I just read a pretty funny restaurant review. and I’m definitely sold and going to Max tonight to see for myself! Here is the original post on Yelp
The title of this review should be “How to Get Yourself Locked in a Restroom and Other Life Lessons I Learned at Max.”
But before I begin, let me give you the bottom line: Would I recommend Max? Yes. It’s a stellar date spot, the food (Italian) is good (though it’s not going to change your life), and if it’s not crowded on Valentine’s Day (when I went), then I doubt it ever will be (this, my friends, gets bonus points in my book).
The mozzarella and prosciutto appetizer my date and I ordered was delicious and perfectly share-able. The lobster ravioli had plenty of kick (which I like). We also split the tiramisu, which, sadly, was more cream than real substance. But our neighbors’ gnocchi looked tasty enough to steal.
The dinner? Fine. Go. The lessons? Learned. Here you go:
Lesson #1: Max is the perfect solution to the ol’ ” I-have-a-date-so-where-should-we-have-dinner ?” dilemma.
My Valentine’s date started off on all the right notes.
I got a pre-dinner haircut. I was feelin’ good. I liked the looks of my companion, and we agreed to go to Max, thinking the Tribeca location would be just out-of-the-way enough to still have a table or two open. Right we were! We walked in the door and were seated immediately. The space? Small and cozy and candlelit, and I’m telling you — Love was in the air.
Lesson #2: Bad things happen to vain people.
We sat down, and I promptly excused myself under the guise of needing to wash my hands (I actually wanted to admire my new look for a couple of seconds). The hair looked good! The night would be good! It was all good!
And then I tried to open the door (my date was waiting for me, after all).
The door? Stuck.
As stuck as a door can possibly be.
Lesson #3: The employees at Max know Italian food. They do NOT know anything about construction and/or door destruction.
What ensued was a comedy of errors. It took ten minutes for everyone (employees, fellow diners, and, of course, my date) to confirm that yes, the door was indeed stuck. Brute force couldn’t get it open. Tools? A screwdriver, perhaps? Max keeps all of those handy instruments IN the bathroom closet. A butter knife was slid under the door. I, woman of zero handyman skills, tried to figure out how to drill myself out.
Lesson #4: Freedom is a beautiful thing.
It was an all-night low: Tools were littered all over the floor, I was slapping at the doorknob with a butter knife, and every once in a while I could hear my date whisper “Krissy?” into the door.
Minutes (days? years?) later, the waiters teamed up and pulled and pulled and yelled and pulled, and managed — miraculously — to pull the door until they broke the broken lock open. Freedom! Oh, freedom. People cheered.
Lesson #5: Embarrassment is a small price to pay for a very good, four-star dinner on the house.
We were ushered (again) to our table. A waiter nervously handed me a rose. Two glasses of prosecco appeared. Another waiter nervously handed me another rose. My date and I looked at each other and started laughing. We laughed for the next two hours (progressively louder, I’m afraid, as we drank more and more of that very good prosecco).
Will you like Max as much as I did? Probably.
Will the waiters treat you as well as they treated me? Hopefully, they won’t have reason to.
The real question, though: Will you use Max’s restroom?
It’s your call, my friends. It’s your call.
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