If this is paradise, what the fuck does real life look like? The neon ‘dining room’ sign over the back room is both ironic and like a buzzing red sign leading the eater into hell. You probably get a club to the head for your bother. It’s all just a weird setup, like an abandoned subway station. The checkerboard tile reminds me of Spicoli’s Vans, but not in a cool way. Also, if you’re going to use substandard ingredients from a giant metal can, you probably want to hide that shit.
My chicken roll had sesame seeds on it for some reason and the oven didn’t get it as hot as it should be. I suppose the point of all this is that it surprises me that if you’re going to dedicate your life and livelihood to something that you’d think that person would put in more of an effort. Hey, at least they scooped some of that slop out of the can and into a small styrofoam cup so I had something to dip my dried-out roll into. I guess they didn’t want to be sued for handing me a choking hazard. Try harder, guys.
12 W 18th St. (bet 5th & 6th Aves)
212/206-0500
