Dava T.
Yelp
Ever had an insatiable desire for pasta, but all the restaurants you want to go to are closed until dinner? Well, if you find yourself in this pickle and desperately searching for a substitute spot, here's a suggestion: head to your local grocery store, grab a can of Chef Boyardee, and toss that bad boy into a lava pit. Voilà! You'll save yourself from the agony and misery of dining at this place (not to mention saving some serious dough).
Now, let's dive into the absurdity of the service at this joint. You walk in, eagerly awaiting someone to acknowledge your existence as a fellow human being. Finally, you get seated, but then endure a solid ten-minute wait. At long last, someone shows up and asks if you'd like water. Little did you know, that might be the last you ever see of them (hopefully they're alive and well, though). Another person arrives, sweating profusely as if they just ran a marathon in a sauna. You start wondering if their sweat will add an unexpected flavor dimension to your food. They ask if you want water again, and you can't help but ponder if they'll send yet another water representative in five to ten minutes. Is the water source located 100 miles away? Are you trapped in a Groundhog Day-style time loop? You decide to order the water again, along with some bread for the table, and the server declares that it'll cost you a whopping $4.99 (because, you know, our tattoos must make it appear that might be too steep a cost for us). We also order a Spicy Passionfruit Margarita (which, let's be honest, tastes like it was concocted by a desperate mixologist using ingredients salvaged from a post-apocalyptic bar).
After what seems like an eternity, the server returns with water and bread. They take our order for the main course, casually plopping the bread on the table without any oil, balsamic, or even a hint of effort to make it more enjoyable. Starving, you start devouring the bread at the speed of light, desperately craving something to help it go down easier. You ask for oil, balsamic, butter--heck, anything to alleviate the dryness of the bread. Finally, the server brings you some oil and disappears. You spot her at an empty table, so you summon the courage to ask for balsamic once again. To your surprise, she returns with a tray of ancient, funky Parmesan cheese (your boyfriend claims it tasted like a campfire) and some chili flakes. Undeterred, you persist and request balsamic once more. This time, it takes a solid ten-minute ordeal, as if they were squeezing the vinegar from grapes right there in the kitchen. Just as you're cracking open one of these bread balls, horror strikes--a hair! You try to convince yourself it might be your own, given your dark hair color, but deep down, you know it's baked into the bread. How many hairs did you unknowingly munch on? Cue the gag reflex and tears.
Suddenly, the food arrives at an alarming speed. But where, oh where, is your beloved Margarita? You search high and low, but it's nowhere to be found.
Turns out, Chef Mic** didn't bother with temperature control, as your dish seems to have taken a detour through the gates of hell (although, miraculously, the shrimp managed to defrost--those "bad boys" must have gone through a questionable microwave ritual that lasted a mere 25 seconds, without anyone bothering to look or taste the shrimp beforehand).
Once my Linguini was at a temp I could put in my mouth without disintegrating my tongue, I was able to taste the flavor. Now, the taste can only be likened to that of a Vintage Chef Boyardee. Perhaps from someones private collection. Noodles were completely obliterated... 1 second away from mush. The sauce was closer to orange than red... and again tasted like it plopped out of a can, salt? pepper? herbs? HA no way.
My poor BF ordered something with shrimp and he was so hungry he actually ate it all... but got a terrible stomach ache after....it lasted well into the evening.
Also, again HOLY CoW the service.... we waited a combined 20 mins for the bill to be dropped and picked up....
**incase you were wondering "Chef Mic" is a microwave