Pachino

Siam Square is not known for its food. People go there to shop, flirt, study, meet friends, get their hair done, watch a movie or whatever—but not to eat. But this is no excuse for a restaurant as inexplicably bad as Pachino. In fact, judging from its appearance (and price), you’d assume just the opposite, that this gleaming new three-story restaurant was a step above its less flashy neighbors in every respect—especially considering that the owners have been running successful Italian restaurants here for years. Atmosphere is just one part of what makes a restaurant, however, and in the other key areas—service and food—it fails miserably. The menu features mostly what are ostensibly “traditional” Italian dishes along with a number of Italian-Thai fusion creations and clichéd international items like Caesar salad, duck in orange sauce and baked spinach and cheese. Pizzas are supposed to be one of the specialties, but the pies are small, sad, and have a crunchy crust that is more like baked pita bread than pizza dough. The Parma ham pizza is lukewarm and so dry we’re surprised they don’t serve it with ketchup, and instead of draping succulent slices of proscuitto over the pie after it is cooked to preserve the flavor and texture, the ham comes cooked. A mussels and clams in white wine and garlic appetizer reaches our table cold, and we have to send it back for reheating once we are finally able to flag down a manager. Our waitresses, for their part, dump our food and run away without removing dirty dishes or filling water glasses—no freshly ground pepper, olive oil or grated cheese with our pasta dishes, either. The first, black and white spaghetti with snowfish, capers and sun-dried tomatoes, was barely recognizable from the photograph on the menu. Instead of discernable chunks of white snowfish, this contained a few sushi-thin strips floured and deep-fried to an oily, chewy, golden brown. The noodles were soggy like babyfood and so heavy in oil that it left a greasy mouthfeel as if it was either not 100% olive oil or spiked with margarine. We didn’t think it could be possible, but the second pasta dish, spaghetti with crispy duck, was even worse: the noodles were even more limp and the tough duck was deep-fried to near-black. We noticed two tourist couples at adjoining tables clearly as unhappy with their meals as we were, but otherwise on our last visit (literally our last visit) on a Friday night, the clientele was local—and the place was packed. In this neighborhood, apparently, one out of three is enough.