August 31 - September 13, 2000
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Volume 2, Issue 19
August 31 - September 13, 2000 |
BARFIN SAFARI
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Abandon all hope ye who enter here! Upon arrival, we were offered the choice between the seemingly exotic landscapes of Atlantis, Machu Peechu, or the Serengheti-- we choose the last of the three. The plaster recreations of indigenous flora coupled with the realitivly lowtech screen projections of obligitory fauna smacked of leftovers from a Disney garage sale in the late '70's. Aside from the fact that one of the three projection screens was broken, the piped in electonic jungle sounds mingled nicely with the rowdy bantering and periodic clanks and crashes of the kitchen staff.
The appetizer, Chicken Satay, was dry, had too much vinegar, and was a little burned. I'm not going to go into the whole chicken abuse thing again; let's just say the kitchen staff at the Ilios Resturant (previously reviewed) are sharing some of their secrets.
The cappuchino was not bad if you usually get yours from a machine in 711 after a long drunken weekend without a toothbrush.
How, may I ask, can you get a burger wrong? This question was answered relatively quickly. My bacon cheeseburger, simply put, sucked. The cheese was kind of lumpy (not unlike government cheese), the bacon (possibly government pig) was
greasy, half undercooked, half overdone, and the burger was dry and tasteless, just like the bread (government bread?). The pickles, lettuce, and tomato on the side were a study in the progression of decomposition, with wilted being the freshest and curled up, dried out being the furthest gone. Basically, this culinary experience was cafeteria food masked with Eurotrash names and flavors.
Our first encounter with the staff was with a dumpy hostess who seemed to be very annoyed by our presence, and possibly in league with the devil. When asked when they stopped serving lunch, she (and I use the pronoun loosely) snapped "4: 30." We later found out that they don't stop serving until 11 p. m. When asked where one might buy cigarettes, she rolled her eyes (her one good eye) and sneered through her pointed teeth, "I have no idea" (oh, how true, my dumpy little imp, you have NO IDEA at all).
Hostess #2, the bartender, and our waitress were all extremely, almost overly, informative, friendly and professional. My suggestion to the few professional staff members: get the hell out while you still have some semblance of humanity left. This place harbors a service vortex ... a virtual gastronomic blackhole ... go ... go now lest your immortal soul come forfeit!
For a similar experience, get a few happy meals, let them get a little old before you eat them and attempt to watch some Animal Planet reruns while your neighbors are having a party.
Tattoo grade: Right before all the ink faded into an undefinable blob, I realized that though I had said 'eagle, ' my tattooist had heard 'beagle. ' Wrestling grade: A bumbling stumble with other wrestlers and their drunk girlfriends as the only audience.
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