More Mexican Mediocrity

Restaurant: Paparico’s
Location: 8314 Wornall, Waldo, MO

Food: Mexican

Service: Friendly, traditional waitstaff

Atmosphere: Disappointing.

Price: What you'd expect.

Rating: zero napkins

What can a restaurant blogger say about a place like Paparico’s?

Friends said they loved it; their favorite new neighborhood Mexican joint. Then a cheap Muncharoo certificate became available so we jumped on it and a few days later we’re sitting in a sad, ugly restaurant with one other full table completely depressed.

The problem is that I am definitely becoming a dreadful,  unapologetic Mexican food snob. I don’t really know why but the utterance of the half-words “Tex” and “Mex” brings an uncontrollable sneer to my upper lip. I scoff at misused sour cream or shredded cheddar cheese at phony Americanized Mexican cantinas.

I can’t take it anymore. I’m absolutely yearning for an innovative, contemporary yet authentic Mexican restaurant in this city (thus, secretly hoping the rumors of an Aaron Sanchez-owned spot come true).

And so it was with this Mexican food baggage that I arrived at Paparico’s, admittedly skeptical, but hungry and hoping only for something adequate. Unfortunately, adequate turned out to be the nicest word I could use to describe our experience.

There’s no need to go into much detail about this place. The staff was nice and eager to serve. They were prompt and friendly. The salsa was fresh and tasty. Better than a lot that you find in KC. The atmosphere was glum. Décor is relegated to a massive lineup of plastic two liter and glass soda bottles. And piñatas. Ancient, dated-looking wood paneling consumes the dank space.

My pork tamales were decent, with the requisite rice and refried beans on the side. Elizabeth’s tacos al pastor were comprised of under-ripe, hard bits of pineapple and many bites of pure fat and gristle. She only ate one of the tacos, and was only able to choke down about 50% of the meat therein. A bad bite in Mexican street tacos here or there is to be expected, but these were inexcusably bad.

As we ate, the hostess stood at her post and watched our every move, apparently having nothing else to do to fill her time. It was truly pathetic.

Paparico’s was a sad story from start to finish. I wish nothing but success for a hard working family that’s doing decent work, but I won’t be going back for dinner. Everyone in Kansas City, no matter where they live, has a Mexican restaurant at least as good as Paparico’s just around the corner. I'm sure there are people who live in the Waldo area who will say they love this place, and that's fine. That's how all these neighborhood Mexican restaurants go. We all like chips and salsa. We all like rice and beans, tortillas and spicy, cheesy hot plates of food. So it's not too hard to find loyal patrons for these places. But our standards are just too low. I know someone can do something better and I'm going to wait for that place to come before I start handing out napkins to any more boring, uninspired Mexican places.

(The one exceptional bright spot for Paparico's, however, may be its breakfast. I've not had it but I'm a huge fan of Mexican breakfast and I might recommend that if you go there at all, you do so for that menu as opposed to the lunch or dinner we had.)

So until a new, great place opens, or I get a chance to go down to the much-heralded Frida’s, I’m sticking with the usual favorites (read: CFF & El Patron) for my Mexican food fix. This widespread Mexican food mediocrity is just too depressing.

Rating: zero napkins

KC Smoke Burgers: Don't Blink Or You Might Miss It

Restaurant: KC Smoke Burgers

Location: 1610 W 39th St, KC Mo

Food: Burgers, Phillies, etc.

Service: Simple waitstaff

Atmosphere: A burger joint in Jerusalem

Price: Burgers $7-$10

Rating: zero napkins

I may have found the worst, most ill-fated restaurant in all of Kansas City.

The other night I was headed home after a late night of work, debating what to grab for dinner that wouldn’t be too far out of the way. A good ol’ burger sounded right, and I remembered seeing a new place open on 39th street, curiously near Fric & Frac, whose burgers I’ve had in the past and enjoyed. A quick comparison post for the blog seemed in order, so I figured I’d try one at the new place and then have one from Fric & Frac soon thereafter and write about whose was better.



But when I left KC Smoke Burgers, the comparison article was off. There was no comparison. Because KC Smoke Burgers is so weird and so bad on almost every level, I found it to be one of the most pathetic restaurants I had ever witnessed.

...because dated pop culture icons, civil war-era weaponry
and antiques go so well with cheeseburgers.

