The Silver Room simultaneously flirts with effective minimalism and stark edgeless monotony, leaning like an old car with busted leaf springs toward the latter. The walls are vast expanses of silver and gray-blue. Metal frame chairs, spray-painted silver, have dull blue seat cushions. Silver bars impregnate the black tile floor. The only bumps in this flatness are the tightly elegant Silver Room logo, the cheesy glitter sprinkled on the ventilation ducts and the corrugated steel ceiling, and the strings of tiny white lights snaked under the bar.
Service is another piece of disparity.
It could be considered attentive and gracious, if a tiny bit intrusive, though on one visit it was mostly flawless. But on the subsequent visit, we were seated at an obviously soiled table with frightening brownish stains and flecks of black pepper speckling the white tablecloth like silver glitter on an air duct. Several minutes after placing an order for a calamari appetizer, our server came back and said the squid was all out, or it wasn't ready, or the chef didn't feel like cooking it, or something. But maybe not. The food wasn't left out of The Silver Room karmic experience either, displaying its own stabs at dissonance.