Sangria in Knoxville, Tennessee: Fail

My wife has a small Diet Coke habit. She does, however receive "return on her investment" through the Coke rewards program. One of the rewards happened to be a restaurant gift certificate for one of the restaurants perched on the downtown Market Square in Knoxville, Tennessee, called Sangria.

Ergo, our recent visit.; and, the 'fail' part, the impetus for writing this review. I just cannot not, divulge to the general public the faults of this place perpetrating such crimes against gastronomy.

The first and last visit to this "restaurant" that purports itself to be a "Spanish tapas bar" occurred recently on an unassuming and ordinary enough warm Thursday evening in early July. Mind you, the geographic location is situated in a downtown of a moderately-sized city at the foot of the Smokey Mountains on the Cumberland Plateau, but there is authentic Italian, Persian, and Thai available in a 30 mile radius, so Spanish tapas didn't seem to be so far fetched. Not to mention, such a high profile street address and some decent enough neighbors, the presumption was the business was a reflecting pond of its company, as it were; boy, the reality could not have been more the antithesis. This place stunk!

Not the olfactory-type stink, because if such were the case, I would not have allowed myself to even order food.
I'm talking about performance and execution stink.

Red alert to those that seek authenticity, and quality, YOU WILL NOT FIND IT HERE.

There were five floor staff, that included our waitress, and as many tables sat, none that exceeded a four top, and they were all running around like chicken with their heads cut off.

One young server even fell, right on her rear end, rolls everywhere, the high lite of the entertainment for the evening.

Our waitress even had her concert wristband on from a four-day outdoor concert that occurred over a month prior; a nightmare to any germaphobe, and just overt heinousness against food safety.

Maybe she was proud of the fact she saved her tips for 3 years to purchase her ticket and still wanted to advertise to the world that she was a real rock and roll veteran. But to me, she was advertising her disregard for personal hygiene.

The risk taker that I am, even after noticing the wrist band instantly when she came to the table, my wife and I bravely pressed forward; me because I wanted to see just how bad it could get, and her, because much to her chagrin, she trusts me.

I also figured I'd be drinking enough alcohol throughout the evening, that no food bourn illness stood a chance and that I was sanitary from the inside out no matter

Long and short, the food was terrible! They were out of the signature keystone menu item for any tapas bar, the Spanish tortilla. The bread was frozen Pillsbury dinner rolls. My request for olives was delivered with a monkey dish of conventional pimento-stuffed giant bar-style martini olives. The potatoes and aioli dish was awful. The potatoes were from frozen, and the aioli was a reddish slurry reminiscent of thin cat vomit.

The chorizo was a frozen, prefabricated product as well, reminiscent of a ball park frank, served in a chipped fiesta-ware-styled crock in a half inch of their signature orange grease. Oh, and the Sangria, a carafe of Franzia swizzled with a little sugar, with freshly cut apples and oranges afloat in it; sangria, I think not.

Suffice it to say, if you have an appetite for tapas, you needn't waste your time here.

Definitely, do not waste your money. Our gift certificate was the only thing that kept me from going toe to toe with the management.

Sangria, fail.