Suraya Restaurant — Restaurant in Philadelphia

My girlfriend and I have heard so much about Suraya from our friends and coworkers living in the city. I made a reservation to go for our three year anniversary, and we were both excited to try a new experience and enjoy ourselves at Suraya. Upon walking into the warehouse-like dining room, we were honestly lost. It was so loud we could barely hear each other. We stood around for a few minutes until someone waved at us to come on over to a counter halfway into the first section of the dining room. We were seated afterwards and received our menus. The waiter who took our order informed us that our entree order must follow our mezze order. We ordered drinks, myself a Lebanese pilsner, and my girlfriend a pistachio mocktail, and waited more than 15 minutes for it. Our waiter was apologetic, but still impersonal, at this point seeming like he was under a lot of duress behind the scenes. My beer was not my favorite choice, but perhaps it is a difference in personal taste. However, my girlfriend's pistachio drink tasted horrible, like straight cardamom or some odd flavor we couldn't quite place. We sat with the drinks hoping they would go with our food to come, but that wasn't quite true. We placed our mezze and entree order, and received the first course rather quickly. Our dips were accompanied with two individual pitas, one per person, in a paper bag. While I understand basic irony, this felt like a slap in the face considering the coldness and the price of this "experience." The hummus was very good, as was the muhamarra spread. The baba ganoush tasted like ash, similar to that of a cigarette or burnt vape. The labneh was served with 3 cucumbers, 2 half grape tomatoes, and 1 olive. That's all I can really say about it. Our two hot mezze, the fatteh and warek salek were pretty good, not amazing, but the portions were extremely small for what we paid for. We quickly finished our pita and more than half of the mezze dips were remaining. Instead of offering more, they quickly took the mezze off the table, and we continued to wait at least 20 minutes for next course. When it arrived, my kofta kebab with hummus and my girlfriend's branzino were pretty good. Until we tasted the rice. It was ice cold, salted to the max, and with too much lemon for either of our tastes. Honestly, it was just bad, felt very rushed. Other than that, our entrees were good, just not spectacular. As I walked a city block from the front where we were seated, to the bathrooms in back, I could see the faces of the staff change from miserable to delightful as they realized a customer was looking at them. Just very strange. When I returned, we placed our desert order for the kanafeh for 2, and we asked if we could order a Lebanese chai, having heard much about it. Our waiter informed us "I will see if someone from the morning shift can make that for you" at 10 pm, feeling like a slight jab for going off the alcohol menu given with desert. Our drink arrived quickly, but our deserts again, took over 25 minutes. When they arrived, our waiter was apologizing for the third time about the tardiness of the kitchen, but didn't offer anything as a comp for the excessive waiting. Our kanafeh was served with two flavorless sesame pita, and was just too sweet for our tastes. It was served with rose syrup that was poured over the top for us, but it was just too much. At this point, being there over two hours now, we just wanted to get the check and go home and complain to each other about this stuffy, messy experience, but my girlfriend needed to use the bathroom. 30 seconds after she walked away, I received the following text; "OMG there's a waitress literally crying in the bathroom". Wow. Craziness. We paid, we left without anyone saying goodbye, or thank you, and understood that we were never really welcome in this establishment. If you are searching for a genuine experience that will not just sap you of your money, but for something exciting and at the same time welcoming, stay far away from this...

TLDR: Excellent Mediterranean brunch service in an amazing atmosphere. If dining with a group of 10 or more, you must agree to a prix fixe menu that must be reserved in advance which includes extra ancillary service fees.

Vibe: 5/5. Located in Fishtown, Suraya has a bold presence from the street with its dark grey brick facade and large white logo. Inside, the restaurant is broken up into several different dining areas. The first area is laid out more like a bistro or cafe complete with a bakery counter and several 2 tops for more casual dining. The second room, located adjacent to the open air kitchen is more of a formal dining area that holds bigger tables for larger groups. Finally, there is an outdoor patio out back that has several 2 tops perfect for couples dining. All 3 dining areas are wonderfully decorated with modern chic touches and are very welcoming. Both the baked goods counter in the bistro area and the open air kitchen are brilliant touches, giving diners a more rustic vibe to the restaurant.

Service: 3/5. For our Saturday brunch, we had to contact Suraya several weeks in advance due to the size of our group. Per Suraya's dining policies, if you have a group of 10 or more, you are required to participate in their prix fixe group dining menu, which charges each person a flat rate and limits you on what can be ordered from their menu. On top of that, we were also charged an administrative service fee, which rubbed us the wrong way. Essentially, we are paying extra for a more limited dining experience... On a more positive note, our server was great from start to finish. Course pacing was decent, with apps and drinks coming out in little to no time from sitting down as well as giving us plenty of time to finish mezze appetizers before the main entrees. There was one mess up with a cocktail order being lost between the waiter and bar, but was remedied shortly after being notified of the missing drink.

