Malaysian in name, but all over the map

Bubor Cha Cha is temperamental. Some nights the food is better than others. Some nights the service is better than others. They seem to go up and down in tandem, perhaps depending on who’s in charge. A waiter might introduce himself to you by name, shaking hands all around, talking sports, making menu recommendations. Another might glare at you, ignore you, rush you, or serve you with choppy, hostile gestures, your bubor cha cha slopping all over the table. (For the record: It’s soupy, with a mild coconut flavor, filled with tiny chunks of potato and sweet, chewy kernels of corn.) Why are you so mad at us for ordering food in your restaurant? One evening, a surly server delivers complimentary mini fruit tarts with the check; what should be a lovely gesture is marred by the fact that the fruit on top is desiccated in some parts, slimy in others, past its peak. Just. Don’t. Serve. It. We end a good meal with a bad taste in our mouths. Another night, the tarts are perfectly fresh and the staff perfectly friendly.