Flash in the Pan

I was tasked this month with finding a unique restaurant, something that fuses Asian cuisine in a new way. I found one, all right, but sometimes “new” isn’t the same as “quality.”

The restaurant was one of those pretentious upper-end establishments that insist on small plates, ornate presentations, dim lighting, and overpriced food. Its definition of fusion is to throw as many different Asian cuisines together as possible without really pausing to understand taste, flavor, or texture. On the whole, the dishes were American faire accented by Indian, Chinese, and Japanese flavors. They paid no credence to previously established guidelines, and I doubt anyone on the waiting staff could tell me the difference between Hunan and Hong Kong cooking styles. Put simply, instead of building on the past accomplishments of fellow chefs, these chefs were throwing the rule book out.

The hostess spotted us immediately, and though I booked my reservation online through opentable.com, there was really no need- the place was dead. She guided us through the teal-upholstered seats, bronze lamps, and neon-lit aquariums to a small booth in the corner. My date and I spent the first twenty minutes trying to decide what kind of obnoxiously cosmopolitan restaurant they were trying to be. We decided the restaurant’s décor either recalled PF Chang’s crossed with a crummy Italian bistro, or a Midwestern hotel lobby set in the 1950s. Car accidents had more thematic order than this place.

The menu had only about fifteen items on it, total, and encouraged people to order more than two things. We ordered four and ended up being hungry at the end. To spend sixty dollars and not be full, the meal must taste not only good, but sublime, like ambrosia from the gods.

Unfortunately, the dishes tasted pretty pedestrian. The best item we ordered was the garlic naan, an Indian dish which tasted fine, just not great. For $8, there was no excuse for its small portion. The shrimp wontons were more elaborate and had a nice bamboo flavor mixed into the shrimp and fried tastes- but we had to send it back initially because it was undercooked. When the waiter brought it back, I burnt my tongue. Some days, it’s tough to be a food critic.

The avocado paté with ahi had an initially sour alcoholic taste but then switched to a fishy slow burn of spice. The chips it was served with were either Indian or Chinese in their nature- and though bland, they provided a necessary solidity to the meal. Still, it wasn’t enough to salvage the unfortunate initial taste.

The tandoori chicken skewers were humdrum and I nearly chipped my tooth on an errant bone that had not been removed before serving. This was the proverbial last straw. The skewers and naan were examples of middle-of-the-road Indian food but with twice the price, while the signature ahi dish was a complete mess. We left the restaurant unfulfilled, broke (I went over budget on this meal) and my tongue was so burnt I talked with a lisp for the rest of the night. So no, my date didn’t go well either.

Before leaving, I asked the waiter what the restaurant’s name meant. He admitted he didn’t know, but he told us his manager said it was some chic term that meant nothing in any language. He was wrong (the restaurant’s name referred to a kind of Japanese sauce), of course, but the exchange proved to be a great summary of the arrogance that many high-end restaurants have towards their customers. They can charge us anything, decorate the place how they like, and as long as the restaurant is considered “hip,” they don’t have to try very hard to please us. I’m not blaming the waiting staff here- they greeted us, brought us waters, and answered our questions to the best of their abilities. But the management has decided that they are so specialized that they don’t need to obey certain rules of decorum and responsibility in the culinary realm.

Of course, customers always have a course of action. Not only can I as a journalist not give the restaurant a good review, but like any customer I can tell my friends not to go there. With the rise of internet ratings, it’s very easy to spread the word that a restaurant is no longer “cool.” That’s how a “hip” restaurant becomes a “closed” restaurant.