by Dan R. on I walked into Lavo expecting to hate this place. The front bar was loud, stuffy, and packed with people who wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. I immediately formed the prejudiced opinion that I'd be subjected to over-priced, sub-par Italian at the sacrifice of being part of some ultra-exclusive scene. Well, it was a scene, all right. But as you can see from my rating, somehow Lavo won me over. Much to my surprise, it was the food that did me in. It also helped tremendously that I was there with one of the owners, who clearly knew what to order, and did so family-style for the table. Therefore, I didn't spend a dime, and after seeing the prices, am that much more thankful for the dinner invitation. Don't ask me how I get myself in these situations. Anyway, their specialty is certainly their Meatball, an enormous Kobe sphere topped with whipped fresh ricotta and served in a cast iron skillet designed for the table to share. It was downright delicious, perfectly, miraculously, and evenly cooked inside and out. Standard starters like garlic bread with marinara and calamari were well above-average. The Spaghetti Fresh Tomato and Basil was far from noteworthy and the Bone-In Rib Eye was a little too well-done for my liking, but, at this point, my palate still tasted of that ridiculously outstanding meatball and I was in no position to complain in the least. I don't typically go crazy for dessert, but you'd be nuts not to give the Oreo Zeppole a try, paired with a wonderful malted vanilla milkshake. As for the aforementioned scene, well, you can expect twelve-tops of eleven models and one sugardaddy at the head of the table, rich twenty-somethings with clearly nothing else to do with their day except inject their faces with Botox and collagen, pushy and loaded old men cruisin' for fresh, young ass, and middle-aged divorcees in skin-tight leopard print dresses to showcase their new boobs. This is clearly not my usual crowd. But when I'm being wined and dined, hey, I'll run with whatever crew you want me to. As I confess this, I now come to the realization that if I was born female, there's about a sixty percent chance I'd be a dirty, dirty gold-digger. But I don't need expensive diamonds, hard drugs, or plastic surgery. I'll just take the meatballs. Seriously, worst gold-digger ever.
by Jeanice Braley on I'll pay for a great meal and I'll come out of pocket for a good drink or two but $26 for two sub-par mojitos?!! No sir! The only saving grace was the food which was surprising good. The vibe at Lucky is pretty posh but chill and laid back, probably best to come out for happy hour when you'd likely be able to get cheaper drinks, a smaller crowd, and better service. Also, come before 10 o'clock (or is it 9?) to avoid paying to get in.
by Jen L. on 2 stars for the hype 1 star for the audacity of an $88 kobe ribeye Minus 1/2 star for the Buddha. You see one, you've seen'em all. Asian fushion is tricky - how much asian and how much fushion so that it is what it strives to be. Foodwise, Tao misses the mark. There's better asian, better fusion, elsewhere.
