tofu was perfectly fine, and the edamame were good enough. I ordered the crispy oyster roll, which was doused in that sort of sticky brown eel sauce and a spicy tuna roll, and both were just fine -- though you really could have put crispy fried shoelace rolls in front of me and I wouldn't have known the difference because I couldn't see a god-damned thing. Haru's greatest achievement is that it is completely indistinguishable from any other dime-a-dozen fusion sushi joint in this town. The food is pedestrian, the atmosphere dark and bland, the people-watching not particularly interesting. If you're really not a good-looking person and want to hide your frightening visage from a blind date while you get them shitfaced on fruity saketinis, this is probably the place to do it. Just keep an eye on the wait staff -- as our bored waitress cleared our dishes, a spent edamame pod slipped off the dirty dish and gently plopped into my companion's glass of water. When we asked for another glass of water, the waitress sent the busboy over with a pitcher for refilling, not replacing. But hey, she probably couldn't see a thing in there either.

Grade: C+ (The plus is for the hot hand towels)
Total per person with tax and tip: $35
Will I return? No. There are so many incredible eateries -- why waste my time on anything less? I'd rather spend my $35 eating a salad and an entree at Gramercy Tavern's front room where at least I can see what I'm eating. These poor eyes of mine certainly aren't getting any better, dagnabbit. Love, Gramma.

Haru
Park Ave. @ 18th St.
N R W 4 5 6 L to Union Square

I'm working down the street from the Rickshaw Dumpling Bar and decided to pop in for a light solo dinner a couple of weeks ago.  I ordered six fried Peking duck dumplings with Shanghai noodles in shiitake soup.  The thick dough finally gave way to mushy, soggy cabbage filling with a meager allowance of sad, stringy duck.  Any spices purportedly swimming around got lost in the opaque brown shiitake soup, which tasted like those packaged Chinese brown mushrooms -- all musty, salty, and single-note.  The overcooked noodles were pointless.  I give better marks to the well-dressed $3 Asian greens salad addition, though the salad is not reason enough to waste a meal at this overhyped, overpriced joint.  I feel the same way about that press junkie the Dumpling Man.  You're better off with the five for a dollar fried half moons on East Broadway, or the lovingly rendered mini-mandoos at 32nd St.'s Mandoo Bar.

Grade: C-

Total: including tax (no tip required): $12

Will I return?: No.  If I'm in the area and need a snack, I'd rather hit the Whole Foods or walk a couple of blocks down to City Bakery for a cookie and a portion of mac and cheese.

Rickshaw Dumpling Bar
Asian
61 W 23rd St
Btwn 5th & 6th Ave
212-924-9220

F train to 23rd St.

**Regina Schrambling agrees.

After a successful trip to Century 21 in Brooklyn for bed linens yesterday, I needed a ladies' lunch to sate the hunger I'd worked up after some hard shopping. Since there is no Ritz-Carlton down in Bay Ridge, I settled on Pho Hoai, a little Vietnamese restaurant at the corner of 86th St. and 4th Ave., right by the R train station.

DECOR: Are all Vietnamese restaurants in the city decorated by the same person? Why do they all have the fake bamboo tiki counter with the Christmas lights? Well, whatever, it was clean and well lit enough for me to read my book.

SERVICE: I went to the ladies' room only to find that the industrial sized dispenser was out of T.P. I saw no TP rolls anywhere. I went to the guy at the counter.

ME: Hi, um, there's no more toilet paper in the ladies' room.
COUNTER GUY: (stares back blankly)
ME: Um, so, um, is there...any...toilet paper?
COUNTER GUY: (stares back blankly) Okay.

There was really no way for me to know whether or not my message made it through to central command. So I held it. Sorry, kidneys.

FOOD: The pho with beef balls was serviceable, though the broth was not as rich and marrow laced as others I've tasted. The beef balls were of the chewy tendon-filled ilk, which I don't really mind but I don't particularly like. As always, I burned my tongue on the hot spring rolls, which were so crunchy they scraped all the flesh from the roof of my mouth. I'm still healing. And I'm laying off the Listerine for a while. But with the complimentary pot of hot tea and a nice four-top all to myself, I can't complain. Hey, it's better than the McDonald's down the street.

Grade: B
Total with tax and tip: $11
Will I return? Maybe, if I need to shop in Bay Ridge again. Towels at the home store are hella cheap and will make good presents. And someday, they're going to have some Marc Jacobs flats in 39 1/2, and when they do, I'll be full of pho and ready to pounce.

