A diner from Richmond
Dec 1, 2009
...the deciding factor between whether a restaurant is 'good' or 'awesome' is atmosphere, including but not at all limited to the physical environment in which you are enjoying your meal, the enthusiasm of the staff, and your comfortability level in regards to every aspect of your dining experience.
So, with that in mind, let me weave the tale of Harlem Cafe & Lounge.
Walking in, one notices dim lighting, no matter what the hour, oddly placed seating (and strangely crafted as well: upon further inspection, the booth seemed to be made of a plank of splintery wood draped with a seldom cleaned black tablecloth), and a dining population of zero (again, no matter what the hour) if the bored waitress in the corner catching up on her homework doesn't count. Psychologically, this first impression inspires the thought that perhaps the restaurant is not the best choice, for no one else is here, and the lunch hour is peaking, providing no further explanation for the lack of hungry customers. But, perhaps this is a good time to give a new place a chance, if Harlem can still be called new, having lived out its honeymoon by the end of September.
The waitress circles like a vulture as you peruse the menu, printed on copy paper and neglected heavily by the spell check. And, so, you decide on the Caribbean Jerk sandwich as you sip on a too-sweet lemonade, and the only other living soul in the building disappears for the third time to hopefully deliver your order.
Comedy Central's half-funny jokes compete loudly with the radio blaring puns concerning the enlargement of a certain feature of the male anatomy. One begins creating explanations for why one has been seated long enough to have had two lemonades and no sandwich while the waitress, departed from her distractions, rolls her eyes.
And suddenly, your clock manages to squeak louder than the television, the radio, and the countless people entering in and out of the building who obviously have business upstairs and no respect for the diners. Lunch break is over, and, yes, the sandwich has taken more than 45 minutes to create.
In conclusion, the atmosphere is dismal. The room is dark and seems to still be under construction. The staff is boring and understimulating, to the point where they do not even know the menu, nor do they care about the customer, as if they already understand that each customer that comes in will be completely unsatisfied because the food took such an impressively long time to cook and serve. The manager's friends not only pop in and out through the front too many times but insist on forcing you to absorb each and every aspect of their day through ear. And the food? Well, I wouldn't know. I was on a lunch break and apparently, the chef was waiting until dinner to serve me. And according to the waitresses, this happens a lot.
So, with that in mind, let me weave the tale of Harlem Cafe & Lounge.
Walking in, one notices dim lighting, no matter what the hour, oddly placed seating (and strangely crafted as well: upon further inspection, the booth seemed to be made of a plank of splintery wood draped with a seldom cleaned black tablecloth), and a dining population of zero (again, no matter what the hour) if the bored waitress in the corner catching up on her homework doesn't count. Psychologically, this first impression inspires the thought that perhaps the restaurant is not the best choice, for no one else is here, and the lunch hour is peaking, providing no further explanation for the lack of hungry customers. But, perhaps this is a good time to give a new place a chance, if Harlem can still be called new, having lived out its honeymoon by the end of September.
The waitress circles like a vulture as you peruse the menu, printed on copy paper and neglected heavily by the spell check. And, so, you decide on the Caribbean Jerk sandwich as you sip on a too-sweet lemonade, and the only other living soul in the building disappears for the third time to hopefully deliver your order.
Comedy Central's half-funny jokes compete loudly with the radio blaring puns concerning the enlargement of a certain feature of the male anatomy. One begins creating explanations for why one has been seated long enough to have had two lemonades and no sandwich while the waitress, departed from her distractions, rolls her eyes.
And suddenly, your clock manages to squeak louder than the television, the radio, and the countless people entering in and out of the building who obviously have business upstairs and no respect for the diners. Lunch break is over, and, yes, the sandwich has taken more than 45 minutes to create.
In conclusion, the atmosphere is dismal. The room is dark and seems to still be under construction. The staff is boring and understimulating, to the point where they do not even know the menu, nor do they care about the customer, as if they already understand that each customer that comes in will be completely unsatisfied because the food took such an impressively long time to cook and serve. The manager's friends not only pop in and out through the front too many times but insist on forcing you to absorb each and every aspect of their day through ear. And the food? Well, I wouldn't know. I was on a lunch break and apparently, the chef was waiting until dinner to serve me. And according to the waitresses, this happens a lot.
