My first mistake was listening to the suggestion on Pazo’s website that I wear a jacket to this joint. I wear jackets only to weddings, funerals and Cafe des Artistes. Add to that the fact that we made reservations on the coldest damn night to hit Manhattan since I was in short pants, and we had every reason to just turn around and go home. Luckily for us, cooler heads prevailed (my lady talked me down from a near hissy fit) and we decided to brave the cold and the formality, despite the fact I almost lost my shit again when I saw my first patron in jeans (but that’s a tale for another time). The restaurant itself is reasonably small, but tastefully decorated in a cool, modern Moroccan style. The help is attractive and very pleasant, as our waiter joked with us throughout the night and even made the Executive Chef, Patricia Yeo, laugh her ass off with an unintentional pratfall at the end of the night (he actually tripped over a chair and almost dragged a table down on top of himself). As far as I’m concerned, the word “fusion” belongs to nuclear science and not cuisine, but I suppose anytime a restaurant has no particular type of food on its menu, it is considered fusion of one thing or another. I prefer the term “eclectic foodage.” Mix potatoes and rock shrimp–that’s neat! Serve a banana shaved into some sort of crunchy chocolate custard and you got a winner! The fish entrees were delicious, and the wine was excellent. Could it have been cheaper? Sure, but we went out for a nice dinner, not f’n McDonald’s you cheap bastards. [MF]
106 E 57th St.