Leading off the list of issues with KC Smoke Burgers is their massive, obvious identity crisis. Located in the vacated Jerusalem Café spot on 39th street across from Aladdin Café, there is already a Middle Eastern image it has to overcome. Jerusalem Café had specially built and decorated walls that looked as thought they were formed from clay in the holy land itself, cracks hand painted on them in an attempt to drive home the look. Those walls remain at KC Smoke Burgers. So one can’t remove the image of hummus, falafel and pitas from his or her mind while looking around.

Cheerleaders? Yep. Quarterbacks? Yep. Clowns?
Are you kidding me? YES!

Perhaps even more curious are the new pieces of décor, however. As I sat and waited on my burger, I took note of the odd, hand-painted items adorning the walls, which included the following: NASCAR banners and cutouts, scenic photos of Jerusalem, generic photography of cheeseburgers and Philly cheesesteaks, cutouts of James Dean, Captain Kirk, Marilyn Monroe, JFK, Winston Churchill, Charlie Chaplin and the Statue of Liberty. On top of the cashier’s stand that occupies the center of the restaurant were two faux antique cannons and a chest filled with faux cannon balls, as well as an antique sewing machine. Behind me, on the East side of the dining room, the walls showcased more hand-painted cutouts: a cheerleader, football player and clowns. Lastly, sprawling nearly the entire width of the front of the restaurant, hanging above the front door, was an expansive hand-painted banner featuring what was either an image of the plaza lights, or another scene from the holy land, but with Christmas lights adorning the buildings. It was hard to tell.

I was eating in the most random and quizzically decorated restaurant I had ever patronized.

The remnants of the restaurant’s Mediterranean/Middle Eastern past crept beyond the photos on the walls – and the walls themselves – and onto the menu, I found. Laced throughout the laminated, flame-adorned sheet were decidedly Greek ingredients: a Mediterranean Philly cheesesteak, a gyro smoke burger and a lamb and pesto smokeburger. Disguised among the traditional burger toppings like ketchup and mustard lurked Greek dressing. And the extra toppings included feta, a garlic cucumber sauce and pita chips, as a side.

I ordered the Fire Smokey Burger from the short list of featured burgers, which came with a good pile of sliced jalapenos under a blanked of melted American cheese. I also opted for grilled onions instead of raw, tomatoes, dill pickles and lettuce (iceberg was the only choice, which was fine). Ketchup and mustard came in plastic bottles on the side, DIY.

The jalapenos were great, but I’d have enjoyed a different flavor of cheese. The bun was quite un-special and while I’m aware of how snooty it sounds to criticize the bun, I feel compelled to point out that we live in a city where Farm to Market-brand brioche buns can be had with your burger. So the bar is set quite high and the cheap Wonder-style white bread buns used here certainly don’t add anything to the burger eating experience.

Then there was the meat. Level of doneness was not asked of me, and well done is what I got. I’m also quite certain that there are some secret spices going into the beef before hitting the griddle – cumin, maybe – which wasn’t awful, but led me to want to put the thing down rather than polish off the last few bites, which is not indicative of my normal burger consumption habits.

These fries may actually have been the best part
of the meal. Not bad.

In the end, the burger, upon which the last chances for attaining a mild level of success hung, failed to help KC Smoke Burger’s case at all, rounding out a pitiful dining experience.

Let me now pause to point out that the staff – the only other folks in the restaurant during the entirety of my meal – were all friendly, went out of their way to serve me quickly and get me whatever I needed, and the manager came over to chat, hoping I’d been treated well and would be coming back again. I didn’t have the heart to lie and admit I wouldn’t even dream of it, but based on my experience at KC Smoke Burgers, I see a huge change of cuisine coming in the near future if they don’t board it up altogether.

With a neighborhood favorite like Fric & Frac serving quite decent burgers one block away, KC Smoke Burgers is spraying a bonfire with a small squirt gun, and, I’d imagine, will be going up in smoke itself sometime not long from now.

Rating: zero napkins

Stick with the Hot Dogs

Restaurant: Rock-n-Moroccan
Location: 1710 W. 39th St., KC MO
Food: Moroccan, deli sandwiches, hot dogs, smoothies, crepes
Service: slow, standoff-ish
Atmosphere: Walk-up window. Haven't tried inside dining room yet
Price: Cheap
Rating: One napkin

I hate writing bad reviews of places where I think the chefs and owners mean well. But here it comes.

