Y B.
Yelp
If I could give this restaurant negative stars, believe me, I would.
Save yourself the headache. Just go to The Cheesecake Factory instead. At least there, the food doesn't taste like an insult you paid for.
I really, genuinely wanted to love this place.
I came in rooting for them -- a local, upscale spot, promising so much potential.
But what I got instead was probably one of the most disappointing meals I've had in years. Honestly.
Let's get one thing straight:
I don't think I'm better than anybody -- not even close -- but I have definitely experienced better than... whatever this was.
I've eaten at places like Blue Fin, Carmine's, the Tiffany Blue Box Café, the Chart House in Edgewater, and proper Brooklyn steakhouses.
I know what good service feels like.
I know what a real atmosphere feels like too.
And just as clearly, I know when I'm being served mediocrity wrapped up in an oversized, overpriced menu.
Because, here's the thing:
I don't need a chandelier dangling over my head to recognize when something tastes like actual trash.
I'm perfectly happy at Cheesecake Factory, too, if the food's good.
Because good food? It's good food.
And bad food?
Well, bad food is this sad little hostage situation they called a restaurant.
By the time our plates hit the table, I honestly just found myself wishing we had gone to Cheesecake Factory instead.
I shouldn't have to sit at a supposedly "prestigious" local restaurant and be thinking about chain food.
But that's exactly what happened.
Yes, it's a chain.
Yes, it's commercial.
But at least there, you know what you're getting -- steady food, actual flavor, friendly service, and a night that feels like it was worth showing up for.
Here? It felt like they were trying to fake "prestige" without having a clue how to deliver it.
Now the food. Oh god, the food:
The fettuccine Alfredo was dry, bland, overcooked -- like whoever was in the kitchen just quit halfway through making it.
And the chicken francese?
It was drowning in a sad puddle of lemony water, soggy, falling apart before you could even stab it with a fork.
It looked tired.
It tasted worse.
You know that awful, tacky feeling you get when chicken is cooked so badly it's like you're chewing a piece of gum?
Yeah. That's what they served me.
And somehow they thought $30+ was a fair trade for the privilege of chewing rubber.
Nothing tasted seasoned. Nothing had richness or balance. It was just plate after plate of mediocrity pretending to be something more sophisticated.
Now before anyone jumps in with, "Why didn't you just send it back?" -- here's why:
After our original waitress disappeared (mysteriously, by the way), they sent in reinforcements.
This second server was pushy, weirdly aggressive about reminding us, "This was made by our head chef! Let us know what you think!"
Sending two meals back under that kind of hovering pressure wouldn't have solved anything.
This wasn't about a bad plate.
It was about realizing the whole kitchen, the leadership, the service -- it had all missed the mark by a mile.
And after the second soggy forkful of chicken slid off my fork like wet paper?
I didn't want to sit there and play "third time's the charm."
I just wanted out.
Nothing was going to save that meal, not a re-cook, not a new dish, not even prayer.
It's the kind of half-hearted disaster that belongs on an episode of Kitchen Nightmares.
Overpriced dishes.
No clear vision.
A sad, confused atmosphere.
And food that could barely even be described as edible if we're being generous.
The ambiance?
Equally dreadful.
If you're charging fine dining prices, you should at least be able to fake it better than this.
Instead, the place felt like it was decorated in a rush with whatever was left in the clearance bin at Party City.
If you've never eaten outside of Rochester, maybe you'd think this was fancy.
Maybe if you've never set foot inside a real city restaurant, you'd think this was special.
But for anyone who's ever tasted food that had a real chef's hands on it?
It was just sad.
Pathetic, really.
It's nights like this that make me ache for New York City.
Because anyone who's really eaten outside of Rochester, even once, would recognize this mess immediately for what it is:
a total, unforgivable waste of time, money, and appetite.