Buddakan to Rachael Ray

I’m not cheap. I don’t mind dropping a lot of money for a good meal or a good drink. I will spend $10 at an airport Starbucks just to get a latte and one of those delicious toffee bars. But what really annoys me is when I spend a lot of money and receive no satisfaction.

Buddakan last night disappointed me. We had to wait about 10 minutes to be seated. While normally this doesn’t bother me, there was really nowhere for one to wait.  There were too many smells.  The hallway to the bathroom smelled like fish. Bad fish. The stairs (we were seated upstairs) smelled like old pee, the kind of smell usually reserved for subway stations. At least there weren’t scented candles. But maybe there should have been.

Our appetizer, the edamame ravioli, was delicious. Rich, buttery, truffley goodness. I loved it. I could have rolled around in it naked. Heaven. I was really set up for the rest of my meal.

The entrees? Not so heavenly. The wok cashew chicken tasted like something that comes from the Chinese food place in a strip mall. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. The accompanying basmati rice was abnormally dry and a little hard. It was old. The sesame crusted tuna was tasty, but after three pieces, I was over it. Yeah, sashimi grade tuna. Big deal. Do something out of the ordinary, Buddakan. It was under sauced. I wanted another course. I never felt satisfied.

I left the restaurant full, bloated, but wanting more. I wasn’t satisfied. $60 later, and I wanted to go to Taco Bell or the golden arches or the $12 dinner buffet at New Delhi in University City. I didn’t do that. I went home and ate leftover pasta, a recipe in which my Dad saw on the Rachael Ray Show. And you know what? It was pretty good.

Buddakan, I wanted something delicious. I wanted three courses of delicious. You made me hate myself for spending $60 and adding to my ever expanding waistline. Eating an assortment of chocolates in bed, that is satisfying and worth every fattening bite. Buddakan, you are not.