My initial review of Rock-n-Moroccan was for their Chicago Dog. I had no idea this walk-up window was, indeed, a Moroccan restaurant. So Saturday I went back to sample from the other categories on the menu and provide a full assessment. I kinda wish I hadn't.



















Right out of the gate, things were... off. The gang of three just ahead of us ordered two smoothies, a Moroccan salad and a Nutella crepe. No joke, it took a good 20 minutes to fulfill this order. All-the-while, we were standing at the window being ignored, though it became clear a little later that the employees had seen me but thought I was one of the guys who had ordered before us (probably due to similar sun glasses - just speculation).

...And apparently they screwed up two of the three items ordered. The salad was supposed to come with beets, and didn't, and the Nutella crepe came sans Nutella. Both issues were remedied in a friendly nature by the staff, but getting two out of three orders wrong at a place with a fairly simple menu is a pretty poor showing.

That fiasco behind us, I decided to hit three different sections of the menu to round out my Rock-N experience, ordering a turkey club sandwich, the Moroccan tabouli and a chicken gyro (in a pita--customers choose pita or crepe).

Issue #1: no tabouli. What, the throngs of fans lining up around the block were all ordering tabouli by the gallon and the unexpected frenzy caused a shortage? Really, I have no idea why they wouldn't have any one of their products on hand since business seems a little slow at R-n-M, but regardless, I was forced to go another direction. I chose the zalouk.

Listed as "fried eggplant, vinegar, fresh garlic, olive oil and... special Moroccan dressing," the zalouk came served on a bed of shredded less-than-fresh iceberg lettuce, with fresh pita wedges and a dusting of paprika. It was decent, with lots of garlic flavor and a baba ganoush appearance and consistency. Hard not to like something as familiar as this, but the sad looking shredded lettuce was out of place and detracted from what could otherwise have been a satisfactory dish. Still wish I'd could've had the tabouli, though.

The chicken gyro had some ups and downs. The creamy tzatziki was good-tasting, very thick and creamy, but what probably should have been a schmear or dollop was a sloppy slathering that drowned the other ingredients and squished into our hands, laps... all over. Lettuce and fresh tomato were fine, but the red onion was overly-abundant (a gripe of mine about gyros in general) and pungent. Worst of all, though, the chicken was abominable. I'll provide this descriptor of its flavor profile and then just move on: canned cat food.

After drying the wetness and Fancy Feast odor off my hands, I moved to what I expected to be a less offensive selection - the turkey club. Purported to be turkey, lettuce, turkey bacon, tomato and American cheese on grilled sourdough, what actually showed up in my styrofoam takeout box were some of those things, substituting less-than-fresh turkey cold cut meat (variance in the coloration of the turkey gave away its advancing age), a ridiculously light dusting of  tiny bacon bits, lots of unexpected raw red onion, tons of similarly unexpected horseradish sauce and bread that looked a lot more like grocery store-variety Iron Kids Bread than sourdough. And it wasn't grilled or toasted in the least. It was a stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth puff pad.

As I took the first deplorable bite, my reason, spoken earlier, for trying something as ordinary as a turkey club from a Moroccan place re-played in my mind: "I want to try something from each section of the menu. Who knows... they might have great deli sandwiches that people should know about." Bad call.. Even after I pried the lettuce away from the bread and wiped off as much of the gooey horseradish sauce  as possible, it still tasted of a sweet, soggy spiciness that made me nearly gag. Horseradish is fine in moderation, but I find many of the jarred horseradish sauces overly sweet. This stuff tasted like Miracle Whip. And any time you put too much condiment on a thin, moist, low-quality sandwich bread, the wetness becomes quickly off-putting.

The raw onion was overpowering and reeked. The single, flaccid leaf of lettuce was pointless and disgusting. The American cheese was, of course, a bad choice. The bread - tasteless. The whole thing reminded me of childhood field trips when someone else's mom packed the lunches and everything on my sandwich was unfamiliar. Wrong.

$14.61 later, I was as depressed and irked as one can be without feeling actual anger. Still, all these complaints being what they are, inside me there's a soft spot for these Rock-n-Moroccans who serve a mean Chicago dog. So the moral of the story is: you go to Rock-n-Moroccan, surprisingly, for their most American offering, not their Moroccan cuisine... Enjoy the hot dogs.

