HO HUMM.

Hype. Reputation. Expectations.

Three things I brought to dinner at HUMM, along with an appetite and, apparently, an insufficient understanding of seating chart law.

Daniel Humm, the celebrated chef behind the three Michelin star restaurant, Eleven Madison Park, opened his namesake restaurant on October 10 in the former EN Japanese Brasserie space in the West Village.

A major chef. A much-anticipated opening. Naturally, I wanted in.

Last week, I secured a reservation for the bar and lounge.

I arrived excited.

They had me pissed at hello.

We entered through a darkened entryway and ascended the stairs to a red, pebbled host podium, where three unsmiling men stood at attention. Apparently, hospitality had been stopped at the door for wearing the wrong shoes.

The host who greeted us had the warmth of a foreclosure notice and an expression suggesting that our arrival had interrupted something deeply unpleasant.

Possibly his job.

He prepared to escort us into a darkly lit remote lounge area that seemed perfectly matched to his disposition. We asked whether we could sit at the bar which appeared to be three-quarters empty.

Absolutely not. Our reservation was for the lounge.

I explained that I had booked the bar and lounge.

He informed me that I should have consulted the seating chart on the website, which was very specific.

My mistake. I had prepared for dinner by being hungry. I should have studied the floor plan and retained a zoning attorney.

After we considered leaving and I contributed a few observations delivered with increasingly audible breath, we were granted two stools at the end of the bar.

The seats were bestowed with a caveat. If they needed the seats in 45 minutes, we would have to vacate the premises.

Nothing says welcome quite like a provisional occupancy permit.

We sat down and quietly agreed that, if necessary, we would become squatters.

The bartender arrived with a personality about as intoxicating as a Rum and Coke left overnight.

I quickly ordered a Humm Martini as I, allegedly, was on the clock. 45 minutes and counting. Very intimidating in an uninspired rather empty bar ($24).

My dinner partner ordered a specialty cocktail, a Hudson Gibson mixed with Citarella Gin, Nardini Grappa, Cocchi Americano and Yellow Chartreuse. He felt the drink was the highlight of the maddening evening  ($22).

To be fair, the martini was delightful. It was also $24 and served in a glass so tiny I briefly wondered whether we had ordered from the dollhouse menu.

On to the cuisine encounter.

The Focaccia was served as part of the starters and sides. It was the largest portion of the evening. A promising development until we got through the crust and encountered an interior that, to me, seemed to have left the oven before completing its education ($9).

The Fried Feta and Sesame thingies with honey dipping sauce were remarkably tasteless and seriously not crispy. Quite an achievement for a cheese whose principal qualification is having a distinct flavor factor ($16).

The Razor Clams with chili and parsley which was invited to the dollhouse party to add a false sense of abundance, were meager. I order razor clams in local restaurants in France and the plentiful clam meat runs the length of the shell. Whatever flavor they possessed remained between them and the kitchen ($14).

The Mushroom Burger was mediocre at best. I kept waiting for the bite that would explain why we were there ($25).

The Fries are better at Shake Shack ($14).

The Fried Chicken is more moist at Kentucky Fried Chicken. The nondescript dipping sauce added nothing ($28).

So far taste and enjoyment had not arrived, possibly held up at the host stand because taste was unaware of the seating chart.

The expensive King Crab Tagliatelle, the only item on the menu that excited the uninspired bartender, started well. There was an initially appealing flavor, followed by a steady progression toward the texture of kindergarten paste.

Was there crabmeat? Possibly. It appeared to be participating remotely ($48).

I had come prepared to enjoy dinner. Instead, I was searching for shellfish, negotiating stool tenure and wondering whether the bread needed another twenty minutes.

The design is edgy, expensive-looking and far too dark for my taste. There is atmospheric lighting and then there is needing a search party to locate your dinner.

The room is decorated with artworks including tiles depicting acclaimed Italian painter, Francesco Clemente’s artworks, Rashid Johnson’s mural on canvas, Roni Horn’s drawings, and Louise Bourgeois’ sculpture.

In actuality, the central ceramic hearth was the best decorator item. It looks appealing while producing the $108 roasted bougie chicken entree. Why eat it when you can take the seed money and start your own chickens coop.

The oven radiated warmth. Someone had to.

What bothered me most was how quickly the evening became work. Getting seated was work. Finding enthusiasm for the food was work. Paying these prices while feeling like an inconvenience was practically a second career.

I don’t need a restaurant to genuflect when I arrive. A pleasant greeting, a comfortable seat and a meal worth its price will do nicely.

At HUMM, I found precious little pleasure in any of it.

A famous name can get me through the door once. After that, the restaurant has to give me a reason to come back.

I left HUMMing the classic Clash hit, “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

Next time, and there won’t be, I will know the answer.

HUMM 435 Hudson New York City. Open Daily 5-10pm. Reservations on RESY.