It is possibly the worst restaurant to grace the face of the Earth. If it isn’t, then you better believe that it’s pretty damn close. A nightmare around the corner, the culinary bearer of bad news. I’m still brushing my teeth to pry the horrendous taste from my tongue.
Let’s get one thing straight before we start this post.
I love eating inside restaurants, seeing their captivating decor, chatting with servers who are so friendly you would think they were your best friend, and leaving the establishment satisfied and ready to take over the world. I like to pass by different restaurants, mentally jotting them down on my hitlist of things to do.
So one day after a tiring afternoon of playing soccer, I decided to accept the looming challenge of a mysterious Italian joint around the corner. The darkened exterior with the lightly colored windows tugged at my whim and refused to let go. Less than five seconds later, I had barged through their doors, made my presence known to their servers, and demanded to be presented a feast of the highest prestige, complete with a golden crown and matching throne.
Disappointingly, they had ran out of crowns and thrones, so I had to settle for a quiet little table near the corner. People were seated all throughout the restaurant like a human infestation, laughing and pointing toward the tv, where the NBA Playoffs were on display. As I took my seat at the table, I encountered my first problem. The table was much much shorter than my chair. I felt like an adult at a preschool desk. Not just that, but the chair was rickety, compact, and groaned its complaints the second I sat down. But I didn’t let that get me down and I swiveled my head throughout the place, taking in the scenery while I awaited the waiter.
To say that the place was old-fashioned would be an understatement. The decorations were all seemingly manufactured by the same designer. Little Christmas lights, Roman podiums, the obligatory pictures of Italian chefs taunting you with their cartoon dishes.
But you know what I noticed most about the interior? It was dark, like, black hole dark. Darker than Darth Vader’s helmet. The walls were painted black, which gave the place an eerie graveyard feel all together. I’m not sure if the owners were attempting a cozy look when they painted the restaurant, but they failed miserably in my eyes. I felt like a stranger lost at sea in a foreign land.
Not too long after I had taken my seat, I was snapped out of my reverie by a lanky waiter who had come to take my order. This guy had to be at least 6’5″ ; he had to lean down to take my order, looking like a snapped twig. He was polite and a good listener. I ordered a slice of pizza and a lasagna, and he walked away on those human stilts of his.
The waiter returned about twenty minutes later with a platter of steaming pizza, a bowl of garlic knots, and a plate of what I desperately hoped was lasagna. I mean, just by looking at it, you couldn’t tell if what was on the plate was lasagna or not. It was a mushy concoction of sauce, blanketed over a mysterious lump. I questionably eyeballed my “meal?” and glanced at the waiter, who looked like he wanted to disappear and avoided eye contact before vanishing.
I shrugged my shoulders and threw caution to the wind as I dug into the food I had ordered.
Those were the worst garlic knots I have ever had the displeasure to experience. They practically swam in a pool of olive oil, and I feared I would clog an artery just by looking at the wretched things. They tasted of garlic and oil, which could be a good combination… if used correctly.
I took a slice of pizza… and was greeted by the worst pizza I have ever ingested. I mean seriously, the dough was chewy, the cheese tasted like cardboard, the sauce could have been alien blood for all I knew. Ew, just yuck. Pizza is usually one of those things that even when it’s really bad, it’s still really good. That pizza was hell served to me on a silver platter. You know the pizza is truly horrible when you can’t even bear to eat it.
And finally, I saved the star attraction for last: my lasagna. First, some background: lasagna is my favorite food in the whole wide world. It makes angels sing and rainbows spontaneously shine in the sky amid a glorious burst of fireworks. Well at least, that’s how lasagna normally should be.
The lasagna I ate (drank) on this on this fateful day was drowned in bland tomato sauce and I had to dig through the bloody liquid like an archeologist just to find my food. It was like finding buried treasure, except there was nothing to treasure about that abomination. The meat tasted artificial, the cheese was poor, and the pasta part of the meal didn’t have a leg to stand on. You know what it tasted like? A mess.
But I thought to myself: “You know, whatever. I’ll just eat this thing, no matter how bad it tastes. I’ll just walk out of the door afterwards and forget this ever happened.”
But then the unexpected happened.
I tasted something frosty in the center of my lasagna. I dismissed it as odd and kept eating. But then, more cold food said “Hello” and shook hands with my tongue. I couldn’t believe my tastebuds. The lasagna’s center was as cold as ice. It wasn’t fresh, which means somebody had to microwave the meal out of the freezer and served it.
That was the last straw. I go to restaurants to enjoy a fresh masterfully cooked meal for all the expenses it costs. It’s an insult of the highest order when I’ve been served a frozen dinner, masqueraded as something freshly prepared.
The food was paid for. I left, and none of the servers or owners said a word to me, probably sensing my seething outrage.
I had no regrets as I exited the parking lot and left the “restaurant” in the rearview mirror.
The worst part about this whole ordeal is that nobody will ever go to one of the owners and tell them how much their service sucks. We’re too kind about hurting other people’s feelings, even if it’s for the best, and that’s one of the things wrong with society. A little harsh, yet constructive criticism can go a long way to helping somebody.
I’m thinking about writing a brutally honest review on Google. But first, I have to finish brushing the frozen taste of cold lasagna from my mouth.