This review has "Zero Napkins" written all over it, but being that I know I'll be headed back for a perfectly enjoyable Chicago dog, I don't think zero napkins is appropriate. Gotta give them one napkin to reflect the fact that I'll enjoy this restaurant continually in the future.

Rating: one napkin (only due to the hot dogs)

PS - During my lengthy wait in line, I happened to notice that Miami Ice, just a block East, also advertises Chicago dogs, so a Chicago dog throwdown is in the near future. Look for that soon!

A Hellish Return to P.F. Chang's

Restaurant: P. F. Chang's China Bistro
Location: 102 W. 47th St., KC, MO
Food: Sweet, gooey, unauthentic Chinese
Service: Inexcusably, ridiculously bad
Atmosphere: Sleazy chain
Price: No matter what you get and what it costs, you'll end up feeling like it was overpriced.
Rating: zero napkins

I have to admit that it was extremely difficult for me to approach this dining experience at P. F. Chang's without bias. I have a short and largely unceremonious history with the place, to put it lightly. (To put it more accurately, I hate P. F. Chang's.)

To be fair, I'll give context to my disdain: I think P. F. Chang's has the most uncomfortable sort of feel emanating from its every visible detail. From the unanimously inept, up-sell-scripted waitstaff, to the sloppy service and food, its vibe absolutely screams "we're a sleazy chain!" Watch what's going on around you and you're sure to pick up on any number of atrocities that ruin the restaurant-going experience. But to be specific, the catalyst of my true ire for P. F. Chang's was a particular night gone terribly, but typically, wrong, in which Elizabeth and I sat for 45 minutes without ever receiving any service whatsoever, despite making eye contact and speaking with servers and hostesses on numerous occasions, resulting in us deciding to get up and leave without ordering.

Now, for those skeptics reading, know that we both are exceedingly lenient restaurant customers. I don't judge restaurants heavily at all on their service, because I think service can vary widely depending on the one or two people in charge of your experience on a given trip. Servers and hosts come and go in the restaurant industry with a rapid turnover rate, so I don't believe one should place too much emphasis on that aspect of their experience at a restaurant. But at Chang's, it's always been bad.

What the heck, then, brought us back at Happy Hour this day? I read a post on Fat City that the KC P. F. Chang's was going to debut a new Happy Hour menu that, if well-received, would be rolled out to the rest of the country. (I found the inherent insult of Chang's market partner Mark Kirke's comment that "The Kansas City palate was a draw. If it goes over well here, it will extend well to the coast, as opposed to vice versa," to be a challenge I had to accept.)

So after a movie on the Plaza and then a stiflingly-hot walk down to restaurant, we seated ourselves at a high top table in the bar area, asked for a couple ice waters and perused the new Yum Cha menu. Immediately, the flaws started piling up.

First, a technicality: "Yum Cha is a dining experience which involves drinking Chinese tea and eating dim sum dishes (wikipedia)." Its literal Cantonese translation is "drink tea." Yet, there's no tea on the supposed Yum Cha happy hour menu. Thus, I'm led to believe Chang's must have made the decision that this selection of handrolls and flatbreads, which should simply be called dim sum,  needed an exotic, less-familiar title in order to sell... cultural accuracy be damned.

The Yum Cha menu is like a do-it-yourself sushi menu with the selections listed on a piece of paper that guests mark with a provided pencil. We quickly put a "1" next to the top three hand rolls listed.  When our server (finally) came to take our order, she noticed we were going with the Yum Cha menu and asked that we please fill out the provided survey before we leave that captures diners' thoughts on the experience. Placing that aside, we watched her pour our ice waters, which she managed to drip all over my phone.

Elizabeth ordered a cold glass of Pinot Grigio - appropriate for the current weather - which was brought back after an acceptable wait, in an unacceptably dirty glass. She held it up in the light between us, and I could hardly see her through its dingy sides. She used her napkin for the next few minutes to wipe it down and we prayed the alcohol would kill any caked on germs, not yet ready to cut our losses and haul our keisters out of there.

