We've talked enough about the outside of the new IHOP on East 14th Street. So it only seemed fair to go inside the place. We waited several weeks after the grand opening to allow the kitchen time to work out any kinks. Or something.
By Lux Living
After my
incredibly popular
review of the new lesbian Phoenix, Grieve put me on desk duty. [
Editor's note: I did?] Only recently has he decided to wean me back onto the Internet with such high-brow assignments as reviewing new ATMs, public storage units, and the much talked about IHOP on 14th Street.
Knowing that self-induced, explosive diarrhea is more fun with a partner, I begged
Marty to join me on this trip into suburban enemy territory. We met at the Blarney Cove and, after a few cocktails with a peg-legged mute named Muttly, we were off.
The new IHOP has all the ambiance of a check cashing joint on 23rd Street. If they ever hope to succeed in making this place a “late night destination for hipsters” their PR people dream of,
the first thing they need to do is adjust the stadium lighting. On top of the overall retinal bleaching, each booth has its own interrogation light bulb dangling between you and your dining companion.
It was so bright I could see the back of Marty’s eyes. If you pop in here for a bite to eat after some late night drinking but before some late night fucking, forget it. All bets are off. Nobody looks good in here.
The menu is a West Virginian’s dream come true that includes Country Fried Steak, Thick-Cut Bone-In Ham Dinner, and a wide variety of burgers all of which come with bacon. Lots of bacon. The only saving grace to this health care crisis menu is the calorie count listed next to each item
so the choice of how fast or slow you’d like to die from coronary disease is all yours. Onion rings are a mere 1,250 calories BTW.
We started with an order Monster Mozza Sticks which came so lukewarm the cheese was like white tar.
I ordered the Philly Cheese Steak AKA Steak-Ums on a buttered mini sub roll with onion rings. Opting for the slow death, I ate only two of the onion rings. After getting management’s permission to order from the kids menu, Marty treated himself to a large pancake that came with all the fixings to draw a face on it – strawberries, bananas, whipped cream and yogurt in a tube. His meal was far more engaging than my butter soaked white trash delicacy.
And then there were the bathrooms. Single occupancy for men. Single occupancy for women. Have fun with that late-night disaster in the making.
The one thing this place has going for it is
they have the most courteous staff I have experienced in a casual dining spot of this caliber. Our waitress, April, was incredibly friendly. She entertained our numerous questions about the stupid menu, didn’t yell at me for taking random photos of the syrup, and was kind enough to ask the management if we could order from the kids menu. She checked in on us several times and we tipped her generously for putting up with our shenanigans.
Bottom line, eat at a real restaurant people.
But look! On the way home we ran into Lady Gaga!
Marty wrote about the experience
here.
