Hill: after such an afternoon it would be appropriate to fall in love with a rubber woman

I was confused and confused: I really wanted that restaurant to look good, despite all the early signs in the air and on the leaves of the trees that it would just be what it could be. When we ordered lunch there (despite the fact that the menu advertised as much joy as an old rusty trolleybus dozing on the street), I wanted them to succeed, especially since the waiter was so friendly and really did a great job, then It turned out. It’s a shame that such a tragic restaurant doesn’t deservedly have a good waiter. It was equally sad to see a powerful and famous runner driving a taxi to a failed company that caught privileged foreigners at the airport. That waiter could work somewhere where it’s not that bad and where the food has a certain adaptation for pleasure, instead of just placing yourself on plates to photograph it and see it as a fossil of boredom and dead imagination.

What else is good in this restaurant? Definitely a location. On one side is the Neris, on the other – St. The Church of the Apostles Peter and Paul, popularly called “Peter Paul” and which tourists voluntarily display, without irony, upon hearing that no Lithuanian artist or architect touched it with your fingers: everything is a creative import from Italy. Similarly, indigenous people in Ghana once reassured me, like other newcomers, by showing the newly built jungle suspension bridge: “Bold, don’t be afraid, non-Africans did it here, everything was installed here by engineers Canadians, we didn’t even touch it. “

We return to the restaurant. The menu, as I mentioned, is without any thought, without any ambition and without imagination. The Fiscal Inspection and Sodra would propose a more interesting menu. A closed infectious hospital with broken windows and disconnected water and electricity would likely offer a more fun menu, even if patients leave or are dead. We order not what we really want, but what we don’t want at least, although we don’t want anything anyway. If it wasn’t my job, I’d go out to eat somewhere else I like, and now I have to try what it will bring here.

While we wait, the brain dries creepy music: even some stupid Russian pop or techno would be better, even here the worst that can be found: third-party seven-year radio half hits, seemingly pumped from some YouTube self-select charts , music spam for those who do not like music. There, songs that no one would choose voluntarily, listen to those songs in the car just because they are lazy to change seasons. Music that further diminishes the feeling when you feel like renting a boat at the Green Lakes restaurant, where an angry manager named Juliet works the world, and that allows music to your liking, formed in adolescence based on what heard in Maroze family cars. until they were loved in synthetic summer covers in the summer heat.

Borscht medium cold with two quarters of an egg (whole egg cut would be too good), and the unpleasant potatoes to the taste of childhood, fried in too much fat, that fat absorbed and radiating food aversion and the absence of any flavor. What am I wondering about? The first moderately uninteresting cold borscht in my life? Of course, no. Gas station sold in a better plastic container? Of course yes.

The tuna tartar was the most tasteless dish in my long experience as a critic, and I have eaten a lot in my life, even in Kaunas with those Japanese clowns in Laisvės alley, where we ate food without eating because the owner did not let me leave it. Hill found the worst restaurant in the country (it gets crowded constantly). The hosts remained deeply offended and intimidated by the consequences, but their revenge turned out to be even more liquid than the quality of their food and was suspended in midair like the smell of a geologist frozen in the Antarctic rays.

In the Bacchus tartar, the regular (though not exclusive) tuna was mixed with spicy and hard cubes of avocado, and the dish was as appealing as salmon caviar when mixed with chopped green potatoes. If it were in two layers (avocado at the bottom, tuna at the top), then the tuna could at least easily be scraped off. I am not even talking about some accessories and decorations on the plate: they are essential in all poor restaurants. This is how haute cuisine is understood here, I can even say it. In the past, dishes were stained with a little bit of color sauce, which represented an aesthetic, although the aesthetic was more reminiscent of a finger stained on the wall of a public bathroom, now that fashion is over, and they are not placed exotic birches on the plate without understanding or having a purpose. than required

The only thing I will say about the ribs is that they are not too greasy, maybe even dry, but the whole authentic feeling of a heated semi-finished product, and what did you expect? Maybe they’ll smoke them for me and make them in their own sauce? Do not laugh Everything according to the program: we have opened a restaurant, we have premises, we produce anything in any way, most importantly, not worse than in all average Lithuanian feeders. Is it worse here than in the net granaries of supermarkets? No, not worse.

The shashlik was exceptional for its grim simplicity. He reminded them of the corpses roaring during the rainy spring fair on a paper plate that they consume at risk of falling on a dirty pavement, and that bend when pinched with a plastic fork, and then half of those corpses they travel to a crowded trash can. Here the fork was metal and I felt like garbage.

The food did not give rise to any thought, except one: that I no longer want to return here and that life is too short to put in me something that has nothing to do with taste, happiness or appetite. After such an afternoon, it would be more appropriate to reduce the size of a tobacco-free e-cigarette, fold the alcohol-free vodka out of a paper cup, and fall in love with a rubber woman.

We both paid 45.50 euros and tips.

This restaurant reflects everything that is wrong with food culture, or its complete absence, in a forgotten country, baked, boiled and salted by our God, who grates fermented cheese throughout through the beet rack and pours sauce of bright red tomato extinguished on fire. It stands as a monument to dead dreams and unborn ambitions, and as desperate as an attempt to make a phone call. One goose in five.

Bacchus, Antakalnio st. 4th, Vilnius. Tel. +370 627 20600. Website: https://www.bacchus.lt Facebook profile: https://www.facebook.com/RestaurantBacchus/

Sunday to Thursday, 11:00 to 23:00 Friday and Saturday – 11:00 to noon.