Il Corallo Trattoria - One of the worst Restaurants on Earth

This past weekend, I was afforded the opportunity to visit both ends of the dining experience continuum having gone from from dastardly deplorable service on Saturday night to perilously palatable plates the following afternoon. While I'd rather not spend my energy lavishly lambasting the shortcomings of a restaurant gone wrong, my overall impression of this eatery was so poor, so unbelievably awful, that I have no choice but to tell my story. Plus, anybody who has enjoyed a meal with me knows that I will not and do not tolerate rude service when I'm out to eat. As much as I enjoy praising those who deliver, it is my duty to chastise those who do not. That said, as Saturday night grew older, our search for a painless, affordable, hassle-free eating experience landed us at a small pasta house on the border of SoHo and Greenwich Village. Il Corallo Trattoria is a small, cramped, noisy establishment on a relatively quiet stretch of Prince St, between Sullivan and Thompson St. Not quite SoHo, not quite the Village, Corallo enjoys limited competition in an area of northern SoHo that is not known for its abundant foot traffic, let alone dining options. Still, any place that is packed to the gills on a Saturday night in downtown Manhattan has to be worth it right? Maybe not. Arriving at Corallo, we immediately saw a line of people waiting outside, and soon learned that the robotic hostess was splitting time between refilling water inside and loosely managing the dining queue outside. You will not be greeted by anyone at Il Corallo as there is no hostess, no waiting area, no nothing, except for a tall, frantic, bird-like woman wearing a high flying buffont that makes her resemblance to Foghorn Leghorn absolutely uncanny. Slithering through the dining room refilling water and bossing around the servers, this woman wore the most phony of smiles. It looked more like she was on lunch duty at an elementary school than moving to ensure her customers were enjoying themelves. Eventually Foghorn informed us that it would be 15-30 minutes to seat our party of 3. As we waited, a few more groups gathered, and it wasn't long before the tall woman, dressed like a Nazi officer in her long leather skirt and black boots came out and sternly ordered us all to "Get in Line and we'll let you know". Apparently, at Corallo, they do not take names, and think it is a better system to require everyone to stand outside in line so that the hostess can remember the order in which you arrived. After another 15 minutes of nobody being seated, I decided to venture into cacophonous dining room to track down the "hostess" and get an update on our table. After a couple minutes of standing in the middle of two tables like an idiot, I was finally able to get her attention and ask her "Miss, we were just wondering how long for the table of 3?". An innocent inquiry to which she quickly retorted, "I'll answer your question when you get back in line." Oustanding! Is this lady for real or what? Again, for anybody who knows me, it becomes rather obvious very quickly that I do not take well to this kind of treatment and I was already starting to simmer over this lady's attitude to begin with . After stewing outside for a bit, and dealing with my dining partners' accusations of having a short fuse, we were signaled in to be seated. While holding the door open for customers making their way out, the mother of the group leaving turned to the "hostess" who was following closely behind, put her finger in her face and said "You know what you did was extremely rude. It was extremely rude." Foghorn, with the fakest of grins, replied, "Thank you for coming, please come again." The woman's daughter, in tow, chimed in, "That was really rude, you knew we had the check." The mother added, "What is your name?", Foghorn responded, "Laurie, ok, thanks again!" As the mother and her daughter left scorned and slighted, the woman we now know as Laurie turned to us and chortled, "That was your table guys! Come on in!" At this point I knew my problem with this woman was not a figment of my imagination. My fickle dining buddies agreed. After waiting for 15 minutes for someone to come to our table with water, I politely asked Laurie, "Can we have our waiter when you can?", to which she quickly replied, "He'll come when he frees up." Oh. ok. I suppose he's busy doing something else, perhaps knitting the back, or smoking a cigarette outside. Whatever he's doing, I certainly don't want to bother him.

Nevertheless, we marched on, ordered and went about our business. It is clear that the only reason Corallo receives any sort of patronage is because it is a very affordable option for those in search of a decent bowl of pasta for under $12, especially in a neighborhood that charges you $10 for a Ham and gruyere panini. Take into consideration the drab interior, overdecorated walls, and faint smell of par-baked salmon permeating the room, and I don't care how cheap the pasta is. Does hanging a map of Italy on the wall make a restaurant authentic? I never thought so, but Corallo does, sporting at least 3 throughout the dining room. This place isn't an italian restaurant, it's a restaurant that serves Italian food. If you'd read my review of Maremma, you of course know how I feel about pasta dishes when eating out, so I'll spare my breath, but it should be known that albeit affordable, you're not getting anything at Corallo that you can't make for yourself at home. What's more, Laurie's presumptuous behavior makes it clear that she is not in the business of trying to convince you otherwise. This place is all about turning tables, and after my meal, I read countless reviews on the web warning people that you will be kicked out of your table and asked to leave by your lovely hostess Laurie.

This restaurant is run by a woman whose blatant disregard for customer service and presentation demonstrates an egregious lack of respect for New York's passionate restaurant goers. Her ability to watch an angry customer storm off with only a devilish smirk on her face knowing three more bodies await anxious to fill her empty seats, is a true testament to how Corallo is in the business of helping itself and only itself. It rests comfortably on the audacious assumption that, lowering your prices not only obviates people's desire to be catered to when dining out, but also that providing an affordable meal entitles you to behave however you please. New Yorkers know better, which maybe explains why most of Corallo's patrons were non-english speaking tourists anyway.

Enough is enough, and while was planning on talking about the wondrous display of Square Pie and Meatballs I enjoyed at Adrienne's downtown yesterday, talking about Il Corallo has left me emotionally wilted and mentally maimed. I shall regroup and return tomorrow to discuss how you can get what are possibly the best meatballs you've ever had at Adrienne's Pizza Bar....

A domani...

Report Card:
Food: B- (if you have no idea how to make macaroni at home, C if you do)
Ambiance: C (unless you find the Olive Garden charming)
Service: F
Experience in a thought: "I say...I say boy! I won't be back here ever, ever again."

Il Corallo Trattoria
176 Prince St (Btw Sullivan & Thompson)