The hand rolls (mamenori), though not incredible, were easily the best part of the entire experience. At three for $7.95, we felt they were a tad overpriced. Six dollars would seem perfect, making them $2 per roll. They're fairly small in size, so even eating all three one won't be filled up. And given the other happy hour specials available on the plaza, $7.95 doesn't seem competitive (for instance, I can go right next door to M&S Grill and have fish tacos or a Pizza Margherita for just $3.95).

Each comes in a colorful soy wrapper, a little papery in texture, but they melt in your mouth. The first came with poached shrimp, strips of cucumber, lettuce and a big glob of sriracha-infused mayo. Its spiciness was nice, but the mayo completely drenched the otherwise fresh and delicate ingredients. The second was by far the best - pink chunks of ahi tuna with shallots, chives, light sesame oil, lime juice, smoked black pepper, cucumber strips and butter lettuce. The only thing wrong with this delicious roll was our fear that the restaurant's lack of cleanliness might have tainted the raw fish. Otherwise, we loved the lightness of it, the brightness... it was like a hand-held tuna ceviche salad.

The last of the rolls was the most substantial - nicely done shredded duck confit with lots of rice noodles and tons of crispy bacon bits which were apparently sugar coated and overwhelmingly sweet. Also in this wrap were parsley infused oil, tiny bites of pineapple, sweet soy peanuts, butter lettuce, other herbs and sweet soy drizzle. If this sounds like a lot of stuff, it was. Too much. This wrap needed some serious editing and to be lightened up, overall. With so much bacon and sauce amongst the noodles and overpowered greens, what should have been a nice spring roll-esque wrap turned into a bit of a gut bomb lacking in Asian influence.

Thank goodness the plates we were given only served the role of catching fallen ingredients from the mamenori, because they, too, were dingy with fingerprints and what was, at best, soap scum and at worst, remnants of someone else's meal.

Once the rolls and wine were gone, we were, too. The comments we left on the survey admitted we would have the mamenori again, but listed the above criticisms of the recipes and price. I'd imagine whoever picked it up and read it merely rolled their eyes and then went back to diligently ignoring their other job responsibilities and customers.

I still say folks should avoid this restaurant at all costs, but the new Yum Cha menu and its hand rolls are not the reason. It's everything else you'll experience there that'll disturb you. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Rating: zero napkins

Limp Noodles (& Company)

The McDonald's on the corner of Jefferson and Nichols on the Plaza recently closed down and some time later, a new chain boasted its upcoming opening. Noodles & Company was its name.

I wasn't familiar with the place and when remarking to Elizabeth that I had found out its name, I distinctly remember adding, "I sure hope it's an Asian noodle place and not some kind of one-noodle-fits-all joint."

"Ew," she added. "I bet they just have a huge vat of overcooked spaghetti in the back and they just throw in some kind of sauce or topping depending on what you get."

Alas. We were pretty much right.

Elizabeth had to work late the other night and we didn't have any leftovers on hand for me to make. So I decided to find out what Noodles & Co was really all about and get some takeout. The menu boasts all types of noodles, not just one nationality. Choose from Asian, Mediterranean, American or "Customize-it".

I honed in on the "American" section for investigatory reasons, skeptical that America had made contributions to the noodle world noteworthy enough to warrant its own section on the menu. What would this be? Tuna noodle casserole? Close.

The only noodle dish on the American list that was actually what I would call American was Wisconsin Mac 'n Cheese. Noodles & Co, though, would like to credit the US of A for Stroganoff (Russian), Marinara and good ol' Spaghetti and Meatballs (Italian). Maybe even more ridiculous was the fact that "buttered noodles" was also listed on the menu. I mean - really? Do you even need to put that on the menu? If people want buttered noodles, they'll just ask if they can get plain buttered noodles. Listing it on the menu, though, conveys the idea that buttered noodles are some great recipe idea the restaurant came up with. As if they're saying, "we specialize in stroganoff, marinara and, oh, you should really try our house special - buttered noodles! You've never had anything like them." But, of course, you have. Everyone has.

Getting down to business, I jumped over to the Asian menu. I was in the mood for Asian and fearing their pad thai may be horrendous (bad pad thai can be really bad - too sweet, often), I opted for the Indonesian Peanut Saute. Let's start with the positives: the carryout packaging was sturdy and convenient, the portion was large but not ridiculously so, fresh lime wedges were provided as a garnish, to spritz over the top of the noodles, which I love.

