My wife and I found ourselves on Chłodna one evening and decided to sit outside, taking in the vanilla sky. Natu seemed perfect for our ends: a nice, busy terrace and a good spot for people watching and earwigging on tourists. The waitress beelined towards us immediately so we ordered a burger and Prosecco for the wife, and chili con carne and draught Tucher for myself. The server was pleasant, and returned promptly with our drinks. After one sip I knew we’d made a good decision.
Then the food came. At first glance I was alarmed to find the guacamole that came with the chili was almost black from oxidation. Morbid curiosity compelled me to touch the food. The tortilla was hard not from toasting, but from being stale, while the half piece of corn-on-the-cob was ice cold. My wife took a bite of her burger and frowned – it was well done, not rare as ordered. “It’s like kotlety mielone for f**k’s sake,” she growled. The place was packed and we both knew we didn’t have time to send things back since our babysitter had to leave at nine on the dot that night. So we sat there, glumly, questioning how it is a seemingly decent place could get it so very wrong.
One thing I learned from making this sorry escapade was to never trust a restaurant with four letter names. There is only one: NOMA. The rest, by in large, could be described using four letter words and that’s about it. Depressingly, you know that places like this will cover their overheads through alcohol sales and passing tourist traffic. (KD)