Konoba Varoš — Restaurant in Grad Split

Do you want to feel unwelcomed?...we've got just the place! Remember that feeling when you stumble into your sibling's room and even though they are not there themselves you still feel the looming presence of "YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE!!!" atmosphere. Well - you can relive your childhood memories in Konoba Varos... From the first moments when we were browsing through the menu preparing to place our order we realized that asking for a tap water to quench our thirst in a meanwhile was a mistake. Not only we were refused since this reputable establishment served paid options only, but the service went downhill from that unfortunate episode. Every interaction with the waitress was not-so-hospitable to say the least. The great difference between 'serving a meal' and 'dumping damn plates on the table' was a unique style of our food consumption (I can't call it a dinner) experience. The restaurant setup and decor is more or less good. The food was mediocre: Pašticada, Escalope Zagreb style and Bolognese were okay - nothing to complain about, but also not a memorable and definitely not a finger licking experience. And if you decide to order some grilled veggies on a side expect a small plate of those for Eur 6.5 - I guess if these were at least presented better it wouldn't be as much of a disappointment (see the picture). Summary: Konoba Varos - never again.

P.S. oh yes - apparently upon settling your bill remember - saying 'No' when you are offered to add some tips means 10% are 'accidentally' added. Where the answer 'Yes' going to bring you - one can only guess....

This horrible experience started with a twenty-five minute wait while servers continuously walked by my family not acknowledging us although there were several empty tables in the restaurant. Finally one server named Ante MLADIN rudely ordered my family to follow him, we should have walked away immediately! It only got worse from there, Ante was tremendously rude, arrogant and negligent towards us for the entirety of our dinner. We briefly had a second waiter, but he was no better displaying the same disdain for customers of the establishment. We observed a table of elderly couples having the same issues with the staff at this restaurant, which is disturbing! The food was bland, overcooked and overpriced. My seafood risotto was disgusting, drowning in oil and they served me an un-opened clam buried in the middle of it. I sent the clam back and with no apology from Ante, they had the clam back in front of me within twenty seconds, I DID NOT eat it! When it came time to pay the bill, I advised Ante about the issues with my seafood risotto. Ante instigated an argument about the risotto, but reluctantly said that he will remove that portion from the bill. I thanked him for doing so and then he said that he will not be removing that portion now, Ante clearly never intended to do so in the first place. I have eaten at restaurants around the world and this is by far, the worst staff and establishment that I have ever encountered. DO NOT eat here!!! There are far better restaurants to enjoy while...

Welcome to Disaster Diner Deluxe, where your wallet gets tortured, your stomach gets betrayed, and your patience goes on permanent strike.

The steak? A sad, shriveled excuse for meat, more lifeless than a zombie convention after a power outage. It looked like it had been defrosted and refrozen so many times that it had developed its own personality—one of disappointment and despair. And the fish? Dryer than a mummy’s tongue in the Sahara, leathery enough to double as a flip-flop, and seasoned with what I assume was pure apathy.

The pasta was drowned in a river of industrial-grade parmesan straight out of a dusty, expired jar, clinging to each noodle like a clingy ex who just won’t let go. Even the bread rolls seemed embarrassed to be on the table.

The staff? Imagine the slowest, drunkest zombies you’ve ever seen, moving as if gravity had doubled overnight. One waiter reeked of alcohol so aggressively I was half-expecting him to sprout grapes from his pores. They fumbled orders, ignored us spectacularly, and somehow managed to make the whole experience feel like a punishment for existing.

The only thing served well here is the bill, arriving like a merciless slap to remind you that yes, you just paid €50 for the culinary equivalent of a public shaming.

By the end, I left Disaster Diner Deluxe traumatized, starving, and questioning every life choice that led me there. Never has disappointment been plated with such style—or such...