Pho Hoai Bay Ridge Restaurant
(718) 745-1640
Cuisine: Vietnamese
8616 4th Ave/86th St.
Bay Ridge
R train to Bay Ridge

This cozy Japanese teahouse is tucked at the top of a walnut stained staircase on the Little Tokyo block of 9th St. & 3rd Ave. The dark wood bench along one wall is lined with still-green tatami; a silent stone fountain sits on the floor just off the center of the room; a hobbit sized replica of a traditional paper-screened Japanese tea room takes up a sixth of the precious real estate in this one room tea haven. Tea is served with all the rituals and flourishes a traditionalist would want, but the friendly gray robe clad waitresses are anything but stuffy. Try the Tibetan pu-erh tea, so dark and syrupy-rich it could cut through the most devoted coffee-lover's iron-palate. Cha-an also has a selection of alcoholic libations, including a green-flecked sake mojito in a delicate crystal tumbler and a sake based lychee cocktail. The desserts are definitely worthy companions for the top-notch tea -- we loved the crisp, feather-light, properly toque-shaped warm chocolate souffle, with its slender shotglass of fuchsia raspberry sauce. I ordered the superb black sesame creme brulee, which was topped with a melon ball scoop of black sesame ice cream, icy milk sliding down the tongue with the rich, warmer custard and the crackly brulee layer. The special of the evening was a sakura flan, more like a wobbly panna cotta, in the palest shade of spring green -- it was made with the leaves of the cherry blossom tree. And the best treat of all? Cha-an's bathrooms have specially imported toilets from Japan that you have to test-drive to believe.

Grade: A
Total with tax and tip per person: $16 for dessert and tea
Will I return?  Definitely.  I have to order that chocolate souffle for myself and put the walls up so I can really savor it.  Besides, I need another excuse to use the facilities again.

Cha-An
Hours: 10am-10pm (7 days)
Payments: Cash Only
Address:
230 E.9th St.
New York, NY 10003
212-228-8030

REPORT: 'INOTECA

TEAM EAT DRINK ONE WOMAN:
GANDA, eater, lover
DONNA, private events manager at a renowned Chicago restaurant
JUSTIN, Donna's brother, cook and student at the Culinary Institute of America
JACKIE, Justin's girlfriend, also a cook and student at the Culinary Institute of America

TEAM 'INOTECA:
HOSTESS
WAITER
SOMMELIER
MANAGER

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: Have a friendly, relaxing meal on Friday night.

7:00 p.m.  TEAM EDOW arrives at 'inoteca.  HOSTESS tells us kindly that we may wait at the bar, our table will be ready shortly.  We drink in the atmosphere -- large, bustling room, festive LES crowd, dark wood, delicious looking bowl of olives and exciting looking cheese spread in the glass enclosed work area.  'inoteca has received raves from several of TEAM EDOW's friends. 
MOOD: excited anticipation.  DEFCON 5

7:10 p.m.  HOSTESS leads us downstairs to basement dining area.  Walls are lined with beautiful bottles of wine and champagne.  Room is filled with spacious, weathered wood tables.  TEAM EDOW sits down at a six-seater set for four.  WAITER brings us extensive, detailed menu.  TEAM EDOW must mind meld to figure out what to order. 
MOOD: fascination.  DEFCON 5

7:25 p.m.  Glasses of water all around.  SOMMELIER is consulted for wine choice.  After careful deliberation and consideration, TEAM EDOW orders:
1 bottle of red wine, 3 glasses (GANDA does not consume the red wine)
1 warm brussels sprouts with pancetta appetizer
1 beets, mint, oranges, hazelnuts salad appetizer
1 truffle egg toast, plain
1 truffle egg toast w/bottarga
1 polpette plate
1 gamberetti wrapped in bacon plate
1 assorted affetati plate (charcuterie)
1 assorted cheese plate, 7 types
MOOD: Hungry and happy.  DEFCON 5

7:35 p.m.  Red wine is poured for DONNA, JUSTIN, JACKIE.  Warm brussels sprouts, beet salad, and cheese plate arrive with plenty of thinly sliced soft bread.  TEAM EDOW digs in.  Appetizers very enjoyable.  GANDA especially enjoys the sugar sweet beet salad, toasted hazelnuts are a nice touch.  TEAM EDOW a little perplexed that the cheese comes out so soon, but TEAM EDOW are hungry and happy to have stuff to eat.  While explaining what cheeses he has chosen for us, WAITER knocks over JUSTIN's just-poured glass of wine, red liquid spilling in GANDA's direction.  GANDA hands over her napkin.  WAITER cleans up the spill on the table and brings one extra napkin for JUSTIN.  GANDA takes new napkin to mop up wine spots on her arm.  GANDA must ask WAITER for another napkin.  WAITER does not offer another glass of wine, nor does he refill JUSTIN's wine glass.  JUSTIN refills his wine glass himself.  Appetizers are finished.  TEAM EDOW stares at empty, dirty plates and waits.  And waits.  And waits.  And orders another bottle of red wine.
MOOD: Perplexed, but trying to stay light.  DEFCON 4

