We can put a man on the moon, but we still can’t bring the service at some high-end Moscow restaurants up to a satisfactory level. I’m not talking about perfection, just a level comparable to McDonald’s: prompt and friendly.
On Sunday, my boyfriend and I went to the newly opened Saffron restaurant, a minute’s stroll from metro Pushkinskaya: I booked a table there after reading a fabulous review of it.
Alas, it was hardly the rosy picture painted by the reviewer. Despite its funky looks and nice atmosphere, the restaurant turned out to be nothing more than a stylish public place with an elaborate design, showing no sign of any emphasis on customer service.
Saffron’s setting is handsome — comfy sofas, tiny smooth tables (without traditional linen tablecloths) — and the exotic Lebanese and Oriental dishes are competently prepared. The only question is how long it should take to prepare and deliver a modest three-course lunch to the table.
We ordered a plate of meze (6 small portions of appetizers for $15); two soups (tomato and lentil, $5 each); a chicken kebab ($12), sea-bream fish ($18); two bottles of Perrier and two cocktails. Our check finally reached $72, though we only had the opportunity to taste half of what we ordered.
It all started very well, and just 10 minutes after we made our order a waitress brought us an assortment of meze with freshly baked hot bread. It was delicious! We were more and more anxious to continue our festive meal by sampling the soups. We were very, very patient but 40 minutes later I decided to ask the waitress a stupid kind of question, "By the way, where are our tomato and lentil soups we ordered?" Her reply was amazing, "Well, you know, we’ve run out of the tomato soup…" Could she have explained it to me before so I could have ordered something else?
Then, luck was on my boyfriend’s side and another waitress brought him his kebab, saying that she would bring the lentil soup just "a little bit later." Watching my boyfriend get his food, I couldn’t help but cry, "Unbelievable! It’s about time you brought us the main course. I’m hungry, just bring me my fish, please!"
According to my gourmet boyfriend (and I trust him 100 percent), the kebab was OK.
As for me, I only saw my fish (which looked overcooked) one hour later when neither of us cared about the food (at Saffron) any more: The service was so crappy that consequently we felt crappy, too. All we wanted was to pay the bill and get out of there.
I learned a lot about patience at Saffron, as I felt like I’d been taken prisoner by a team of culinary pirates. They kept me in their den for two and a half bloody hours and nearly starved me to death.
Ironically, two young men who were sitting at a nearby table got everything they ordered quickly although they arrived later than us.
"If you can’t work with your head, work with your legs," professional chefs say. But I guess the whole bunch of professionals working in Saffron simply had a day off that Sunday…
Unfortunately, Saffron proved itself as a place to go not just to kill time, but your money and mood, as well.