I think I could succeed at any diet as long as someone tranquilizes me after 8pm. Another way would be in having an evening of dining so agonizing that you’d never want to eat again. Enter: Taze Restaurant in Indiana, Pennsylvania.
“Very good! Presented with flair / One of the best Restaurants in Indiana, PA” is one of the most baffling dining recommendations of the year. And we are only in April. How about a dining experience so astoundingly awful, you want to congratulate the kitchen on its incompetence?
For my fellow dining compatriots at TripAdvisor who rave on about Taze, did any of you take notice that the menu was an unreliable predictor of what actually came to the table? Like the thimble size serving of wine that costs $7 a glass, grilled ribeye with intestinal parasite reduction ($39), gastric bypass pizza ($12) and Hamburger Helper Roni in a pan (priceless). Pity, for the person paying the bill would surely want their guests to know that the meal is as expensive as it is inept.
Our dining experience started with a bubbly blonde server named Rodney. While most other Taze servers lingered at tables intrusively like a girlfriend you just broke up with but won’t leave until she gets her Ryan Gosling boxed set back, Rodney fused the right amount of personality, timing and professionalism with each visit to our table.
The atmosphere of Taze is a trendy one infused with the souls of the employees the owner devours. She seems to believe her staff will flourish as best like a flower without water… among the rocks…. with a bulldozer. Her unauthentic smiles gave her the warmth of a syringe and charm to what Burma is to democracy.
We all know that making a good pizza is the metric to which all Italian restaurants measure their testicoli. And if last night was any indication of their pizza punch, then Taze is castrato. Dear Paula Dean, quit your job, because this is what real oily food actually tastes like! There is more than enough oil on these pizzas to lubricate a M1 Abrams tank.
Next in perhaps one of the worst culinary decisions since celery Jell-O, arrived a chicken breast served with the femur attached to it. To my dining party it appeared to strangely resemble a thigh. But the chef insisted it was a chicken breast.
Maybe Anthony Bourdain is wrong and some chickens carry low tits to the trough. I don’t know, but the task of trying to convince our entire table that breasts come with femurs fell upon the easy going shoulders of Rodney.
Rodney was stellar and did his best to mediate the situation and volley our responses back to the chef. But there is an old saying that sticking feathers up your bum does not make you a chicken. Nor does sticking tits on a thigh bone We weren’t buying it and sent bird hybrid back to the kitchen. Then the owner took her mouth off of the living, breathing baby swan she was feeding on just long enough to admonish our server Rodney, for of all things… doing his job. A few moments later a new server appeared and we never saw Rodney again.
Most of the replaced waitstaff that followed Rodney seemed confused in how to get the entrees from kitchen to table without a flowchart. Food was passed from server to customer in ways resembling being on a bucket brigade or perhaps some secret tribal ritual in lower Monogolia.
The worst kill-me-now low moment though was in two members of our party spending the night violently ill. While a third spent 6 hours in the bathroom as a human flamethrower suffering from sphincter el fuego.
I have since been told by professionals that my meal consumption at Taza triggered a rare neurological disorder called “Gastralnosia.” It’s an inability to recognize or remember familiar places, like my home, boyfriend, or what a normal chicken looks like.
Ah yes… a unique dining experience indeed! Like an IV drip full of formaldehyde and Menudo, FIVE STARS and Congratulations to the rudest, overpriced, worst colon-destroying establishment,that Indiana, Pa has to offer!! Our inflamed intestines and wallets won’t be coming back.
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