Ranjan P.
Yelp
I loved Porto so much, and had a near universally great time in Portugal, it pains me to write this, our only bad experience in Porto ... from service to food, this was a colossally horrific experience. The attitude of the hostess and our servers ranged from indifferent to rude to cold. The restaurant walls are pasted with glowing reviews and letter from customers, literally wall to wall glowing accolades for this place. I almost doubted myself, wondering if I was being too hard on them, or if my expectations were too high--but no, truly, they were off their game on the night we were there. Or sadly, maybe this was their real game, and it's a case of the emperor has no clothes. After we were seated, we ordered the olives, garlic bread, and veal medallions in mustard sauce, which were to come with vegetables and potatoes. They brought bread to the table but the slices were much too hard to bite into ... and yes, I have all my real teeth, but seriously this bread was waay past its prime. To insult to injury, when we asked for butter, they said it would be the equivalent of a .40 cent charge for it. We inquired about olive oil to dip the bread in, but were told that they don't have it. Hmm, I guess I have to give them the benefit of doubt? The olives were more than forgettable. Seriously, I cannot remember what they were. The garlic bread was smeared with raw garlic and dripping with oil, greasy to the point I was afraid I couldn't digest it. So now we're waiting for the veal, which finally arrived. Two servers bearing a platter with great pomp and ceremony, somber expressions on their faces. They set the plate in front of us, which were sharing. The veal was disgusting, gamey and tasted off, smeared with some sort of brown sauce ... what was it? Not mustard, not au jus, not gravy, not anything I could detect. To the side of the veal, were a few boiled to death carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, the color no longer green and had turned yellow and wrinkled. Till that moment, I didn't know it was possible to wrinkle a broccoli floret. Almost as an afterthought, the plate had some potato chips, which my husband ate because they were house made and he'll think nothing of eating a bag of chips for dinner. But me? Nope, I'm not eating a sorry excuse for "roasted potatoes." We couldn't eat anything else, and asked for the bill. When they dropped off the bill, they clearly saw that we had barely taken a bite or two of the food, yet didn't bother to ask if anything was wrong, no inquiry, no concern. They didn't care. I thought to myself, "Am I a typical entitled spoiled American?" The one positive thing I can say about this restaurant: I loved the interior: intimate, romantic, quiet, tucked away in an alley, with a cavelike atmosphere, very authentic; come here for a simple snack or a drink, zero expectations. Do NOT come hungry because you will even more famished. I looked around other tables, all of them had a huge bottle of wine, drinking glass after the other. Maybe you must get drunk to choke down the food here? My husband and I don't drink, putting us at a disadvantage? We could taste the food with unclouded consciousness and palate. The Portuguese had been endlessly gracious and kind and sweet, loving even, so our experience here was atypical and an anomaly in Porto. We left the restaurant, more hungry than we had entered; by this time, it was almost midnight and many places were closed. I'm embarrassed to say we went into a McDonalds (the most architecturally grand and beautiful I've ever seen), sat on a high top and shared a BigMac :-)