Today J and R were on their own, and in search of a new dining adventure, were (mis)treated to lunch at the brand new IHOP near the Chipotle. In his entire 34 years of existence, J had heretofore avoided ever eating at one of these pancake establishments. Now, sadly, this is no longer true, and he will never be pure again. The decor of the Westfield Shoppingtown Southcenter IHOP can only best be described as "churchy"--it had that new construction feeling one gets when they go inside one of those weird mega-churches. Everything is bright, sunshiney and yellow, with the exception of the gray industrial grade carpet. An advertisement at the door proclaimed the area a Fruity Crepe Fiesta.
J and R were seated by a young, fruity crepe fresh off the Ioway farm, who has yet to learn that there are way better restaurants to work at than IHOP, and that the kind of fiesta he's looking for only happens on Capitol Hill. He was quickly replaced by our pleasant, yet phony, server who in all likelihood was a slightly malfunctioning robot. As the Fine Young Cannibals crooned from an overhead speaker, J took a gander at the menu, ready to sample some tasty pancakes.
Unfortunately, IHOP has now made the mistake of listing their calorie count and fat content of all their menu items. Some of the pancake dishes topped out at more than 2000 calories, and since J was hoping to skip the gym tonight, he ordered one of the lower calorie items--chicken strips (1280 calories, 16 grams of fat) in its place. The chicken strips turned out to be an appetizer, even though they were served with fries and a slice of Texas toast, so Roboserver asked J if he would like to order an entree as well; he declined. R's order was confusing, and changed approximately 15,000 times before it was actually placed (this was largely Roboserver's fault); J never quite figured out what it was.
IHOP's dining philosophy is starch paired with starch, and served with one to two sides of starch. After a longish wait, the food arrived in all its hellish glory. J's chicken strips were unsightly and surprisingly flavorless, the Texas toast was squishy and salty, the fries were inedible and soft like someone had already had them in their mouth for a little bit (this probably shaved about 400 calories off J's "appetizer"). R's complicated lunch turned out to be two ghoulish eggs staring out of a pool of grease, some reasonably attractive hashbrowns, 6 slices of partially toasted bread, and 2 wilted pumpkin pancakes sitting forlornly on a side plate that was too small. J tasted the pancakes--they were tastyish but sad, and the butter pecan syrup's flavor resembled the butter that comes out of the dispenser at the movie theater. R ate most of her lunch, but her silence suggested its flavor profile wasn't much better than its visage.
The check couldn't come fast enough. All the classiest restaurants make you pay at the counter, and IHOP proudly offers this service, probably because the robots have difficulty making change. R paid the Fruity Crepe on the way out, and the adventuresome duo ran to Starbucks to wash the taste out of their mouths.
Food -1/5
Atmosphere 0/5
Roboserving 2/5
Starch by Volume 5/5
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