I should have known tonight's culinary delights would cross my esophageal tubes like a tourist attraction maw- a signpost of uninhibited drudgery and cultivated service lacking everything in addition to the cultivation.
The restaurant so called 'bananas' is an effigy of crazy with a cherry of swindle. Eating here (if you are so unfortunate as to run out of your house and forced to find your way to this establishment) is not like a funday sundae. It may have been my fault that I chose to go early evening before the dinner rush. There were 3 occupied tables and 5 waitstaff. My dinner companion and I were the unlucky 4th coupling- an omen from Chinese lore signifying unluckiness.
I should have backed out then. Or, if I had let that pesky lady 3 years ago read my palm for the equivalent of $50 (and the 2 garlic breadsticks I was eating at the time) she would have spared me the ugly consequences of a bad life grumumble (author's note- my word. Meaning farce of dreary continuum). The non-existent service left me no other choice but to claw at the seemingly edible looking tiles from what could none other have been a counter stripped from a defunct Turkish Bath that not even the Liquidators found savory and later plied from a scrap heap to be keyholed into a barbaric location half under a thatched awning clearly invisible to service or waitstaff attention. Not even Harry Potter under his invisible cloak was this shorn, for he at least had a marauders map to ply him his deserved attentions.
The food may have robbed me of my tastebud receptors so much so that even water from the tap is devoid of its usual heavy mineral composition trailing the recesses of my plaintive mouth. Though I reckoned the food tasted like a breast trapped in a freezer bag left to its own devices in an arid climate with steaming temperatures cresting higher than a simple mercury contraption could measure and hundreds if not tens of miles from the nearest Copacabana representing the only respite from the unforgiving sun, I was told by my dinner companion the rice and beans were good. Editor's note- not great, but good.
Her carcass picked breast appeared just as delightful as mine- meaning not. I am surprised a takeout box offended its interiors by allowing in what was surely a crying portion of rice and beans that had to share space with an abomination of a breast well past any sell-by date or common decency of serving. Even the UN would have a problem with the lack of decorum exhibited.
Though, friends, and rapt readers alike, we have not yet spoken of our dear waiter Richard. Unusually, this Richard is no proxy to the glorious Lion Heart of a same name, his aires are no less pronounced. Spurned taste buds are no more in season if not also for a fresh verbal laceration upon the brow. The verbal tongue lashing Richard dispensed unto my sun beaten back bore indelible lines of tramp unto my soul- and below the C4 and C5 vertebrate. Richard made certain to lambast his righteous cause (Read- not the Lion Heart) of removing an inedible chicken entree from the bill; one, dear reader, that was sent back after trying to accommodate with extra salted sauces and puckered lips.
Please also not forget that the menu lies. A payment in cash is supposed to render a 4% discount- better than any credit card offer (so says the laminated cardboard flaps that I have no doubt are crying just as much as I am while writing this treatise of malfeasance). Yet, Richard stole this 4% from my cash payment and I would also like to think some of his dignity too. Bad service, bad food, and stealing unusually do not end well ay my dinner table or I hope at the homes of you- dutiful readers of my harrowing account. For cloture, not quite closure, I would say eat here. Do it. Eat here if your idea of a good time is being locked in a cupboard under a staircase and neglected by your surrogate muggle born parents. Vieques is a small island, but don't let size muddle your seemingly apt perception of quaint islands being bereft of crooks, imposters ( re: not the Lion Heart) and high pitched squalls from a waiter holding you and your dinner companion hostage. Liam Neeson- help.
P.s. In homage to one of my favorite reviews of all time- I don't care, Richard. You're an imposter- NOT the regal Richard the Lion Hearted but a swindling twiddle. read more