Excuses for Scoozi – Boston

Isn’t Scoozi Italian for “excuse me”? It should be. It sounds close enough, and this Newberry Street establishment is the consistent definition of the phrase. Everything here begged for an excuse for why it wasn’t better. So excuse me, I beg your pardon for my upcoming unrelenting rant. And excuse me for the descriptive expletives.

Excuse me is a commonly uttered phrase. If you’re clumsy/a totally hopeless klutz like me, you’re constantly apologizing for bumping into someone or getting in their way. This part of me tastes like the Cheese Tortellini with Pesto. A clumsy package at best, made with a bag of pasta and a jar of Trader Joe’s Pesto, I could have brewed this at home with a lot less salt. I swear, if I keep eating Italian that tastes like it’s been dipped in the Mediterranean I may rupture a berry aneurysm before I’m 30.

Excuse me is also the phrase of a pick-up artist who approaches a lonely girl at a bar. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Ladies, don’t fall for the initial good-looking seduction of the Truffle Mac & Cheese. A huge plate (because size really does matter in a bar), this gooey greatness has an artificially-flavored hint of truffle and is even more plentiful than your entrée. Tempting, but look past the superficial and realize that there are no quality ingredients under the Newberry Street Armani suit. And don’t forget, appetizers are a preview so hold out for a main dish. Ladies, the right answer to this guy’s questions is “No, and this seat won’t be taken either if you sit down.”

The only thing that didn’t need any excuses was the Garlic Bread with Bruschetta. It is an inexcusably sad day when the only thing that fits the mold of mediocrity is a side dish. Crude, callous loaves of toasted bread topped with fresh, finely chopped tomato with a touch of basil and oil, this was the only thing that didn’t taste like I dug it out of the depths of my freezer.

Remember the mustard commercial where a snooty, pretentious child pulled up in a limo and sniffed, “Pardon me, do you have some Grey Poupon?” Pardon me is a more sophisticated version of excuse me, the same way Grey Poupon is a more sophisticated version of bad mustard, and the Lobster Ravioli with Rose Cream Sauce is a more sophisticated version of freezer pasta drenched in nastiness. The lobster filling was watery, but aggressively mediocre (my fave phrase coined by my classmate Nikil), but it was the rose sauce with the gross aftertaste of bad wine that got me. Pardon me, do you have some of anything better than this?

When you belch, you always exclaim, “Excuse me!”, which you are certain to do at the end of a Scoozi meal. The mountainous platters are sure to leave you stuffed, and there is no one who wouldn’t belch after each dish. Unfortunately, there is no excuse that covers poor quality, and no excuses would ever motivate me to return to Scoozi.