Worst… Food… Ever…

So do you all remember the Tracer, it was old, it blew smoke, but still could get from a to b. On the it died, over a year ago, I went to meet up with Roni in Concord. There was a festival or something going on in a nearby park, so we walked around and enjoyed the music that was playing. As we were walking around we saw this Korean restaurant, and decided to check it out. Maybe we had even decided ahead of time to go there, I can’t really remember. Anyways, the point is that we had never been to this place, and so we didn’t know anything about it.
First, you must understand there are several criteria that I use to judge how good an ethnic restaurant is. 1. Does the person greeting you at the door have an accent from the same country the food in question is from? 2. are there people from that country eating in the restaurant? 3. Are people from that country in the back cooking? So, for example, if you walk into a Chinese restaurant and the person at the door speaks with a British accent, there are elderly white people eating in the restaurant, and it looks like some kid that got fired from McDonald’s is working in the kitchen, it is best NOT to eat there. The food is probably sub par.

My first warning should have been that the door greeter was not Korean, and did not even understand the Korean greeting. My second warning should have been that there were no Koreans, or even Asians, eating in the restaurant. And, the place smelled more like a taqueria than a Korean restaurant. Nevertheless, we were hungry for Korean, so we just thought we would order something simple. I asked for bulgogi, which in all honesty, is pretty hard to mess up. This place found a way. Bulgogi means “fire meat” and it simply marinated meat cooked on a grill. My order of bulgogi came out with more vegetables than meat, and tasting like it has been seasoned with a packet of taco seasoning instead of korean pear and soy sauce (the way every bulgogi should be). Worst… Bulgogi… Ever…
However, I would have gladly traded the meal on that fateful day over the food I got yesterday. I think we can all agree that a fajita is pretty hard to mess up. But the good people of Delta, Utah sure found a way. On our way back from camping in Nevada’s Great Basin National Park, we all stopped in Delta for some food. Dad was in the mood for Mexican, so we pulled into a Mexican restaurant. Now, Mexican food in Utah is hit or miss, and this place already looked like more like Denny’s than a Mexican restaurant. But hey, I wasn’t the one paying, so my vote didn’t count for much. I was the first one to order, and I ordered fajitas off the menu. Everybody got their food before mine. When the waitress came out from the kitchen, I could hear the sound of sizzling meat and I could see the cast iron skillet she was bringing over. My hopes were high.

However, when she put it in front of me, I almost wanted to ask her if she had heard me right. I think of fajitas as looking like this. However, the mass of mush in front of me looked like peppers and onions that had been boiled in equal parts of grease and tomato paste. Everything was limp and mushy, except the chicken. The chicken looked like it had been grilled, then fried, and had the flavor and texture of slices of wood. You know how paper looks when it has oil spilled on it? That kind of translucent property it takes up? That is what happened to this poor, poor piece of meat. Add to that the fact that some of the pieces of meat still had the fat and skin attached, and it did NOT look appetizing.

I somehow managed to eat three small tortillas worth of the mush before I had to stop. Everybody seemed to wonder why I didn’t finish the whole thing. The Be of Besta even offered to finish off my uneaten portion, but after one bite of the chicken he put the rest down and said, “Well, now we know. Order the beef.” My stomach was sick for the rest of the day. Honestly, worst food ever. Maybe I will just have to lower my expectations for Mexican food in Utah…


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