Let the record show that I would never, EVER elect to eat here, but I was staying in the Flamingo for work and Hamada doesn't serve breakfast.
Weird jiggly oatmeal, and sliced bananas cost a whopping extra $2. Gaggles of enormous people in shorts and fannypacks and crew cuts (men and women), all yelling at each other from across the way. I struggled to find a reason to spare this population from quick and searing death had I been granted merciless deity privileges for the day.
That was not whip cream atop my chocolate malt. That was pale slime.