Reported by Mr. Chuckles, food critic
Rating: 1.5 of 5 stars
A few days ago, I had a hankering to suck on a nice big sausage. I’d heard about Bazonga’s Eatery, which, according to its website, is located “right next to your mom.” The owner of Bazonga’s Eatery, Willy Slapstick, boasts that his sausage is bigger than anyone’s. So, on a whim, I decided to dine there.
Hoo boy, was that a mistake.
The place looks like it is stuck in the seventies. A neon cocktail glass adorns the back wall and immediately catches your eye. Everything is red − the seats, the carpeting, the walls and save for some bad wood paneling, everything else. Smooth jazz that sounded vaguely like something I’d hear in a porno film filled the room. The staff sported suits straight from the 1970’s with wide lapels and topped off the outfit with platform shoes. The hostess greeted me with the peculiar phrase, “Welcome to Bazonga’s, where things go down nice and smooth and fill you up.”
So, the place was weird. But was the food any good?
In a word, no. The only upside here is that it came quickly. The clams were served with their shells closed, and frankly they were hard to get at with all the other crap that was served around the dish. The burger was too much buns and not enough meat, on top of being raw. The jelly doughnuts I had for dessert were dry, and the cherries that came with them had broken into little pieces all over the plate, almost as if they had popped suddenly. The wine I ordered, some white wine I had never heard of before, tasted like it came out of my grandmother’s cellar (the one with the cats, not the wine connoisseur). And as for the owner’s claims about his huge sausage, those are perhaps the most damnable lies I have ever heard. That piece of meat was downright puny, in addition to being hard as a rock. They just did not put out enough for my liking on the plate.
And then I got to the most insulting part of my experience at this place: the bill. After a thoroughly dissatisfying experience (which I think actually tasted better coming up than it did going down), Bazonga’s actually had the balls to charge me close to 200 dollars. I can only conclude that Slapstick is trying to compensate for that tiny, tiny sausage of his, given that that alone was 50. The bill left me feeling like I just got screwed.
Ultimately, going to Bazonga’s will make you feel like shit the next morning as you wonder just what you were thinking when you went there. It is a pathetic attempt to take advantage of people too naïve to know any better. Save yourself the walk of shame home and stay far away from this place.