Food: 4/5. As mentioned above, we participated in the large group prix fixe which included an assortment of baked goods as a starter, then various dips and spreads with fresh pita as our mezze appetizer and finally our choice of 3 entrees as our mains. Since we were dining with 10 people, each round had 3 orders or each item which was more than enough to give everyone at our table a hearty portion. The baked goods we received to start the meal were delicious. There were various donuts, coffee style cakes and muffins to choose from with all of them being excellent. Moving on to the mezze, we received all the staple Mediterranean spreads such as babaghanous, hummus, tabbouleh, etc. All of these dips were served with an endless supply of fresh baked puffy pita that came out piping hot on every order. Every dip was well balanced, savory and paired amazingly well with the pillowy soft pita. For our mains, we opted for the branzino, lamb kebabs and the omelette. Each entree was well prepared and liked by everyone at the table. My personal favorite was the omelette, as the feta dill filling played very nicely with the creaminess of the butter heavy omelette. Overall, the food was well received and enjoyed thoroughly. My only gripe really comes back to the forced prix fix, as I would have loved to try several more dishes from Suraya's menu, but we're stuck only ordering the 3 mains to share amongst our...

I’ve learned to appreciate food with senses other than hearing — the textures, the spices, the edible art installations on my plate. So when I walked into this cozy little Lebanese joint, I was expecting a culinary delight. But what I got was nothing shy of a symphony of food.

We were seated in an area surrounded by tables that engulfed us in the ambiance of Philly conversation, which is to say, it was loud. Real loud. Like Eagles games, overtime loud. The noise invaded my ears, drowning out whatever music was playing in the background. It could’ve been Fairuz. It could’ve been Shakira. Who knows?

Then the waiter approached and politely introduced himself. At least, I think he did. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. For a moment, I was convinced I was watching a ventriloquist act. Or possibly having a stroke. Either way, I suddenly flashed back to my eighth-grade lunchroom — confusing, chaotic, and deeply unsure of whose turn it was to speak. I attempted to order.

“What’s good here?” I asked. “One beer,” he replied. “What?” I said. “What?” he said. “What?” I yelled. “What?” he yelled. “What???” “???”

We both shrugged. We both smiled. I panicked and said I’d like a wiz wit, which is not Lebanese food, but the universal Philly signal for “I give up.”

He nodded like that made total sense. I nodded like I knew what I was doing.

Niceee. Flawless communication.

We attempted to sign out the menu like two tourists at a mime convention. Neither of us excelled. I asked for a braille menu at one point — mostly for comedic effect — but went with my Harpo Marx routine and settled for the ancient art of point, smile, and nod that meant, “I hope this is shawarma.”

We waited. And waited. And then… kept waiting. Eventually, the waiter emerged with food! But not for us. He delivered it to the table next to us, navigating the tight space like a Cirque du Soleil performer who offered a detailed view of the rear of his jeans. Size 32x30. Slim fit. I wasn’t mad at the intrusive denim situation; I was mad that I hadn’t fit into that size since high school. I missed my waist. But not as much as I missed my hearing, which I think I lost somewhere between “one beer” and the waiter’s glutes parked in my face.

Finally, a divine trumpet blast from the heavens, the food arrived. And let me tell you: the food spoke volumes. I couldn’t hear it, but oh, I felt it. The hummus… Creamy, garlicky silk that tapped danced like Gregory Hines in olive oil boots on my tastebuds. The shish kabob, or should I say sheeshhh kaBOB… Fire, charred perfection, them jawns… fire. The baba ghanoush reminded me of my father. A smokey that can only come from a pack-a-day habit. Every bite told a story I could almost hear — except I couldn’t. Not because I’m deaf, but because the restaurant was a sonic war zone. My loud ranting across the table simply blended in, like a 30-year-old whiskey: complex, underrated, and possibly misunderstood. And you know what? I wasn’t mad. Not frustrated. Not annoyed. I was… oddly content. Peaceful, even. Lost in the chaos, the food, and my thoughts. It was art. It was noise. It was hummus.

I came in with ears. I left with no equilibrium or sense of direction, and a pocket full of grape leaves.

Bravo. Bravo. Five stars.

Bring earplugs. Bring hearing aids. Bring a notepad or a translator.

Slow clap. Standing...