Flyout Menu
After dinner, we stood up and walked out of the restaurant. At the door, a smiling hostess greeted us and handed over a goodie bag containing the menu from our meal, a box of homemade pralines, and a small metal box with cookies. A classic three-star farewell.
Except this time, we paid zero. Zilch. Nil. Nada.
Let us go back to the beginning. Swedes as we are, we arrived on time. Per Se is in the Columbus Circle mall. When you step out of the elevator on the fourth floor, there are other restaurants you walk by before you reach Per Se. Just outside the entrance, there are two sofas surrounded by greenery.
The same drill here as Eleven Madison Park, your table is not ready, so you are asked to wait. But instead of being seated at the bar inside the restaurant for a civilised aperitif and a glance at the menu, we were left waiting outside on the sofa in the mall, much like waiting for a delayed flight at an airport gate. Exactly the Michelin standard we were expecting, mall vibes and all.
First Snack: I can not recall what it was, but I know what it looks like.
The dining area is beautiful and classic. We were given what we considered the best table, seated side by side with a view of the fireplace just across from us and the large windows framing Central Park in the background.
The atmosphere was undeniably romantic. All we needed were two glasses of Champagne to complete the moment. The sommelier was nowhere to be found. When he finally appeared to take our order, he placed the wine list on the table. It was on an iPad. I cannot help it. Every time I see one, I feel an urge to use it as a frisbee.
The sommelier offered three options by the glass. The first had to sharp acidity, the second was a rosé—not our style. We settled on the Dom Pérignon 2015, their latest release. By then, we needed the comfort.
Snacks arrived first, and, finally, the Champagne followed. We waited for someone to take our menu orders. The menu and the iPad lit up the table, plainly visible to every passing staff member—except, it seemed, our waiter. Where was he?
Eventually, I stopped the sommelier and pleaded with him to take our menu orders. He looked at me as if I had just asked him to recite the wine list backwards. At last, back on track—menu and wine orders, check! A much-needed refill on the Champagne followed.
Per Se is one of the most expensive restaurants we have ever visited, and the menu is packed with extravagant extras. Take the white truffle pasta (in season), for instance—a dish that appeared on nearly every fine dining menu in NYC. Here, it costs a staggering $100 p.p. more than at places like The Modern or Torrisi. Talk about balls.
Then there is the foie gras and the grilled Wagyu, both of which come with hefty extra price tags. By the time you add in the extras, the food bill alone can skyrocket. And that is before you factor in beverages—and the expected 20-30% tip on top.
“Sabayon” of Pearl Tapioca – Island Creek Oysters –Regiis Ova Caviar
At one point, the general manager came to our table to apologise for the service but offered no explanation. The pace of the dishes started to improve slightly, but it was still the strangest experience—it felt as if the staff were playing hide-and-seek all night.
Our waiter would appear briefly, only to vanish again. The same went for the sommelier. At first, we wondered if the staff had suddenly fallen ill—COVID? Stomach flu? All sorts of possibilities crossed our mind. The dining area is not that big, and with a professional team, it should have been manageable with one hand tied behind their backs.
The only explanation I could come up with was that Per Se has two chambre séparée—a smaller one within the restaurant and a larger one with its own entrance, toilets, and private space. Guessing there were some serious guests there, spending heavily. It was, after all, just two days before “someone” was scheduled to hold a rally at Madison Square Garden. You can only speculate, but it makes sense and could explain their vanishing act. They were probably running back and forth between rooms.
“Good service can salvage bad food, but good food can’t save bad service.”
Take the giant white truffle episode as an example. The server presented it in a wooden box, opening and closing the lid in a split second, as if afraid it might jump out and escape. Then he stood in the corner of the restaurant, holding the truffle in one bare hand (no glove) and the shaver in the other, waiting for the pasta to arrive. But the pasta was not ready. So there he stood for a couple of minutes, gripping the truffle awkwardly.
When the pasta finally appeared, he began shaving the truffle onto the dish—so much that I had to stop him. Any more, and the truffle’s flavour would have overpowered any taste of the Tagliatelle itself. Not that it mattered much anyway, the tagliatelle was overcooked.
As for the food in general, we were not impressed. Per Se might have three Michelin stars, but we would struggle to give it one. Just a few nights ago, we had dinner at Kong Hans Kælder in Copenhagen—a French restaurant with two stars. The difference was night and day. Kong Hans delivered elegance, depth, and refinement. Per Se, on the other hand falls short on creating memorable flavours.
My wife chose the Mizayaki Wagyu, and I opted for the lamb. The beef was served cold and raw in the middle. And I mean cold raw. Calling it Wagyu felt like an insult to Japan and Miyazaki. There was not a shred of fat in it. At best, it resembled Snake River beef.
She sent it back and made it crystal clear: she did NOT want a replacement. The waiter asked if he could speak to the chef. “Of course, that is up to you,” she replied, emphasising again that she did not want the dish replaced.
You guessed it, the waiter reappeared with not one, but two new plates of the Wagyu. Beautifully plated and presented, as if we had been eagerly awaiting them. Clearly, no one had a clue. By this point, we were nearly full and had completely lost our patience. In a clear, firm voice, I told him to take the dishes back to the kitchen. “You have to listen to your guests—this is on you!”
In the end, the general manager appeared once more, stating that the entire meal was on them. “This is not the standard Per Se stands for,” she said, adding that she had already taken care of the bill. I insisted on paying, but she refused. Still puzzled, I approached her again privately, away from the other guests. “Can we not pay for something?” I asked. Her answer was final: no, the bill had already been struck from their system, including the pre-payment for the reservation.
Fine. You win, Per Se. But you have lost us—forever.
For a moment afterward, we felt like food influencers—not paying a penny, as though it came with the expectation of a glowing review. But unlike the influencers, no amount of free food and wine could rewrite what went wrong.
Have you dined at Per Se NYC or had a similar experience elsewhere? Share your thoughts in the comments below—we’d love to hear from you!