8:05 p.m.  WAITER apologizes for delay, trying to crack jokes.  WAITER says, "Good thing I'm an entertainer.  And good thing my table's half drunk."  GANDA says, "Actually, we are three quarters drunk," pointing to the other three people at the table.  WAITER says, "Yeah, I better go up to the kitchen and tell them there's one person at the table who's paying attention."  TEAM EDOW laughs at his jokes, but not as enthusiastically as they did earlier.  TEAM EDOW requests new plates and silverware in order to not have to look at the dirty, empty plates any longer.
MOOD: Somewhat uncomfortable.  DEFCON 4

8:30 p.m.  DONNA notices that though the party at the table next to TEAM EDOW were seated after we were, they have just gotten their second round of courses. We ordered almost an hour ago.  WAITER notices the same thing, then rushes to the kitchen to find out what's going on.  WAITER rushes back to the table to apologize, explaining, "What happened was, we sent the kitchen your ticket through the computer, but the ticket printer ran out of paper, so your order didn't print up for them.  I'm really sorry, but they're going to do your order next, and I told them to rush it."  JUSTIN and JACKIE, kitchen vets, generously tell WAITER that they understand, though they also explain to DONNA and GANDA, "In our kitchens, when one printer runs out of paper, the order just comes out of the next printer." 
MOOD: Annoyed, but still attempting to have a good time.  DEFCON 3

8:45 p.m.  Surprisingly quickly, the remaining plates come out.  Famed truffle egg toasts have too much bread and not enough egg; melted fontina on top is rubbery, with barely enough truffle oil to tease.  While trying to saw his way through the bottarga truffle egg toast, JUSTIN causes half of it to go flying onto the floor.  Assorted affetati (speck, bresaola, mortadella, salami) are pedestrian, not as good as what you might get at the Dean and Deluca counter or DiPalo's.  Gamberetti are overcooked.  Polpette are blanketed in some orange marmalade sauce. 
MOOD: Somewhat mollified that food has finally come out, but still wondering why no one has tried to make TEAM EDOW feel better about the major front-of-house faux pas.  DEFCON 3

8:55 p.m. WAITER comes by with a check in a glass to a thoroughly confused TEAM EDOW.  He says, "Here's the check, as I'm sure you know we have someone waiting for this table."  TEAM EDOW says, "What?  Huh?  What are you talking about?"  WAITER says, "Nobody told you?  Nevermind, nevermind," and quickly slips away.  TEAM EDOW looks at their 1/3 finished plates and wonders what just happened.
MOOD: Confused.  Not thinking about food anymore.  Really wondering whether wait staff is drinking on the job.  DEFCON 2

8:56 p.m.  MANAGER comes and squats next to table.  MANAGER makes very stern speech: "Look, I know that you were told that you had to leave because we have a 9:00 reservation for this table.  That's the way we do things around here.  We always do things a certain way.  You were definitely told that you had to leave."  MANAGER, JUSTIN, DONNA and GANDA try to talk all at once.  JUSTIN says, "Look, I know you were slammed, the kitchen was slammed, I know how it is.  But we didn't get our food for an hour."  MANAGER retorts, "No, I have it in computer time, it was 25 minutes."  DONNA says, "That's great that the computer says we got our food in 25 minutes, but our ticket apparently didn't even print up in the kitchen, so you don't know what time we got our food!"  GANDA says, "Look, if we were told that we had to leave by a certain time, believe me, I would be the first person to admit to that.  But bring the hostess who seated us down here and she will not be able to tell you that she told us we had to leave by 9:00."  MANAGER still belligerent, insists that we were told, but says pissily, "Fine, please just sit here as long as you want.  Just enjoy the meal and take your time, take as long as you want."  MANAGER walks away.  Over the course of the argument, the 3/4 plate of polpette congeals and hardens.  Remaining gamberetto loses all vital signs.  Affetati are still cold, but the little moisture they began with has dissipated completely.
MOOD: Hopping mad.  Livid.  Nuclear.  DEFCON 1

