I did eat at Market one of the first weeks it was open.  While the food was 
good I do admit the service was not.  I thought it was just becuase it recently 
opened.  


----- Original Message ----
From: Hinge <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, January 22, 2007 12:47:38 PM
Subject: [AsburyPark] Market in the Middle review in the APP. Complete BS

Below is the review of Market in the Middle from the Press.
Personally, I love Market in the Middle. It's one of the best things to happen 
in AP in ages. 
I go there several times a week. The people who work there are great. I love 
the eclectic 
blend of things they sell. I've never eaten at the restaraunt, but i've heard 
nothing but 
good things about it. If I ever decide to enter the dating world again, Market 
in the Middle 
will be one of the first places I take a date to.
Now here's the BS review...
"It's a madhouse at the entrance to Market in the Middle. When did the world 
start 
congregating on Cookman Avenue in Asbury Park? There's overflow onto the 
sidewalk, 
where folks are bravely dining in the chill. I square my shoulders and walk 
inside.

We have reservations, thank goodness. Spur-of-the- moment types are being told 
the wait 
is two hours. There's no room at the bar and no room to gather around the 
helter-skelter 
layout of tables and shelves. I'm relieved when we're seated, even though it's 
at an 
awkwardly positioned table, with racks sporting kitchenware for sale inches 
from my head. 
I'm afraid to move, afraid I'll topple a display, and the poor floor crew can't 
help but bump 
into the backs of our chairs as they try to maneuver. Do they ever say "sorry" 
or "excuse 
me"? I'm not sure; the noise level is too high to hear the person next to me, 
let alone a 
server ricocheting by.

Market in the Middle, for all its deliberate casualness, is not a place to 
relax. The odd 
layout, with its mix of bunched-up tables and for-sale merchandise, doesn't 
allow for a 
sense of convivial community. If you're seated in the market part of this 
bistro-tavern-
store, you may feel like an afterthought; if you're at a table astride the bar, 
you may feel 
shoved in.

A half hour after being seated, I'm feeling put out: We've ordered a 
well-priced prosecco 
from the wine list, but a different prosecco is presented. I inspect it, 
register it as 
something likely higher in price than I wish to spend, and ask if the prosecco 
ordered 
could be delivered. Several minutes lapse; the desired prosecco arrives. But 
the bottle is 
room temp; sparkling wine needs to be served chilled. There's another wait. 
Market in the 
Middle's wine guru arrives, pushing a Portuguese bubbly. Or perhaps, the guru 
says, 
"Maybe you want a sweet wine?" I reconsider the wine list, order a Spanish 
cava, and get 
shaken off again, like a pitcher rejecting a catcher's call.

OK, I'll cut to the chase: The wine fridge was on the fritz, so nothing I want 
is going to be 
available at the proper temperature. The deal is we take the Portuguese bubbly 
or — well, 
we never really learn the options. Which should have been explained to us from 
the get-
go.

We go with the Portuguese sparkler. Nice, no cigar.

Nor can I give a tout to the eclectic menu and the scattershot service at 
Market in the 
Middle, the brainchild of veteran restaurateur Marilyn Schlossbach. The menu 
covers the 
global waterfront of cuisines, and the wait staff runs from end to end of the 
hither-and-
yon space. No one person was in charge of our table, and it showed: no water 
refills, no 
wine poured, no silverware replaced, no one keeping an eye on when to bring 
what course. 
We'd barely tucked into appetizers when entrees were brought, returned to the 
kitchen, 
then delivered again and, finally, awarded to us after we'd finished starters. 
We exchanged 
apps plates for our main courses and proceeded.

By this time, a very hard, ergonomically cruel chair was at war with my rump.

My taste buds were at war with the very nearly duck-less "roasted duck over 
Grand Manier 
raviolis with a fig duck confit," largely because the cloying port glaze and 
the duck-free, 
fig-filled pasta pouches were achingly sweet. Olives billed to be stuffed with 
asiago are 
heavily breaded balls of chopped tasteless olives and melted cheese, with a 
thickish, 
tasteless mayonnaise offered as a dip. A plate of sliced potatoes, cornichons 
and onions 
doused with melted raclette is pure comfort food, however, reminiscent of the 
fondue-
style dish served in Switzerland or the Savoie. It's tasty and simple.

A salad given the Caesar moniker is chock-full of roasted red peppers, olives, 
sun-dried 
tomatoes, cabbage and onions doused with a tomato-basil "Caesar" dressing. A 
Caesar, 
it's not, but it is satisfying, if you flick to the side the stale croutons.

We work hard to flag down a server to grant us spoons for our bouillabaisse, 
and are glad 
we prevail: A good lot of properly cooked fishes, including shrimp, cod, salmon 
and 
mussels, mingle with nuggets of sausage in a shellfish-scented broth that 
swarms around 
a bed of risotto. The toasted slices of baguette are burned on the bottom, but 
who cares 
when lovely fish meets lovely accents? Meanwhile, chicken filmed with a meek 
basil puree 
and served over a bowl of spinach-garlic tortelloni washed with arugula pesto 
falters: The 
two major elements of the dish are overcooked, rendering the chicken dry and 
the pasta 
limp.

Good-quality wild salmon topped with a rash of olives, tomatoes and garlic 
deserves 
better: The accents are not uniformly chopped, so bursts of olive or tomato or 
garlic 
drown out the admirably gamy taste of the lukewarm fish (which suffered from 
that re-
delivery issue). Dried-out couscous is the so-so side show.

Another dish with great potential was ruined by a technical lapse in the 
kitchen. Who 
dared to spray tinny-tasting, air-filled, frothy topping on the dynamite rice 
pudding? If 
that's done to you, scrape it off and enjoy the flecks of coconut and ginger 
energizing the 
creamy-textured pudding. Skip the goofy chocolate-covered, ice cream-filled 
"bamba" 
balls in favor of a satisfying cappuccino creme brulee sporting a burnt-sugar 
crackling 
crust.

Market in the Middle may be suffering from success: Hey, if all these people 
are trying to 
get in, it must be good, right? But its flaws, from uncomfortable 
accommodations to 
careless service to inconsistent cooking, are too many for serious diners to 
ignore. It's a 
scene and, as we know, scenes without substance can go quiet quickly."





 
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The fish are biting. 
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