Repeatable: No! Visits: 1
I dragged my husband to Quinn’s for lunch yesterday–the New York Times had just mentioned it, so I was curious. (The NYT is usually wrong about Seattle restaurants, by the way, so reader beware!) He didn’t want to go because he had “the worst meal of his life” there with some friends three weeks ago. (They had ordered everything on the menu; it was all “gross.” I quote: “Sausage that tasted like a stick of salt. Pate that tasted like cat food. Please, I’m trying to forget the experience.”)
He very reluctantly agreed to have lunch, reasoning that it would be a different cook. He dropped his fork. “Oh no, it’s the same person!”
My jaw dropped at how disgusting the food was. The bread salad ($8) tasted like it had been dressed with fryer oil, and an unmistakable whiff of creosote emanated from it. The croutons were soggy–and not with dressing. The pathetic and barely prepped hunks of iceberg lettuce were piled high on the plate, with a lone olive half and a tomato chunk that was far from ripe. Ugh. After three bites–enough to confirm the rancid fat flavor–I, too, dropped my fork.
As for the “grilled ham and Gruyere sandwich” ($8)–my 6 year old could have done better. It looked like it had been slapped together by a giant and a pygmy trying to meet in the middle; the two pieces of bread were off by half their width. Globs of mayo dripped from the edges. Fries were somehow overcooked AND limp and greasy at the same time.
I usually eat everything. I’m the type of person who eats airplane food happily. But this swill? Unbelievable. The whole experience was so repellent I was fascinated by it, kind of like needing to stare at a gruesome accident scene. I can’t wait to go back again–when restaurants are this bad, they make for great entertainment–but my husband absolutely refuses. Hands down the worst meal I’ve tried to eat this year.