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| - I write this review not so much as a judicial examination of the palatableness of the meal I had here last weekend, but rather as an urgent public service announcement meant to warn potential customers of the gastronomical suckerpunch they stand to receive should they make the mistake of eating at this wretched trough of culinary embarrassments.
My meal was quite possibly the worst meal I have ever paid money for. And please, do not for one moment, think that is hyperbole.
Below is a brief list of the sufferings I endured at brunch on Thursday morning.
Omelet bar? Not exactly. Instead all the egg choices were fabricated in some sort of Omeleton 5000 device which creates strange semi-circle discs of "cooked" egg. In execution these abominations were really more akin to salmonella Hot Pockets with the outside cauterized into a leathery shell and the inside a viscous snot pocket of uncooked egg. Not even wrapping them in a tortilla, slathering them with cheese, salsa and sour cream could even save these leatherback puke pouches.
Alright then, eggs are a pass. Let's move onto the pork products. You can't mess up pork products, right?
Good god, yes you can apparently.
The sausages were finger-length vessels of fail wrapped around latex-strength casings. To fully understand how it felt to cut one of these things I recommend you take a Robusto sized cigar and attempt to cut it crosswise into one inch segments. I think I used to make log cabins out of these things when I was a child.
Terrible bacon? A statement like that should be nothing more than an oxymoron, or perhaps an ironic band name. But seriously, how do you fuck up bacon? It was more like tasteless crumbling wood chips. I'd just assume glue a bunch of Bacos together and eat that instead.
Next I thought that perhaps the French Toast would make amends for the pillaging my taste buds have already incurred. Nope, the pillaging continued as I tried futilely to cut a bite-sized piece of the eggy bread bricks with my knife and fork. The slices were so tough that they actually resisted the maple syrup I had drenched them with. You know, the French have a version of their eponymously named bread called, "Pain perdu". Now, while the word, "pain" is certainly a poignant way to describe eating one of these Rubbermaid breakfast sponges, I really feel the best way to describe the Roundtable Buffet's French Toast is to use the literal translation of "Pain perdu", "Lost Bread". Truly, this dish was a tragic loss indeed.
In the end I settled on a bowl of cottage cheese, an unpeeled orange and some pith-heavy grapefruit slices. For the next half hour I nursed a cup of (serviceable) coffee while my stomach curdled, whimpered and bubbled in discontent.
Before we left however, my friends and I made one final gruesome discovery.
The meatballs.
Having arrived during brunch a small number of the buffet stations were serving luncheon fare. As almost a sort of macabre experiment to attain absolute certainty that the Roundtable Buffet at the Excalibur was the worst dining experience found on "The Strip", my friend brought back a small sampling from the Italian station. On his plate lie a minute serving of penne pasta with a meaty marinara sauce and a single, innocent looking meatball. A Tuscan inspired amuse-bouche perhaps? No. More like a vomi-bouche, or even, an amuse-fail. The meatball positively reeked. My friend couldn't eat more than a thumbnail-sized sliver before pushing the plate away in disgust. His wife, upon catching a whiff of the plate, rather insistently demanded that it be removed from the table. Somewhere in the distance I'm sure I heard a wolf howl.
To those who claim, "You get what you pay for!" I call bullshit. I consistently eat far superior meals for well under $14.00 every week. The fare here in inexcusable; the fact that we waited in line before entering is baffling.
So, to all the lords and ladies staying at the Excalibur, I say the following. Should you be swept up in the medieval theme that surrounds you at the Excalibur, please know that bravery is not attained at the Roundtable, only food poisoning.
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