It’s been a while since I’ve completely given up on a restaurant. I tend to be pretty forgiving, even with some of the worst restaurants in town. There are a few places, however, that I’ve come to dismiss with such completeness that they are, akin to a cheesy father/son relationship film in which the line “I have no son!” is uttered, dead to me.
Fins– Oh fins, you were filled with such promise. I thought that we were really going to work out well, your two new locations being so convenient and everything. Then came the rather disgusting stomach illness of 2006 that almost ruined Christmas. Then came your rather lackluster fish tacos. Then came your latest belly flop when you served me an ahi “sandwich” that consisted of nothing more than overdone ahi, two slices of barely toasted sourdough, and your less than appealing tartar sauce–no lettuce, no onion, no tomato, no nothing–just a side of Sysco fries and three nearly empty bottles of ketchup. Really, would it have killed you to find me the one ful bottle of ketchup in the place? Was it necessary to have me making flatulence noises with my trio of ketchup bottles for 10 minutes rather than rustle me up a new bottle? Are you intentionally bent on making me dislike you? Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be, then we’re through. Kaput. Finito. You’re dead to me. I have no Fins!
Mana II– Oh Mana II, poor ugly cousin of the more popular Mana on Alta Arden. You have provided shelter and succor and ramen when I was next door at the Comedy Spot on Broadway. You have tried, valiantly, to provide quality food at affordable prices. But let’s face it, your sushi has never been what anyone would call “fresh.” Your fish always seems like you got it at the Grocery Outlet or FoodMaxxxx, and your constantly changing menu approach is annoying. And while you might “maximize your shopping power,” you’re minimizing all the things you do well. Yesterday was the last straw, by the way. Your new “All You Can Eat Sushi” is novel, truly, but when it takes forty-five minutes, that’s right, forty-five minutes, for the subpar sushi to be served, without apology mind you, your idea turns sour. I’m sorry Mana II, you’re dead to me. Or at least your sushi is dead to me. I still might drop by for ramen.
In fact, you’d probably do well if you scratched the sushi altogether and tried to be one of the few Japanese restaurants in town that didn’t serve sushi, instead focusing on the other 99% of Japanese cuisine. Just a thought.
Burger King– When did the Burger King become a third rate world leader?
I haven’t been to a Burger King in about three years. I just went recently. I am sorely disappointed. I feel that I need to have a heart to heart with the king and tell him that his empire is crumbling. He is a puppet on a throne of balsa wood, living in a house of cards standing on feet of clay, with too many burger cronies pumping up his flagging ego. He’s going down and he doesn’t even see it coming.
I’ve had better meals at those run-down burger joints where all they do is take over an old franchise location and just change some letters in the sign, like “Hot Carl Jr” or “Bendy’s” or my personal favorite “International House of Pans.”
For the love of all that is holy, how damn hard is it to cook french fries. Mine were so burnt that you’d think some arson parolee was running things. I believe the King is maybe spending a little too much time playing croquet or trying to get a leg over the Dairy Queen to train his employees on how to use the fryolator properly. All I’m saying is that this is exactly what happened to the Romans. They were fat and happy watching gladiators kill each other and pulling the old binge and purge routine, and they let their empire crumble around their ears. Good bye, your highness. The king is dead. Long live the king!