The Bar: Foodworks Chinese Restaurant
The Address Southwest Commons, 50 SW Cutoff (Route 20 and Route 122)
The Day and Time: This was Friday at eightish
The Price: Six dollars
Did they ask me if I wanted a lime: I think so. This was an unhappy production. The harried looking woman asked me my order and if I wanted a lime. She disappeared and the man working with her showed up and brusquely said, “Is this yours? This drink? Is this yours?” I said yes and oh how happy I was to be given such dulcet service.
What was the type of gin: Gin distilled from sulfur and sadness(well gin as seen in this kind of place)
What was the gin and tonic like: Like the place itself, it was mean and unpleasant. You know that belief that dog owners look and act like the dogs they picked, the same is true for bars – the attitude of the bar can be found in the cocktails they serve. A great place will have great cocktails despite the ingredients. And lousy places will have lousy drinks, even if they were pouring from the top shelf, but of course, those places never serve from the top shelf.
Wait, stop, you are being very mean here Dante, what’s the deal?: Yeah, well in this 140 plus tour of bars of Worcester, I have been to places I didn’t like, or places that were down right scary, and many places I knew immediately I would never go back to, but I have never left a bar thinking, I really hate this bar. Well, here it is friends.
I hated my ten minutes at Foodworks.
I hated how mean and unhappy the bartenders were. I hated how brightly lit it was and that you could see all the unhappiness in the place. It was clean and presentable, but it was clean and bright like a three am Airport lounge and who doesn’t hate those? I hated watching the guy drag his six year old daughter up to the bar area from their table with the chinese food getting cold, so he could play more keno. I hated the drunk next to me who hit me friendly like, but still unwelcome and when I told him to not hit me, he got pissed off and so I moved my seat and he followed me so he could mock me some more and tell me he could really hit me if I wanted. I hated how the bartenders and the crowd of Keno castaways just ignored what was going on or noticed it and didn’t give a shit. I hated the long pull on the straw I made to finish my drink and split. I was happy to be out of there, and that might be the only thing I didn’t hate, the escape.
So Dante, aren’t you going to do your typical write up now? No. The place ain’t worth it.