Limon: Large Plates, Small Food

Plotnik and Ducknik went out to dinner last night at a Peruvian restaurant Plotnik had photographed a few months ago. Plotnik noticed three Danger Signs the moment they walked in the door: 1) Restaurant Packed with Well Dressed Yups, 2)Blaringly Loud and Shrill Conversation, and 3) Large Plates.

1) Restaurant Packed with Well Dressed Yups isn't alarming in, say, a burger joint or French bistro, but in an upscale ethnic restaurant it is poison. If there are no Peruvians in a Peruvian restaurant, or, at least, a few Panamanians or at least somebody besides the busboys who speak Spanish, trouble lurks nearby.

2) Blaringly Loud and Shrill Conversation means the management wants to be a Trendy First Date spot, not a place to linger over delicious, memorable food. Plotnik should have realized this when the doe-eyed hostess announced: "Lindsay will show you upstairs to your table. Please be aware you have only an hour and a half to complete your meal."

Plotnik thought: "Until what? Do the microgreens re-freeze at 9:30?"

3) Large Plates. This is the worst offender of all. 'Large Plates' is shorthand for 'Pathetically Small Portions on Hugendously Large Plates.' Sure enough, there were more words on the menu describing Plotnik and Ducknik's appetizer than there were centimeters in the chow. The tiny circle of potato-y glop arrived on what looked like a Buick hubcap, if they made Buick hubcaps in huge white crockery, so that the miniscule and round chunk-o dough was forced to sit naked, quivering on a plate ten times its size.

Sure enough, all the danger signs were warranted. None of the First Daters trying out the Peruvian food could ever have ventured South of South of Market, because they seemed to be loving this bland, not even French -- make it Belgian, maybe Dutch, or Flemish, yeah, Flemish, certainly not close to Peruvian or even Latino -- fare.

"I THINK I'LL HAVE THE PARIHUELA," Plotnik screamed, and Ducknik screamed back: "YOU'LL DANCE A TARANTELLA?"

The parihuela, a shellfish soup, and the lomo saltado, a mix of beef and vegetables, while vaguely tasty, came on huge plates, but there wasn't enough there to keep either Plotnik or Ducknik from aching to fly home, starved, to dish several scoops of Mitchell's fresh peach ice cream into a bowl just big enough for the ice cream to barely fit but small enough that each spoonful sends ice cream to the floor for the cat.

Now, The Great Plotnik Restaurant Division would normally award a pretentious place like Limon Restaurant One and a Half Stars, One for the decent-if-miniscule portion of Lomo Saltado, and Half for reminding Plotnik and Ducknik that Mi Lindo Peru up the street is so much better, half as expensive, with customers who know the difference between Lima and FEMA, where one order of parihuela feeds two or three, and if you need a few hours to savor your meal, they'll smile and bring you another Cusquena Dark to wash it down.

We said 'normally.' But SUBTRACT THE HALF STAR. There was no aji on the table! A Peruvian meal in a Peruvian restaurant without a bowl of delicious, garlicky, hot, spicy salsa on the table! YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING! One Star ONLY, and that's putting that star on a platter far more generous than it deserves.