Cat V.
Yelp
The parking lot is tiny -- narrow and cramped. It's not exactly a good feeling to park and watch the car next to you get towed right before you walk into the restaurant.
The bar is tiny, the tables are spacious, but the room is far too dark. Dozens of thick gold-framed mirrors hang around, reflecting shadows instead of light -- giving the space a mystic, almost creepy vibe. It aims for fancy and intimate, but lands somewhere between haunted and heavy.
The owner has the charm of a car salesman -- performative service, quick reactions, friendly on the surface but hardly attentive. He listens just long enough to hand you samples and push a sale, but the moment you mention a flaw, he brushes it off and still charges full price with a grin.
Plating looks cute, and food pacing is on time. The wine list is solid, but the second pour is noticeably smaller than the first. They don't measure -- they just pour freely, which makes each glass look inconsistent.
Every dish arrives lukewarm, sitting awkwardly between room temperature and "just cooked." The prawn is practically raw -- likely just blanched and topped with garlic and oil. The entire dish is drenched in vegetable oil with no depth of flavor; all the taste sits in the garlic. Even worse, the bowl is cold, not sizzling hot as proper tapas should be.
The green mazzetta olives are nice, but they're mixed with overly salted yellow ones. Anchovies are clean but tough to lift, like the bland, lukewarm shrimp and mushrooms that follow. The egg looks beautiful but tastes like nothing. The cheesecake has a lovely fluffy edge but is soggy in the center and cloyingly sweet.
Two snacks, three lukewarm small plates, three cheap wines, and people vaping around you -- even in the restroom and right in front of the owner, who does nothing to stop it. $200 later, it's just another heavily Instagram-hyped spot.