Soya y Pommodoro

My-Negative-Review-Of-Soya-Y-Pommodoro-A-Place-I-Really-Wanted-To- Sing-The-Praises-Of-Will-Be-Here-Soon.

Until then, I leave you with this: Snotty, affected service, for a place that got their seats and tables, apparently, from the Salvation Army. Which was part of the draw, but was also supposed to hint at effusive and friendly service.

After standing in the entrance (?) for five minutes, and asking a lady whether we sat ourselves, and being told, "Ask him over there," I was asked if I had a reservation... for an empty restaurant, nevermind the fact that I knew two of the artists exhibiting in the back... who were... having an opening?

The food was passable... mediocre.

Cold bread with no butter, no olive oil, NO BREAD PLATES, NO WATER.

You know what? No.

That place fucking sucks. It's cool with that bohemian "I'm-In-The-Meatpacking-District" vibe, but the food is eh, the service sucks, and the crowd was a little too pretentious for being on First street and N.E. 1st Avenue. Pretentious, undeservedly.

But then again, that's downtown for you.

And why I like the design district better.

At least there, the hipsters aren't faux hipsters.

Here's my review: Soya y Pommodoro sucks. I'll go back again, in my hipster clothing (i.e. not a belt with whales on it next time...) and see how it goes, but I'd recommend to their staff that they should probably lose the attitude and the distance and ennui and maybe then I'll tip more than fifteen percent (which is automatically built in, and, given the fact that I waited about half an hour for the waiter to come by with the check, during which time, I suffered conversation with some drunk idiot who RUINED our dinner was insufferable) but until then... nah. You guys deserved your insulting fifteen percent.

Suck it.