After attending the Su Casa evening for event planners, I am sorry to say that if I were a member of this profession I would plan not to have an event at this venue.
When I arrived at the proper address, I was put off because there was no signage to indicate that I had arrived at the right place. This lack of designation creates a faux disingenuous aura of exclusivity. An eating establishment sans sign does not automatically imbue guests with VIP “in the know” status. I did not feel important; I was merely confused to the extent that I had to ask the host if I had arrived at the right place.
The fact that guests were asked to pay three dollars to check their coats did not ingratiate me to the premises.
The interior was very unwelcoming. I had this impression because the space is a long “shot gun” style rectangle with seats and tables lined up across from each other on the eleginated side of the room. This seating plan works well for subways, not for event spaces.
I live for hors d’oeuvres. I can say with great authority that I have almost never met an hors d’oeuvre that I didn’t like. Well, the unthinkable happened. I did not eat one hors d’oeuvre during my stay at Su Casa. I just was not at all interested in the three kinds of hors d’oeuvres that were offered: chicken Macnugget things, spoon fulls of cream sauce sodden elbow macaroni, and dry philo dough stuff. I am sure that someone somewhere would enjoy eating what was offered. But the “someone” is not me and the “somewhere” is not Manhattan.
Mi casa es su casa, states the Spanish cliche to communicate the hospitable statement that my house is your house. I did not feel at home at Su Casa.
As I prepared to leave, I was glad that it was time to return to my house.
P.S. Apparently, we’re not the only ones that think Su Casa is a bust…