Goodbye to all that
JAJOul. Zgoda 3, Tel. 826-4493Hours: Mon.-Fri. 10 a.m.-11:30 p.m.Sat. 10:30 a.m.-midnightSunday: 11:30 a.m.-11:30 p.m.
Last Saturday night as Kasia, Ania and I ventured out for dinner at the newly opened Jajo on ulica Zgoda, I was optimistic about what we might discover. Earlier in the week a credible source raved about the restaurant's food, service and atmosphere. In hindsight, perhaps, I confused his description with that of another club. Our visit to Jajo was painful from start to finish.
The tragedy began minutes after we arrived when the waitress asked if we'd mind moving tables to make way for a larger party. Ignorant as to the fate of this move, we happily obliged and were seated at a neighboring table by the window. As we sat down at our new place, I at once realized our mistake. Directly above me blazed a halogen bulb that burned so brightly I swore I could detect the scent of my own singed hair.
"Oh my God, you look like a ghost," said Kasia at the sight of my phosphorescent face. I was, however, unable to soften my hue. Our previous table was already occupied by a group of eight women who, seated firmly in their chairs, had trapped me in the recess of the window frame. The only thing I could do was lean back and squint as I tried to make out the Polish/English menu.
The first thing I noticed about the fare at Jajo is that it seemed very affordable. Not one dish on the menu, which included breakfast, lunch and dinner selections, was priced over zł. 30. Perhaps the cheap prices should have clued us in on what to expect. Instead we let our hunger get the better of us and ordered with abandon.
With our waitress fetching our starters, we enjoyed what would be our most pleasurable time at Jajo. It lasted precisely 30 seconds and ended the moment the ladies at our former table dived into their first round of drinks.
Dr. Jekyl never experienced such a sudden metamorphosis as the once-benign women began to whoop, holler, and light up smokes like bachelorettes taking in the Chippendale dancers. Soon the rest of the restaurant - the trendy young clientele dining at the other tables and the jazz music playing in the background - faded behind the heavy blanket of laughter and smoke that billowed from their table.
When our waitress appeared from out of the fog, I was more comforted in knowing that we still had a link to the outside world than I was in the appetizers she presented. My "Greek plate" brought back long-suppressed memories of elementary school lunches. Served on a plate divided into sections, the dish came with a smattering of canned peas, carrots and beans that was labeled as a "salad" on the menu. The pork meatballs were equally disappointing. I had expected spicy, handmade sausages, but instead I received small, prefabricated nuggets that I imagine the restaurant purchases frozen by the kilo. In addition, the appetizer came with two charred pieces of bread that seemed to have been thrown on the grill as an afterthought.
Fortunately, the girls fared better than I did. Kasia liked her oyster mushroom salad that was served with a mixture of lettuce, caramelized onion, lightly toasted walnuts and a salty vinegarette dressing. Ania, too, praised her order of chicken livers braised in balsamic vinegar and served with a celeriac, pear and walnut salad. The livers, she said, melted in the mouth, although I cannot attest to this. Before I could steal a bite she was wiping her lips of any remaining sauce and leaving me to hope that my main course would be as rewarding.
Again, the description of my meal on the menu turned out to be a misnomer. What read "salmon filet" turned out to be three ice-cube-sized squares of fish served atop a bed of pasta. The tasteless salmon was a sharp contrast to the artificial-lemon flavoring that drowned the noodles. The only thing satisfying about the meal was the secret pleasure I took in knowing that Ania's seafood linguini was just as bad. "It just has no aroma, no flavor," she said as she picked at the small pieces of shrimp, mussels and octopus that lay hidden in the pasta. Perhaps Kasia made the wisest choice when she opted out of a main course. But surely things could get better, so we thought, and ordered a round of coffee and dessert.
Twenty minutes later, another waitress groveled to our table and apologized for having served our desserts to another party. That's all fine and good, but when our desserts arrived at long last we had already drained our coffees and were left to choke down our thick cakes. Although the taste and presentation of the treats were good, they were hardly worth the wait.
As soon as we could, we flagged down our waitress and asked for the check. For diners wishing to walk out the door with a faktura VAT, Jajo will not produce one on the spot, though the waitress did promise to send it by post. Overall, thoroughly forgettable and as a short postscript, as I write this review and add up our bill I realize that we were charged for a gin and tonic we never ordered. No doubt the drink was ordered by the ladies next door and perhaps it's just as well. They at least seemed to enjoy their visit to Jajo - even if it came at our expense. Our bill, with drinks we ordered and those we did not, came to zł. 205 ($50).
On the menu:
Oyster mushroom salad zł. 15
Chicken livers with walnut salad zł. 15
Greek plate with pork meatballs
and salad zł. 14
Seafood linguini zł. 18
Grilled salmon filet with pasta zł. 22
Walnut tort zł. 9
Apple pie with ice cream zł. 9
William Nichols
