Had it been only our charming Asian desk hostess, or our nice Persian waiter, we would have been rather understanding about this international, not so Mediterranean imbroglio... But then came the dishes :(. The penne were overcooked (ciao, al dente ! So long !), and the arrabiata was hot but neither salty nor tasty. This alerted us first. Then the srimps in angel hair was covered with dill, which is more famous in Stockholm or Berlin than Rome... not overwhelmqing, but just a weird nonsense to have the impression of being in front of an Ikea combo instead of something truly Italian... This second alert really made us wonder if there was an Italian in the kitchen. When our waiter brought us a burning cup of a so-called expresso, we understood nothing was Italian here. The master chef, supposed to be Italian, was on vacation. We had guessed. We laughed and paid our bill, not a cheap bill, for a not Italian experience.
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