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| - I've never written a review on Yelp. Not ever. But after our experience in the Las Vegas desert, I feel obligated as a man of decency to contribute and help those who would befall the same fate as we did. The debate began with a growing urgency for sustenance, as we were reeling from a heavy day of soaking our livers in beer, tequila, Fireball, and some ungodly concoctions called "Buzz Balls". Mr. Chop Chop arose as a solution because apparently, crab rangoon was not available on other delivery menus as far as we could tell. Why we were even considering ordering seafood for delivery in any form while in the middle of a goddamn desert is beyond my comprehension, but the group was insistent. We placed a large order to feed six and were told that delivery would be a one hour affair. With time to kill, there were a few beers left and the film "Tower Heist" was airing on television. If you've ever seen "Tower Heist", capped by brilliant penmanship and epic performances from Ben Stiller and Casey Affleck, then you know that such a cinematic gem can only build your appetite for the finest Asian cuisine, because you are literally starving for quality after watching such schlock. Enter Mr. Chop Chop, not one, but two hours later.
The crab rangoons looked like they were previously used as suppositories in a subsidized retirement community. Usually having no crabs in Vegas is a good thing, unless you're expecting it in your food as opposed to your nether region. I could not surmise a more pathetic excuse for this staple of Ameri-Asian cuisine than what revealed itself in those styrofoam containers. Suffice to say, they are rotting in a dumpster somewhere in the bowels of the Wynn property.
The chicken chow mein noodles tasted as if God decided that sodium no longer had a place on the table of periodic elements. Consider the effect on our ecosystem if this were the case. All sea life would perish, average blood pressure would drop, and Mr. Chop Chop's cooking would still be available to damn civilization. I made it through about five bites before wisely placing the carton in the $25 incidental refrigerator we had delivered to the room. Some poor sap was going to get drunk later and eat that. But I knew it wouldn't be me.
In the aftermath of eating, everyone in the group was writhing in pain. There was no satisfaction on the miserable faces of my companions. People would disappear randomly in 20 minute intervals and I can only imagine that this was time spent slumped over the toilet in a desperate attempt to void our bodies of the filth that was Mr. Chop Chop's plague. Ipecac syrup would have tasted like holy ambrosia at that point.
To those that wrote positive reviews, I have two theories. One is that you have personal ties to the restaurant, which is totally fine. People come onto Yelp all the time to defend their establishments, however fruitless and absurd it may be. The second theory is that you've never left the desert, nor eaten any other Asian cuisine in your life. I'm not here to knock you down or criticize your taste. Many find comfort in bland, diarrhea-inducing food to "flush" themselves, and I respect that. This beef is between me and Mr. Chop Chop. And should this beef ever resolve itself, it certainly won't be in any dish served by this restaurant in the lonesome outskirts of the Las Vegas strip.
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