It seemed like a fun idea to take the family to dinner at the Chelsea restaurant of celebrity chef Masaharu Morimoto. My kids had watched him on Iron Chef, and since my son was in town (who damn near had a stroke when Wolfgang Puck came out to ask him how he enjoyed his meal at Spago), the time seemed right. I had been there before, courtesy of my pal Brian Cuban, and enjoyed it. So why not?
We had the tasting menu, a pricey proposition at $135 per person that was to consist of eight courses. The meal was hit and miss, with some courses being fabulous and others peculiar and even unpleasant. Oh well, different strokes, though a dab of sorbet in a shot glass is not a course. But what was neither acceptable nor forgivable was the service. The wait staff was pleasant and enthusiastic, but did not understand what service meant at that level.
There were basic mistakes, water glasses that were not refilled until I had to beg someone to do so. Busboys trying to take away plates while people at the table were still eating. Or taking three of four plates, and never returning for the fourth. A butt shoved in my face while serving the table next to us, so close that I could see the fillings in my neighbor’s teeth. And a tray touching my nose as the waiter bent over the unclothed table to faux fuss over the way the plate was turned. Continue reading
