This place gets five stars. It’s stellar.
The irritable picaroon Gene who gave this place one star for not being some vegan hellhole? He stinks. No stars for Gene.
Gene will never know the Spicy Tuna Crudo. That’s his loss. It was delicious. And better yet, someone else paid for it.
Gene will never enjoy the Sweet Chili Charred Octopus which I was supposed to share but deliberately kept in close proximity so that I could have more than everyone else.
Gene will never know my wife, who is amazing and who had the Massaman Curry Mussels, which she raved about. She lived in France for seven years so she knows good mussels. She also knows how to say “You will die unloved, Gene” in perfect French with a Parisian accent.
My ten-year old took his fiancé here on a date. He thinks they’ll get married someday. I hope they do, because she’s very smart and she’s not a vegan. They both had the Kale Spaghetti. My son finished it. The girl ate as much as she could, but in fairness she weighs three ounces.
I had the Sautéed Skate Wing on one of my visits. It was great. Do you know why I’ve been here several times? Because it’s not a dank, vegan miseryplex filled with pouty-faced, one-star-giving, unappeasable jobbernowls.
Now, let us discuss the Hand Cut Steak Tartare. Bane of vegans everywhere, and rightly so. I’ve had a lot of tartare and there’s good tartare and there’s bad tartare – just like there are good Genes and bad Genes. This is excellent steak tartare. Sriracha potato chips, nice touch.
The next time I go, the Chicken Fried Buttermilk Pork Chop is on my list.
Not on my list? Gene.
By the way, I was a miserable vegan myself for seven long years. Canvas shoes. Plastic belts.
I got better.
From Brian’s review of Motel Morris on Yelp.