In theory, Soho Park, the new fancy fast food joint on the corner of Lafayette and Prince Streets, fills a much-needed niche. Across the street, Buffa’s, the greasy luncheonette, remains shuttered until further notice (word is they’re renovating). And directly beside it, the Hampton Chutney Co. has been dishing out their South Indian crepes long enough to be considered ho-hum. 

Now there’s Soho Park, an airy, gastropub/American diner hybrid, complete with an ample beer garden, floor to ceiling windows that open onto the street and enough greenery to make you feel as though you've escaped to the suburbs. Add a waft of crispy Belgian fries, some grilling meat, and it's easy to forget that these guys aren't ready for prime time. 

I’d already read about one bad dining experience at Soho Park online, but reserved judgment , but reserved judgment until it was my turn to order a Park Cheeseburger (kept basic with just one option, American) with fries and the smoky paprika aioli and the curry mayo and the ...

“I’m sorry,” the guy behind the register interrupted me. “We installed these new computers today and they just went down. It should be up in a second.”

Um-hmm. 

When we were back online, I continued my order (Park burger, fried pickles with roasted red pepper aioli and spicy sambal ketchup, a roast turkey and portobello sandwich with fresh kettle chips, two Hoegardens and a Homemade Trish Collins—a lemonade-citrus-seltzer concoction served in a biodegradable cup—fun!), but not before the computer broke down again, and the manager had to be called over for help. 

Finally, when the technology began to cooperate, I was handed a license plate so a server could deliver said food to our table—an iffy proposition based upon my ordeal.

But the food arrived safely—minus the beer, though we were assured it was on the way. So we proceeded to dig in, and were initially impressed. The potato bun was soft and buttery, the burger wonderfully simple. “So many places in the city specialize in these huge, handmade burgers with lots going on, but if you just want a flat patty that doesn’t taste like cardboard, this is perfect!” my friend opined after a few bites. 

The fried pickles were even more impressive: crispy on the outside, tender and puckery on the inside. And my effervescent drink, spiked with mint, went down quick. But the hand cut fries were on the stubby side—more fried bits than fries—and the sauces, well, not one was worth dipping into more than once, aside from the sambal ketchup. The gourmet sandwich we ordered wasn’t outstanding, either. Stuffed with thick slices of roast turkey, it was on the dry side, and the cook was a bit miserly with the mushrooms. 

Perhaps frosty glasses of beer would have aided our appreciation of the food, but alas, they never came, despite one walk back to the counter, followed by a desperate plea to our waiter, and a final, ticked-off strut toward the manager. He was about to reassure me that they were on the way until he saw the look in my eyes, and offered to give me my money back—without me even asking. It was a kind gesture, but when there are so many places in the city to order a decent burger and a beer at the same time—Puck Fair, though dark, is just down the street— having a good first impression counts. Given a few more weeks (or months) of fine-tuning, perhaps others will see a better side to Soho Park than I did.

It’s also forgivable to get off on the wrong foot, though, so I gave Park a second shot, and this past Sunday, the technical kinks in ordering had been smoothed out. But my potato-cream soup tasted more like cream than potato, and my cobb salad, which came with an interesting, relish-like vinaigrette of bacon and tomato, skimped on every ingredient but the romaine lettuce. And yet the place was packed. Soho Park is apparently pleasing customers—just not this one. 

Soho Park

62 Prince St. (at Lafayette St.) 

212-219-2129