Walking into Cedars Restaurant on Brooklyn is a little like walking into the wrong corner of a carnival. It takes but a split second to realize that the only way the greasy sloth that meets you could be so rude and still be working at the door is if he is the owner. At meal time, enough Seattlites are busy turning a blind eye to the virtues of principle that you are all but guaranteed a 20-30 minute wait in the jam-packed lobby. You stand there writhing in pain as turban-clad drones with sub-80 IQ?s take obvious pleasure in repeatedly banging a schoolroom bell in a feeble and ultimately meaningless attempt at organization. The shrill ring of the bell pierces the eardrums of the restaurant visitor and make it even more intolerable when Indian families arrive and are seated immediately; almost as if the incessant bell ringing is some sort of perverted and prejudiced torture imposed by the owner on the Americans that keep coming back. Once curtly summoned and led to your seats in one of the dank and pullulated dining rooms, expect a 15 or 20-minute wait for your server. In this phase, captivate yourself with the Mexican lady that prowls the restaurant, hustling from table to table and refilling every last taken sip of water just as soon as it is consumed as if driven with whips by Neptune on chariot. Eventually interrupting your bemusement, a soft-spoken waiter will arrive and then another, and yet another tortured soul, as your fate in the Indian carnival leader?s assembly line is realized. Plates of delicious Indian food separate the madness from reality and after a few bites, you suddenly arrive at your senses once again as if you had never entered this bell-ringing asylum. But all too quickly, your sanity vanishes with the last of your masala and the remaining hours, they say, provide the stiffest challenge of all: acquiring your bill and escaping this most evil and chaotic of Vishnu?s dreams.
Pros: the hallucinatory-effect of the sheer incompetence, the food
Cons: bells reverberating for hours after, the desire to deck the owner, the obvious prejudice
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