James P.
Google
Blooming VIP: Where the Service is Invisible and the Fish is Primarily Skeletal
It a rare and unfortunate thing when a restaurant visit transitions from a culinary outing to a theatrical performance—specifically, a tragedy of errors starring an absentee protagonist: our server. My party of nine recently descended upon Blooming VIP for what was supposed to be a celebratory Wednesday lunch, a relatively quiet affair post-1 PM. What we received was a masterclass in disappointment, proving that "VIP" stands less for "Very Important Person" and more for "Very Inconvenient Pursuit."
Our bill tallied a princely $568 for nine dishes, which, by the standards of Southern California's competitive dim sum and seafood scene, sets expectations high. The first sign of trouble, however, wasn't the service, but the server's primary recommendation: the Steamed Vermilion Rockfish. At a cool, breezy $100, this dish should have arrived shimmering, a piscine monument to flavor. Instead, it was a practical joke. The fish seemed to have undergone a diet strictly enforced by its own skeleton, offering an abundance of sharp, structural integrity and a profound deficit of actual meat. It was the culinary equivalent of buying a luxury car and receiving only the chassis.
The disappointment extended beyond the deep fryer and steamer. Even a seemingly simple house special—Garlic Green Peppers Leaf—fell victim to a startling lack of care. Rather than being lightly sautéed to highlight the crispness of the leaves and the fragrant punch of the garlic, the dish arrived looking and tasting as if it had been drowned in water. It was a plate of limp, washed-out sadness, suggesting the kitchen confused "blanching" with "waterboarding."
But the true star of this one-act play was the service, or lack thereof. Our server, whose demeanor suggested he was contemplating the philosophical implications of existence rather than the contents of our order, made a fundamental mistake with the tea. We requested the delicate, restorative Chrysanthemum tea. He brought something else entirely. When alerted to this error—a simple, easily rectifiable oversight—he nodded, acknowledged the sin, and promised to bring the correct brew.
And then... nothing.
The Chrysanthemum tea became the Moby Dick of our afternoon—chased, promised, but ultimately vanishing into the white abyss of the restaurant's linens. The indifference was astonishing. The environment was not crowded; the pressure was non-existent. Yet, the inability to execute a simple beverage request, combined with the initial order mix-up, leaves one pondering the cosmic efficiency of this establishment.
Blooming VIP offers fine dining prices for a distinctly casual (and occasionally hostile) experience. If a server cannot manage nine people and two types of tea on a slow Wednesday, I shudder to think of the chaos that must reign during a typical weekend dinner rush. The food may hold occasional sparks, but the $100 dish delivered more bone than value, the vegetables were swimming in neglect, and the service delivered less than zero. I recommend skipping the VIP treatment and finding a restaurant that actually remembers the 'service' part of the hospitality industry.