Oh my goodness! Here it goes. My waiter was a sweet man who did a fine 8/10 waiterly job. I found little fault in his attentions, but beyond this any redeeming qualities of this restaurant came to a screeching halt. Well… the artisanal bread, grassy phenolic olive oil and balsamic vinegar were actually solid and a promising start. I had high hopes that were not dashed by the well-balanced house red that arrived on the heels of the yeasty crusty goodness with an air of austerity lightened with just a touch of fruit-forward character. Things were looking good. Soon, my “New York” steak arrived with it’s side of spaghetti and veggie compliments. This is where the train seemed to leave it’s rails and plunge headlong into an abysmal canyon, the depth of which may prove difficult to convey. To begin with the lesser evils, the veggies were more like really bad dancers than inoperable tumors. A roasted spring onion stood alone and proud above some confused green beans who rested uncomfortably atop a few slices of pineapple. They were not smiling. Captain Creative here found that mixing the beans and piña brought them to a nearly sub-passable level, but there was no question that the onion wanted no part in these shenanigans. To the right, a tiny bowl of bland, molto al dente spaghetti begged me for some olive oil, salt, and pepper. I was happy to acquiesce, crunch crunch. I was going to make it! Finally, my eyes fell upon the beef. I know it was beef. I’ve had it in many forms, but this was no New York cut. It was definitely new… something. It was far wider than any New York strip I’ve ever seen. It was 1/2 an inch thick, and the fat cap was so dense with connective tissue that I couldn’t manage to grind down a single bite. I’m quite certain that this imposter originated somewhere far far away from the top of the short loin. After heavily medicating the unseasoned beast with a dose of salt and pepper, and sadly cutting away the tendon-like fat, I was rewarded with something that teased me with a suggestion of cowy flavor, uninspiring but palatable. In all of this confusion, I had forgotten about my proud spring onion, which I now proceeded to slice up and apply to some oil and vinegar soaked bread slices. A moment of relief! I smiled when I remembered that I could still wash all of this down with a pretty fair red. Life has it’s ups and downs, and I knew that with a dose of my favorite dessert, creme brulee, I was bound to finish up on a high note. Well… my finishing moments arrived, a bit less like some soaring Heifetz finale than the dying screams of a small tortured... never mind. I wasn’t sure anyone on earth would believe what I faced, so I had to document it with my trusty 6s+. It was a soup, and a very thin soup indeed. There actually was no crust or custard in the accepted sense of the words. Runny from top to bottom. The cream for my coffee was a dairy substitute. Bear in mind that this was at a high-end restaurant in one of the gastronomical capitals of planet earth. I called my waiter over, thanked him for his great service, took good care of him, and left with my tail between my legs. Earlier that day, I had enjoyed one of the best dining experiences in memory. Entropy? Negentropy? Not sure what was going on here, but I suspect the message is more Pema Chodron than Stephen Hawking.