I have eaten at Don Julio more times than I can remember. It remains, for me, one of those restaurants where the food, service, and sense of hospitality come together with remarkable consistency. So when I learned that people from the same team were behind Graciela in New York, my expectations were understandably high.
Perhaps too high.
Because what arrived at the table was not a lesser version of Don Julio. It was, for the most part, simply mediocre.
The tomato was unnecessarily spicy. The chorizo bore little resemblance--in flavor, texture, or character--to a proper Argentine chorizo. The empanadas were good, and among the few dishes I would happily order again.
The New York steak was considerably below expectations. There is no need to overcomplicate the criticism: the quality of the meat simply wasn't there. When your pedigree invites comparison with Don Julio, that comparison is unavoidable, and Graciela's steak does not survive it.
The asado was properly cooked, but cooking meat correctly and producing a great asado are two very different things. It lacked the depth, flavor, and unmistakable character that make Argentine asado what it is.
The milanesa napolitana was decent. The choice of beef reminded me somewhat of the one served at El Preferido, but the final result again fell well short of what I expected.
Curiously, the pimientos were the best thing we ate.
That should be a compliment to the pimientos, but it is not much of a compliment to the parrilla. When the most memorable dish at an Argentine steakhouse is the peppers, something has gone seriously wrong.
Even the French fries seemed misunderstood. They lacked the texture, flavor, and character of good fries and felt almost incidental to the meal.
The bread deserves particular mention because the bread at Don Julio is so deceptively simple and so consistently delicious. At Graciela, it wasn't bad. But "not bad" is an extraordinarily low bar for a kitchen carrying this pedigree. The flavor simply wasn't there.
All of this becomes more puzzling given that, reportedly, members of the culinary team--including the sous-chef and parrillero--came from Argentina specifically for the opening.
Dessert offered some redemption. The sambayón was very good--probably the second-best thing we had after the pimientos. It tasted like a proper, traditional Argentine sambayón: familiar, straightforward, and delicious. Credit where credit is due.
The pancakes were decent.
The strawberries with cream were not. I understand the strawberries are macerated, but they tasted strangely processed, almost canned. Whatever the technique, freshness was not what came through on the plate.
And the coffee? Entirely forgettable. The sort of coffee one can find at countless places on countless corners of New York City.
Yet the greatest disappointment of the evening wasn't actually the food.
It was the hospitality.
The servers made an effort, and this criticism should not be confused with criticism of individual members of the service staff. The larger problem appears to be management and the philosophy under which the dining room operates.
Being seated at a restaurant and almost immediately being reminded that the table is needed back by a certain time fundamentally changes the experience. Before dinner has properly begun, a clock has been placed on the table.
There is something deeply contradictory about a restaurant aspiring to this level of dining while making its guests feel that their departure time matters almost as much as their arrival.
Restaurants that aspire to Michelin-level recognition should understand that hospitality is not simply delivering plates efficiently. It is creating an experience in which the guest never feels like an obstacle between the restaurant and its next reservation.
There were plenty of employees in the room. Manpower did not appear to be the issue. Management did.
And perhaps that is why this dinner was so disappointing.
I didn't arrive wanting to criticize Graciela. Quite the opposite. I arrived wanting to love it. Don Julio has given me wonderful experiences time after time, and I genuinely hoped some of that magic had made the journey from Buenos Aires to New York.
On this particular Thursday night, it had not.
Perhaps it was an off night. Perhaps the restaurant is still finding its identity. Perhaps expectations created by the Don Julio connection are simply impossible to satisfy.
Or perhaps Graciela, despite its pedigree, is simply not good enough.
Time will tell. read more