We went to here after finding The Breslin not yet open, and No.7 Sub shuttered. 5 pm on a weekday in a neighborhood devoid of many options, Jon Dory it was. I complained about the smell upon entering--something a little sickly and desperately washed, like a sidewalk in front of a nightclub. It was one of the first hot days of the summer, so maybe they just didn't have the seafood disposal down yet. I was hot, and unhappy, and maybe I wasn't inclined to think favorably of them--but enough excuses; I didn't like it. The waitress was unintelligible, and disinterested. The food was diminutive, and vaguely unpleasant: we started off with a glass a Gruet for me, and a beer for the gentleman, and a half dozen oysters. They were okay. The roasted peanuts with garlic and rosemary were quite good, and spicy. Chilled crab and avocado in a shot glass was mushy and ill-seasoned The oyster pan roast, while relatively tasty, only bore three oyster bodies in about 12 ounces of cream, which was just mean-spirited. The highlight of the meal were the parker house rolls, warm, and brioche like in their sweetness. I wanted to go to here, I should not have gone to here, and I will not go back to here.
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