Moving on. The bad: the lime was utterly and completely without juice. When I squeezed it over the top, it frayed and shredded, disintegrating into a pathetic rind with a strange explosion of fibrous pulp hanging from it and immediately reminding me of Clark Griswold cutting into the Christmas turkey which immediately deflated on the dining room table. Sick.

The toppings were a melange of the usual suspects: bean sprouts, broccoli and carrot sticks, which I am happy to say were all nice and crisp. Not overcooked. Lots of shredded cabbage was mixed through, and due to the terrarium effect caused by the tight lid trapping steam, its deep purple color washed out and spread itself into the noodles in a disconcerting way that made me wonder if it had been painted purple for faux freshness. The peanut sauce was detectable, but a little thin. I was given no condiments, and due to a low salt content, I felt it needed a little soy sauce. No hot sauce either, so I hit it with a few dollops of my own sambal oelek when I opened it up at home.

Peanuts were non-existent. None whatsoever. Luckily, I had those on hand, as well. So once I had incorporated my own peanuts, my own lime, my own sambal and my own soy sauce, it was ready to be eaten (oh, and I employed my own chopsticks, too - none provided).

The rice sticks (noodles) were overcooked. Quite mushy and falling apart. And the peanut sauce lacked depth, severely. Tasted like they had just mixed some peanut butter into the noodles which, when heated, became thin enough to coat the noodles like a sauce.

I'd opted to add chicken to mine, to test the quality of their meats. It was all-white meat, apparently pounded thin and then pan seared with a little flour dusting on it (I'm guessing this preparation is done because it works better with the Italian-style menu items and they're not into the idea of having to prepare chicken in more ways than one). There were no bad bites, but it was very bland, adding nothing but some protein to the dish. The fried tofu chunks I also found in my noodles were spongy and flavorless, as well, but that's kind of how fried tofu is.

Eventually I choked down the whole bowl, so apparently it wasn't the worst thing I'd ever eaten. But in the end I wish I had made the effort to run by the grocery store and pick up a few ingredients to make it myself instead of taking the lazy route and settling for mass-produced garbage.

While picking up, I also grabbed one of the large cookies sitting next to the register. Forced to choose between chocolate chip or snicker doodle, I went with snicker doodle just because I don't come across them as often, and I usually find them hugely delicious.

Shame on me for not noticing the specs of apple before arriving back at home. I was willing to keep an open mind about the apple, but one bite in, the disappoint swept over me. A snicker doodle isn't a snicker doodle with fruit in it. It's got to be simpler than that. Cookie batter, cinnamon and sugar on top. That's it. The apple made it taste like coffee cake - not what I wanted after my meal.

Pretty easy to rate this place. I won't go back unless forced to as a work lunch outing or something. If a McDonald's couldn't make it in this location, I don't expect that Noodles & Co. will. It's less convenient than McDonald's, has a higher cost of operation (they even have a liquor license!?!), and, despite trying to cover every type of noodle dish under the sun, probably has less mass-appeal as well. Those looking for any measure of quality would do better to walk a block east to Brio. Or buy a pack of Ramen Noodles - more authentic, more tasty, less expensive and you have the ability to ensure your noodles don't just turn into a big clump of mush.

Rating: zero napkins

The Pizza Bar - Just Another P&L Bar

The few people I know who were able to make it to Vinino, the Italian restaurant that occupied one of the primo spaces across from the Sprint Center when P&L first “launched”, said that they actually liked the food. It just wasn’t the right type of restaurant for that location. Too fancy-shmancy. Too close to the loud buzz of the raucous sports and concert crowds at McFadden’s, Raglan Road, PBR, and the like. 

Taking a page from its P&L success stories, Cordish closed Vinino and transformed it into The Pizza Bar. Walking in, I was expecting something more in the vein of its predecessor, but Pizza Bar is not dressy affair. It’s just a jumbo-sized pizzeria, replete with a few bars, video games and TV’s on every wall. On the Saturday afternoon when we made our trip, it was nearly a ghost town. Only one or two other small tables of patrons occupied the cavernous restaurant. The scantily clad hostess was lazily hanging out at one of the bars, paying no attention to the front of the house. When the manager on duty noticed we were standing there, unattended and slightly bewildered, I saw her eyes roll in frustration at the poor service she knew her team was exhibiting. We seated ourselves at her request.

