But whoever is cooking the meat is doing a good job. When pressed about whether he cooked the food, one of our “chefs” backtracked and said he was merely responsible for cutting and serving it. Whether the servers are truly chefs is doubtful. At ZED there’s a gimmick, too: We’re asked to believe that the people carrying the dishes to us are the chefs who actually cooked them. At churrascarias there’s a gimmick to this: The people carrying the meats to your table are called “gauchos,” and they’re dressed in high-waisted riding pants and poofy blouses. “Would you care to indulge?” they ask, and before they can slide a portion onto your plate, another server is at the table with a different dish. Almost instantaneously, men holding enormous skewers of meat approach. Which is to say that meals here follow a very strict formula: Diners start at a salad bar (the ZED term for these is “harvest tables”) then, when they’re ready, they signal (by conspicuously placing a river rock on the table) that the protein parade may begin. But other than that, the restaurants are almost exactly the same. And sure, maybe Sal didn’t have great cocktails like ZED’s crisp cucumber-sage martini.
Yes, ZED looks completely different-the space is now gorgeous, sunny and sprawling. But with all due respect, that’s a ridiculous claim. ZED451 would like you to believe it is nothing like Sal & Carvao, the chain of churrascarias it bought, renovated and moved into.
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