At first, I didn't hate Bobo, a restaurant occupying three floors of an unmarked West Village townhouse. Everything is certainly overpriced, and the food is hit or miss, but our most recent visit was generally pleasant. At the very least, I didn't leave inconsolably pissed off like I typically do after an unsatisfying meal.
The more I thought about it though, I realized that the only thing I liked about my experience was the fried oyster appetizer and watching the room full of drunk housewives and awkward first dates mingle in the bathroom line.
Then, one fateful night while I prepared to write this review, I discovered why it's called Bobo. Bobo is apparently an abbreviation for "bourgeois bohemian". So basically, Bobo is a cute nickname for a middle aged asshole that owns both an SL 500 and a set of bongo drums. Now it all makes sense. That's exactly the type of person you'll find on an average night at Bobo, and it definitely clears up any confusion one may have over the one dollar "donation" surcharge for the tap water. Want to build wells in Africa? How about you skim one of the thirty dollars off my entree and donate that instead?
These are the highlight of the menu in my opinion. They're perfectly crispy, hold together nicely, and come served with a mild tartar sauce in the shell.
This is an appetizer, though it's a thick cut of soy glazed hamachi. The glaze is a bit overpowering, and probably would have tasted the same on a bar of soap.
A whole fresh water trout, butterflied. This is simply prepared and very good. Recommended over the Sea Trout.
A good, but slightly fishy cod filet, there are better fish options on the menu.