by Jen A. on This place gets 2 stars only for because it's (kind of) pretty inside. The music is cheesy and can't even be called old school...because it's usually a bunch of one hit wonders. The paintings on the walls are cheesy, as is the crowd - cheap-looking girls dressed in Forever21 get-ups, and guys who have more gel in their hair than Pauly D from Jersey Shore. Be warned, the line outside and those big bouncers are pure hype...
by Marilee Edlin on To both dear friends (and total strangers), I am rightly deemed as plump. Over-ripe. Portly, even. Presently I am clothed in a velour ensemble that tests the limits of elasticity. Now were I to change into an Armani suit tailored to the nines, would you judge my shapely contours any differently? Seeing through the sheen of my tuxedo and top hat, would you grade my curves more favorably? Or would the suit amplify the poor decisions I've made whilst chowing down? I bring this exercise in imagination up because I have mixed feelings about a fave eatery now housed in its new, lovely location. In the past, Six Feet Under could be counted on in the same manner an album by the band Boston could: Oh, you might have to wait awhile, but MAN does the end product DELIVER! Waiting for a table at the old Six Feet drove me batty, but I persevered because, well, what other place constructs seafood platters in quite the same way? But while the food was always supreme, I found the old interior a dingy mish-mash of knick-knacks and what-not, a Ruby Tuesdays doused with bong water. So I was delighted to step inside its new digs in the "Jane" concept dwelling (I think giving gentrification efforts a pretty girl name is a nice touch, don't you?) Bigger in size and sparkly clean, Six Feet nonetheless has maintained its ramshackle charm. You want to spend time and admire the exposed beams, twinkly lights, and brick handiwork. It's fair to call this a fine date destination, whereas the last Six Feet, with its stale air, was ideal dumping grounds (I should know!) Onto the food, which brings about some concern. I ordered old standbys in part to learn whether the culinary care had made the move along with all the rusted license plates and mounted bottle caps. The lettuce and cabbage in my Starter Salad were, no doubt, once crisp, but now limp and wan. It's winter, so maybe its a seasonal thing. The Corn on the Cob was sweet, though its temperature and sogginess lent the impression that it had been boiled at an earlier date, the nineties perhaps. Most disappointing was my rather overcooked "Big" Tuna, a beloved dish. On this occasion, it had spent too long on the grill. I likes my tuna how I likes my men: raw with the softest center. Also, the vegetable stir fry it nested upon lacked crunch AND they skimped on the fried jalapenos. I know times are tough, but I need those fiery nuggets no matter what havoc they wreak upon my lower g.i. track. So though the food wasn't slam dunk, the environment raised the experience from "meh" to "a-ok" - a quantum leap if you knew me. I will return, and they better load up the jalapenos because I'm gonna pop them like Pez! LOOK OUT!
by Eddie Pellicone on the layout of the bar sucks and it can (but doesn't always) take forever to get a drink, but whatever its a fun time. a nice small club with a packed dancefloor is way better than some huge barn called a 'superclub' any day and not just because the tunes are bound to be better. its a good time, go. however, the bathroom line is the worst.