Our server was a bench-warmer. He didn’t care about us or whether we were having a good experience. No smiles, slow service (though we were his only table), drinks never refilled… nothing to offer.

We ordered half our pizza with their meatballs (cut into thick slices) and the other half with Scimeca’s Italian sausage, peppers and onions. There are no choices of size – if you order a pizza, you get a rather large (16”, perhaps) pie with thin crust. The crust wasn’t bad,.. it was somewhere between “nothing special” and “not great”. But I was expecting a lot more from this single-minded establishment. When pizza makes up half of your menu, you ought to have something more impressive than this crust up your sleeve. 

I don’t care whether a pizza is healthy or not, but the amount of yellow grease standing on top of the cheese was off-putting, both visually and digestively speaking. I blame the excessive grease on head pizza pie-man, Salvatore DiFatta’s method of using raw sausage on the pizza, rather than pre-cooked sausage. All the fat and juices from the sausage end up sitting on top of the pizza when it comes out of the oven and onto your table. It doesn’t taste good, it just tastes like grease.

Our experience at The Pizza Bar was nothing short of terrible. I’m sure I could enjoy the place for what it is – a roomy sports bar with decent pizza – after taking in a game and a few beers at the Sprint Center. But as a restaurant, this place has nothing to offer. Don’t make a special trip down to the tough-to-stomach P&L district just to try The Pizza Bar.

Rating: zero napkins

Souperman: What a crock

A good meal out ends with thoughts like "I'd do that again tomorrow" or "well worth the money". A bad one makes you wish you could take back the previous hour or two of your life.

Souperman sent me spiraling into curses that technology, in my lifetime, would never provide us time traveling abilities.

Lunch rule #1: The seven dollar rule. This applies to all restaurants where the style of service does not necessitate a waitstaff. If you walk up to a counter, order and seat yourself, you should not have to pay above $8.99 for your meal. If I'm paying $9.00 or more, I'd better have a server. It's lunch, for crying out loud. If I'm up for spending double-digit dollars on it, I'm going somewhere with linen napkins and the aforementioned waitstaff.

That receipt on the left of my tray reads, "Total: $9.37".

Violation. A little bit mental, a LOT fiscal, and even a tad physical.

In fairness, I got a lot of food for that $9.37 including a cup of Souperman's Spicy Pork and Hominy Soup (they were calling it Posole that day) with complimentary oyster crackers and a whole sanditto (hate that name) of roasted pork with ham, pickles, swiss and mustard aioli. But it was too much food. They made me pay for too much food.

And don't give me this, "you could have just gotten a bowl of soup or a sandwich on its own" stuff. A bowl of soup with no accompaniment isn't satisfying. A sandwich needs a side. Soup and sandwich restaurants take heed: your soup/sandwich combo is your main offering, which will be expected to comply with lunch rule #1.

The posole was decent, but lacked seasoning.

They seemed to skimp on the meats a bit - there were only small crumbles of what I'm assuming was ground, cooked pork, but tasted more like hamburger. The spice factor was agreeable. I liked it fine. But overall the soup lacked gusto, and I look forward to sourcing a better recipe and mamking it for myself.

My sanditto had lots of promise. As I stared down the shredded pork and ham, pickles and mustard, I knew I was about to get a fantastic bite of food. And I did. It was a great mouthful. Unfortunately, albacore tuna was also on the menu that day, and apparently all over the cutting board where my pork was shredded. That big, meaty bite that was supposed to be salty and distinctly porkly was, instead, fishy. Bleh.

I had problems with the wrap, too. Was it a tortilla? A wrap? Is it whole wheat, because it kinda tasted like it. Kinda crusty, kinda chewy. Worst of all, the steam it let out condensed inside the foil wrapper and soaked into the outside of the wrap, making it soggy. Its appearance was reminiscent of something you'd see on CSI or Law & Order... the flesh on a dead person found floating in water. Maybe that's extreme, but it clearly grossed me out.

Maybe I should stop there. I was going to fully review the Thai Coconut Chicken Soup with Rice Noodles and Thai Peanut Chicken w/ Ginger Slaw sanditto my wife had but let me cover it with just a few words: inedible tendon-laced hunks of chicken. Soup - fine.

Have I written Souperman off? Yes. Too many infractions in one meal to be forgiven. I've never had a great experience there, but now I can say I've had my last.

Rating - zero napkins