Worst food I tried ever.
Matar paneer- it was very sour. Was taste like paneer mixed in tomato paste. I have thrown the entire order.
Chilli chicken curry- chicken was not cooked well. It was made like from ready curry paste. It was even not well mixed as entire curry was giving uncooked taste.
Naan- it was good.
Overall, I just wasted my money successfully.
I request, why you serve this kind of food. I don't understand.
If you want to see how the food should taste like then please try food from main curry house.
The Tragedy of Sommerfeld - A fairy tale from the world of the culinary apocalypse
Once upon a time there was a hungry soul who set out on a long journey in the hope of filling his empty stomach with delicious food. Word of a legendary place called Sommerfeld had spread across the country, a restaurant that was supposed to be blessed by the gods of star cuisine. So I set off with an empty stomach and full of expectations - and was bitterly disappointed.
Arrival at the Temple of Sterility
As soon as I entered this culinary mausoleum, I felt a strange feeling. The interior was reminiscent of a mix between an art gallery and an operating room. Cool colors, minimalist furniture and a silence so oppressive that even a whispered sentence was considered inappropriate. You hardly dared to breathe, let alone speak. A solemn atmosphere, as if you were in the holy hall of the priests of taste - but without holiness, without life, without soul.
The Card - A joke in several acts
With shaking hands, I picked up the menu, hoping for some revelation. Instead, I read cryptic words like fermented pointed cabbage with pickled root and dashi beurre blanc. Sounded like an alchemical formula for a magic potion, but probably tasted more like wet paper with the essence of hubris. The prices – oh, the prices! - were of such a height that it was thought that each plate contained a divine message engraved with gold edges.
The moment of starvation
Then came the food - or rather, what they thought it was. On a huge stoneware bowl, reminiscent of a feeding bowl for noble greyhounds, lay a meager composition of three drops of a reduced essence, an artfully arranged lettuce leaf and a forkful of protein element. I looked at my plate. My plate looked back at me. My stomach twisted in horror.
I ate. And I died.
Not physically – no, worse. I died emotionally, spiritually, culinary. Every bite was a taste of nothing. The taste was so subtle it was practically non-existent. I chewed on the concepts of modern culinary philosophy that promised me an explosion of flavor - instead it was a silent, empty vacuum. A tribute to the absolute insignificance of haute cuisine.
The service – the great silence
The waiters floated across the floor as if they were part of a theater production where emotions were not allowed. I dared to ask for a drinks menu. People looked at me like I asked for fries at the opera. When a glass of water finally landed on my table - quietly and silently - I knew: This was not a place for hungry people, but for those who gnaw at their own elitist self-image.
The end of an odyssey
When the bill came, I was overcome by another sense of dying - this time of a financial nature. For the amount that was asked for here, I could have bought a whole suckling pig and its own grill hut. I paid with tears in my eyes. Not out of emotion, but out of pure regret.
And so I left the summer field—hungry, broke, and enriched by an experience I wouldn't wish on an enemy. Maybe, I thought, the real secret to Michelin-starred cuisine is not the taste, but the ability to get people to pay for nothing. I'll never know.
Because I'm never coming back here.
One star – for the unintentional comedy.
Very good food, expensive for what you get. However, the service was incredibly unfriendly – we were asked to leave with the bill even though the restaurant was almost empty.