9:10 p.m.  DONNA looks at GANDA, and asks, "I really feel like I should say something."  GANDA, who is usually mortified at the thought of returning unsatisfactory dishes to the kitchen, preferring instead to eat the cost and chalk it up to experience, gives the green light to DONNA to give the MANAGER a piece of her mind.  DONNA rips MANAGER a new asshole.  "You know, we were very generous customers.  The waiter spilled wine, didn't refill the glass, and we said nothing.  Our food didn't come for an hour while the people behind us got their food.  Our waiter made excuses at first, and then told us the ticket didn't print up.  Then we get our food and not ten minutes later, we are asked to LEAVE?!  This is completely unacceptable!"  MANAGER, playing role of customer service person, but vein pulsing in his forehead, says, "Okay, it was my mistake, I'm sorry, please just enjoy your dinner and sit and relax for as long as you want to."  DONNA tells him, "Look, I'm in the business too.  If it's YOUR mistake, then WE the customers should not know about it!  We should be blissed out, enjoying our meal.  Instead, you've ruined our meal, we are in a royally bad mood, our food's gone completely cold, how can we relax and have a good time?"  MANAGER says through tight lips, "The dinner's on me, just stay as long as you want to."  DONNA says, "We're going to finish up and leave, because there's no way for us to have a good time at this point, and it's better for you to have one unsatisfied party than two unsatisfied parties, us and the people waiting for the table."
MOOD:  Extreme indigestion. Marmalade meatball and Fontina glue stressfully churning around in stomach.  DEFCON 1

9:20 p.m.  TEAM EDOW drinks the last of the wine and leaves, giving a too generous tip to the WAITER who did try to entertain us and cover for his boss.  TEAM EDOW, shell-shocked, heads over to Sugar Sweet Sunshine for cupcakes and tea.
MOOD:  Glad to have left the restaurant; at least the meal was comped.  Eager to warn of 'inoteca's wrongdoing to all listening ears.  Mmm...red velvet cupcake....DEFCON 3

SUPPORTING EVIDENCE:

From Menupages.com user reviews:
Posted by  Anonymous on 01/23/2005
             Not a good experience
Maybe mine just happened to be a one-time bad experience but I'm not planning on going back there. The food was waaaay too salty and the waitress took it upon herself to charge an additional tip on my friend's credit card when she was already personally given the tip in cash. She offered no apology when my friend called to rectify the situation. What the heck is that? 

Posted by  girldesigner on 01/04/2005
             Good Food vs Bad Ambience
I am a huge fan of trattoria style food, and I could not wait for the Ino guys to open this outpost in my neighborhood (the LES) last year. Sadly, both times I've been to Inoteca, I've been underwhelmed (I even went twice because I wanted it to be great). Perhaps it started with the looooong noisy wait at the bar? Once seated, service vacillated between cutesy/flirtatious and pushy. My companions and I ordered lots of dishes---the notable egg toast included, but left hungry and feeling sort of ripped off...both times. 

Posted by  tasty on 12/28/2004
             Attitude does not match menu
If we were only talking about the food, I'd give 5 stars to the kitchen, not to mention the polite chef we happened to pass on the way out the door... cheeses, flavor, all there. As for service, don't go for service. The server could've been honest & said he forgot a few plates on the order, but rather just had us waiting 20 minutes and blamed the kitchen, so some of our party received dinner when everyone else was done, and he couldn't have been in more of a rush to get us started, and obviously finished. I think the server gets his manners from the guy who mans the dining room, not too friendly to put it nicely. Still overall, no reason to let a few Bad apples totally ruin your experience, they're design and menu crush both the negatives...                                                             

CONCLUSION: Worst.  Experience.  Ever.  Never.  Returning.  Die die die 'inoteca!  MISSION THWARTED!

So my roommate Doug, his friend Alex and I went to the always warm and inviting Gramercy Tavern for a post-movie drink and nosh for the Saturday evening portion of BLIZZARD 2005! The happy hostesses took our coats and seated us at the best table in the front room, with the cozy love seat and the picture window where we watched the horizontal snow tableau. We shared an excellent cheese plate with raisin fennel, sourdough, and dark raisin pecan bread and rich chicken liver crostini with bacon and generous quenelles of caramelized onion compote and roasted tomato. We commiserated over a pot of green tea for me, a mug of cream-topped hot chocolate for Doug and a cinnamon anointed banana buttered rum for Alex. And it was just lovely. Gramercy Tavern deserves all the props they get. A lot of restaurants in this town could learn a thing or two from Danny Meyer about good service. We all get used and abused, working like a pack of dogs just trying to get our lives on in NYC -- once in a while, it's nice to get cozy with a warm beverage and be treated like an adult.