Diner's Remorse

Tonight I ate at Diner's Remorse...and yes...I regret it. I ate something I shouldn't have...and now I'm paying the check.

What is it about the alluring menu at Diner's Remorse that makes the bitterest pile of ashes look like the sweetest dessert? Their menu designers are geniuses! Evil geniuses, but geniuses nonetheless. Because I ordered...and ordered...and now I am suffering the consequences.

I wish I could have back all the wasted time, money, and energy, that I spent tonight at Diner's Remorse. But I never will get them back. And now I am left alone in this bleak diner...contemplating the waste...the utter, irrevocable waste.

The waitron was so beguiling. "You have to try our three-tier cocoa salad torte." And like a fool, I ordered the torte. And now the flames of regret lick mockingly at my ankles.

Because the glamourous glossy photography of the menu was just an illusion...as the ashes of stark reality clump in my stomach, the realization hits me. I want my money back! I want my time back! I want my energy back!

The waitron cackles. All of those things I want back have been greedily absorbed into the infinite maw of Diner's Remorse...and here I sit, depleted.

There are no other diners. I am alone. I chased the illusion of the candied poppering pears...and now the walls of the pit rise around me.

Ah, yes, I am paying the piper now. A flickering black-and-white television braced against the wall is playing that old TV commercial: "I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing." That is the only thing that TV ever plays in here.

I thought that the Artichoke Fries would make me happy.

They didn't.

And so...I signed away...everything! for what turns out to be a pile of charred charcoal. Or, in other words, charred coal or charcoal. I poke around in the ashes. I try to derive sustenance from the aroma of the smouldering embers. But there is no hope in that.

The waitron lied. It's that simple. The waitron told me that the Mint Gelatin Skins were Incredible. And I believed the waitron. And I know the waitron is laughing up its sleeves.

What is the decor like in this place? Bleak of course. Tired and wilted and clammy. The linens are clammy. I don't like this place. Fluorescent light like soiled laundry. The stainless steel is stained.

I'm going to leave soon.

And so, as I cover the remains of my meal with the funeral pall of my napkin, I can only warn you away from this place. But I know you will never believe me. You see only the sizzle...not the stake!

I would give this place zero stars if I could. But the code of the Restaurant Critic does not allow for that. Perhaps I will give it five stars...so that you will think the place overrated...and thus avoid it!

And so, consumed with remorse, I give Diner's Remorse five heaps of ashes.