It is not often that one in my line of work stumbles across a dining location that seems to be completely unknown, as was the case with my discovery of Delta. Hoping that I had found a diamond in the rough, I was eager to dine.
Despite its lack of popularity, Delta is reservation only. The security measures seemed extreme and made me wonder about the nature of their clientele. Once inside, I was shocked to find that all the seats were filled. The cramped interior had the potential to be cozy, but the imminent danger of hitting one’s head on the low ceiling, combined with the chill from the poor air conditioning and the blue pleather seats, destroyed any chance Delta had at being charming.
The wait staff seemed friendly at the start, but the quality of service quickly deteriorated. They checked on me frequently in the first thirty minutes, making sure that I was comfortable in my seat and that my phone was turned off. However, after that period of constant attention, the waitress, Sandra, whose name I gathered from her name tag since she failed to introduce herself, treated me as if I were a spurned stepchild and not a paying customer. It took another 20 minutes for the drinks to come around.
I assumed from the name Delta that the menu would consist of classic Greek dishes modernized with a fresh twist. I was sorely mistaken. But before I even discuss the cuisine, which may be a generous name for what was served, I must first discuss the dining surface with which I was provided. The “table” consisted of nothing more than a plastic tray with a circular indentation for the cup. The tray appeared so flimsy that I feared it could not support the weight of anything more than my sad cup of ice and the package of peanuts that won the title of strangest appetizer I have ever encountered.
Aesthetically, the plating of the dish was far from pleasing. The colors were pallid, the arrangement uninspired and overly simplistic. Not even a single leaf of parsley garnished the plate. Hoping that the flavor would redeem any part of my experience up until that point, I hesitantly took my first bite of the colorless chicken. Nothing could have prepared my mouth for the intense dryness that was to follow. The severe drought easily rivaled that of the state of California. Only after choking that down could I fully appreciate my drink which now tasted like water with a hint of Coke. I braced myself as I moved on to the salad—let me rephrase—I braced myself as I moved on to the lettuce, tomato, and solitary slice of cucumber I had the misfortune to have placed before me. Finally, in the name of journalism, I bit into the roll. It was reminiscent of Wonder Bread rolled into a ball. I was thoroughly disgusted by the whole affair. This outcome seemed to have been anticipated by Delta as they generously provided a sickness bag to contain my “return” of the meal.
No dessert or after-meal beverage was offered, but this was the least of my worries by that time. I was occupied with attempting to shake off the head of the large man who had fallen asleep next to me. Strangely, no bill was presented, but I still tipped Sandra as I walked out. Her surprised look suggests that she does not receive this altruistic treatment often.
My trip to Delta was certainly an experience. It was just one that I hope I never have to repeat. My verdict: Make a reservation if you’re feeling nostalgic for the days of school lunches and Mystery Meat Mondays. Bertha the lunch lady not included.
– AMD ’18. Illustrated by EAB ’17.
