|By Kirk Bray||Wednesday, 20 Aug 2003|
In the occasions that I set foot inside my local Denny’s I know well enough to prepare myself, but nothing could ever prepare me for these foul and horrible acts of cuisine.
Sitting down to the subtle ambience of truckers ranting and old hags puffing on butts and relating got me in the mood for somethin spicy. Immediately rejecting the thought of a buffalo chicken burger, my eyes trailed across the menu and spotted what I thought could be a refuge in my yearn for actual taste. Look at that picture up there. Looks pretty good doesn’t it? Well that was my thinking at the time, but it turned out being the death of a wonderful dining experience.
When the platter was placed in front of me, the first thought that came to mind was shit. I mean actual shit. It looked like someone fried up the chicken, put them on a plate, and relieved themselves all over it. And this person would have to have some horrible gastrointestinal disease as well. Like spending a week in Mexico and holding it in just to release it on my food. It wasn’t really the color, or the smell of the sauce that did it. It was more of the lumpy, opaque texture that made the resemblance. Holy hell, was it disgusting. However, it was probably around midnight, and the prices at that hour are insane at Denny’s as some of you may be aware, so despite my disgust I gave them a try. It was like they had been cooked hours before I came, and the stomach juice seemed to have permeated the outer surface of the chicken, rendering it a paste. The chicken itself was thin and tastless.
I left Denny’s that evening leaving almost a full plate of food in my place. My faith in late night catering has suffered since.