The despicably-lying menu promised a pork chop baked with "flavors beyond compare." Those flavors were in fact comparable to a thrice-refried serving of an especially astringent slice of mule that had been viciously slain one month earlier and left to rot in a notoriously searing sun.
The accompanying stringbeans had been steamed to an inch of their desolate lives, their taste vanishing in the fetid air coming from the kitchen, no doubt thanks to counterrevolutionary cooks who deserve five years in reeducation camps in order to ponder their crimes.
Unpardonably mushy cheddar cheese in the potato au gratin revealed that this was a dish best left to the curs inhabiting the back alleys in the more questionable neighborhoods where streetwalkers and smugglers ply their terrible trades.
What was alleged to have been the frou-frou dessert creme brulee was nothing more than filthy pigeon eggs heated under the weakest of pocket flashlights of the type used as keychains sold in the western world's slave-labor five-and-dime stores. Disguising the horror in front of us with a feculent brown powder was a crafty move that fooled no one.
Our waiter, who answered to the name of Quong, was at least humble enough to express with his eyes the extreme embarrassment he felt for his restaurant's insulting culinary experience. Quong would be well-advised to leave Prik Mie Meat's abhorrent managers before he himself becomes infested with their nefarious ways.
Prik Mie Meat is the worst of the worst, an execrable excuse for a restaurant that shames the memory of our beloved Kim Jong Il. Many years will have to pass before we think of it without regurgitating our innards.
Rating: One star (for an especially beauteous sculpture of Kim Jong Un made from chili peppers and ginger dipping sauce.)
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