Joshua H.
Yelp
Like many things in Boston, the name of the place is enough to strike fear into one. How the hell will I pronounce it? KAI-go? kai-GOH? KIH-go? etc. It being Boston, you know the name will be pronounced strangely, because the pronunciation of ALL place names in Massachusetts must be, according to state law, as unpredictable (and resistant to second-and-third guessing) as possible. Sometimes one can avoid this by referring to such places as Quincy ("KWIN-zy") or Waltham ("wal-THAMM" WTF?!) as "that strip mall outside of the city", but in this case I couldn't avoid it, as I had my heart set on ordering the "Kigo Classic". "KI-gah" I was corrected. WTF indeed.
These had been my thoughts as I ordered, and then waited for my food. I got the food, intent on going back to my office. The KI-gah classic, however, is not portable. No bag, no lid, no nada. So with the smelly undergrads was I forced to share my lunch. OK, fine I thought, I'll scarf it down.
No such luck, unfortunately, because as soon as I bit in, all I could taste was BURNING. BURNT. SCORCHED. FLAMED. CARBON. BLACK HOOOOOLE. And not even like burnt meat. Like burnt lettuce* (*why one ever cooks lettuce is a mystery to me anyway, but I feel like that particular bit of cultural confusion may be either a) my fault b) the fault of certain, mainly East Asian cuisines, rather than c) the fault of KI-gah Asian Carbon-posing-as-food Factory). Its not like the whole dish was burnt. Then I could have returned it. It's just that the dish had picked up enough flakes of on-their-way-to-being diamonds of crusty black burnt lettuce/carbon from the grill that I could taste nothing else. And still cannot. Despite washing my meal down with tea, milk, crab juice, beer, and pure, uncut diamonds.
For gosh sake dudes, clean your grill or something.