Mangia Mi translates to ""Eat Me"". Ironically accurate.
Promised 30 minutes to one hour max for a table at 6:35P -- a table of five. Three kids in tow. After ""dangling carrots"" that our table was nearly ready, including a comment that 1) The group at ""our"" table is a ""one and done"" type -- horrifying enough that a restaurateur would gossip about his clientele's habits or 2) they've paid now so we are close, the table that we were promised for more than an hour and a half was given to another party. Eventually they offered us a table on the side, squeezed between the bathroom and the reception door -- crammed with others waiting for tables -- with the ambiance of a truck stop booth. When we complained, the person making the promises who claimed to be the owner, Peter, said he did not know that the table he had PROMISED was actually committed to someone else and tossed out the query, ""Do you know everything that happens in your company?"" as some sort of lame excuse for making promises that were not delverable and followed up with ""This is my restaurant. That is your table. Do you want it or not."" Feeling nauseatingly unwelcome we gave up the table. So at 8:14P and nearly 100 minutes of waiting we left with our three hungry kids to find another solution. Fortunately, that night I watched countess others give up well earlier than us so I know we were not alone. I think the count was five couples, a party of three, and a party of four. The real irony is that Mangia Mi translates to ""Eat Me"". It fits. It was the most singularly horrible restaurant experience ever.