Station--Brooklyn

718-599-1596

Station, and I'm sorry but I cannot help myself, is a train wreck.  My experience here was so bad, so ridiculously poor, that I pity the owner that spent their investor's money on such over the top  business cards and peculiar menus.  How do I begin?

Comfortably located fifteen steps from the Bedford stop, I arrived late with my wife already sat at the door.  It was a blustery night, and the heavy wooden door could not stay closed.  It blew and blew then every once in a while a waify little hostess would remember to close it. This would be a harbinger of things to come, as the service was without a doubt, the worst I've ever had in New York City.

The menu was nothing short of schizophrenic:  French, Italian, African, I mean all over the map, or book.  Or whatever it was they were trying to do.  We decided to have rilettes and a nice glass of wine while waiting for our server to finally materialize   The waitress knew as much about food as I know about organic chemistry, stating that the menu was Mediterranean influenced.  She also told us later, that she had to clear our rillets as the short ribs were ready and needed to be served--presumably for fear of overcooking.  She also didn't offer us water once.  Not a single time.  In fact this is my first meal ever at a restaurant--going all the way back to Denny's and Carrows and Marie Calenders when I was just a wee lass--that I was not offered water with a meal.

The food?  Abysmal.  The chef hales from 11 Madison Park which means she spent most of her time telling diners what they were going to have for dinner.  Here the flavors and aesthetic were so mish-mashed together: said short rib had mushrooms red wine while my chicken had curry and potatoes.  Of course, its hard to say you enjoy eating anything when you're parched.  Maybe soup.  Wifey wife was paying, so we still tipped, but had I been paying I would have laid a big fat goose egg all over the check.  That would also would have been a first.