Oleandr — Restaurant in New York

No Soul, No Taste, No Party - Oleandr Restaurant, Brooklyn I don't usually write reviews, but this one? This one I must. I've been throwing parties for years--big ones, small ones, weddings, anniversaries, New Year's, you name it. I know what a real party looks like. I know what good Russian food tastes like. And I know when someone's trying to sell you glitter with no gold underneath. Oleandr? They're selling you glitter from the dollar store.

I went as a guest to this event--nice people, not their fault. But the place? Disaster.

Let's start with the entertainment. There's this blonde woman on stage, big personality, big hair, no voice. She's lip-syncing like it's a school talent show. No energy, no charm, just dancing like she's counting steps in her head. And don't get me started on the saxophone guy. Bro, if you're going to fake it, at least pretend! He didn't even press a button. Just standing there while music plays like it's coming from his shoes. It was insulting. I've had uncles with accordions who bring more fire than that whole stage.

Now the food--bozhe moi. Cold cut platters from Costco would've been better. Salads drowning in mayo, dry meat that tasted like it took a nap in the oven and never woke up, and nothing--nothing--fresh. I've seen better presentation at kids' birthday parties. And they call this fine dining? In what country?

This place has no heart. You can't fake atmosphere. You can't fake flavor. And you sure as hell can't fake music when half the room knows you're faking it. If you care about your guests, don't book here. Go somewhere that knows our culture. Knows hospitality. Knows how to make people dance and eat like kings.

Oleandr is for amateurs. I left hungry, annoyed, and embarrassed I wore...

I don't usually leave reviews like this, but Oleandr absolutely earned it. We attended what was supposed to be a birthday celebration, but they turned it into a disaster from start to finish.

Let's start with the food--if you can call it that. The oleander salad, which sounded like it might be something fresh or creative, showed up with turkey tossed in like an afterthought. Who puts turkey in a salad at a formal banquet? It felt like someone just grabbed lunchmeat from a leftover deli tray and threw it in to fill the bowl. It was dry, bland, and made no sense whatsoever. Not a single person at our table touched it after the first bite.

Then there was the lox, which clearly sat out way too long--warm to the touch, dry at the edges, and straight-up questionable. And the foie gras? The worst we've ever had. Rubbery, flavorless, and almost insulting to call it foie gras.

Just when we thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, the hot dishes arrived--mushy, overcooked, and totally unidentifiable. We all ended up pushing the food around our plates and finally giving up. We literally left starving after a full-course banquet.

The music was blaring so loudly we had to yell just to be heard across the table. There was no ambiance, no comfort--just chaos. And the so-called performer? A blonde woman who clearly wasn't singing, just pretending to mouth the lyrics while awkwardly swaying to a pre-recorded track. It felt more like a low-budget karaoke night gone wrong.

What should have been a joyful birthday celebration turned into a night of frustration, hunger, and secondhand embarrassment. I would never recommend Oleandr for any event unless you're trying to ruin someone's evening. Absolutely...

What Did I Just Attend? - Oleandr Restaurant, Brooklyn Okay, look--I've been to a lot of Russian spots in my life. I've got close friends who throw real Russian parties: the kind with music that makes you want to dance, food that keeps coming till you can't breathe, and vodka that makes you forget your ex. I know the vibe. I came to Oleandr for a longtime friend's party, expecting just that.

What I got? Dio mio. It felt like I walked into the rehearsal dinner for a bad cruise ship wedding.

Let's start with the "entertainment." There's this blonde woman--frizzy bleached hair, built like she wrestles bears for fun--lip-syncing to old dance songs like she was being held hostage by her own playlist. I kept looking around like, "Is this for real?" Then came the saxophone guy--oh, this guy. He's "playing" while his hands aren't even moving! I swear on my nonna's lasagna, the man stood there like a statue while the saxophone kept wailing. Either he's a magician, or the music was faker than my cousin's Gucci bag.

Now the food. Madonna mia. Banquet food that tasted like it came out of a microwave from 1987. Overcooked, under-loved, and served with a side of sadness. I tried a few things just to be polite, but even my fork was begging me to stop. And I'm Italian--I respect food. This felt like a crime against taste buds.

I felt bad for my friend. This was his big night, and I know he meant well. But Oleandr? Nah. Looks fancy, but it's all smoke and mirrors. You want a real night out? Go find a spot with actual musicians, a chef who cooks with love, and someone who knows how to throw a party--not...