"First, let’s discuss our host. This guy seemed to be playing a grown-up version of Where’s Waldo, except he was hiding not just from us, but from his job duties as well. I don’t know what he was so engrossed in on his phone, but it must have been a gripping read—perhaps a modern-day War and Peace told entirely through emojis and TikToks?
Then there was the bartender. She was so focused on her television show that I almost offered to grab some popcorn. Who needs to mix drinks when you can binge-watch reruns of The Golden Girls, right?
Now, onto the food, the real showstopper! My Eggs Benedict arrived on an English muffin that was so soggy, it could have been a contestant on a sogginess competition. If SpongeBob ever needed a mattress, this would be it. And then there were the cinnamon roll pancakes—oh my goodness! If frisbees and concrete had a child, it would be that pancake. It was so overcooked that it seemed to have fused with the plate; I almost expected it to spring to life and start fighting me in a Pixar movie about misunderstood breakfast foods.
And let's not overlook the surprise in the potatoes. Who needs a scavenger hunt when there are random peppers sneaking into your spuds? It felt like playing a game of culinary Minesweeper, where the mines were peppers, and the game was entirely rigged from the start.
From the moment we ordered until our food finally appeared took a staggering 45 minutes—no jokes here, just pure disappointment. So there you have it, the Flying Pig Cafe: where the service takes a nosedive, and the food makes you wish you could take off as well. It's a stand-up comedy routine masquerading as a brunch experience, only nobody's laughing. I give it 1 out of 5 stars, and that’s only because negative ratings aren’t an option."
