The experience starts with walking thru the double doors into a foyer packed with lotto machines. Then, make your way to the hostess section, past the thrift store books for sale.
A tired looking waitress will give you a sticky menu and you'll try to find something you can eat that looks somewhat modern, fresh and/or healthy.
When that fails, you'll go for your standby of chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes.
You'll get a choice of cream or brown gravy.
(Of note: They serve Yak meat. Yak.)
Finally, an iceberg lettuce salad with stale croutons arrive. No tomato. No onion. Just croutons.
The salad is spilling over the sides of the too-small plate. Yes, this means the server has her dirty hands in your salad as she brought it over. The same hands that were bussing a table a minute before. The same hands she sneezed onto.
Try not to watch the chef in his dirty grey whites (I'm laughing as I typed "whites'') cook in the open kitchen. Don't wince when you see him use the same filthy towel to mop up the counter AND to get the plate edges cleaned up. He's wearing clear plastic gloves that he never changes.
Finally, your food arrives.
Oh good, the gravy tastes like it came out of packets. The mashed potatoes were dehydrated and reconstituted right there fresh in that kitchen! The steak itself wasn't too horrible, although way overcooked and super thin.
If you're wondering if we will be back.....ummmm......no.
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