Bobby the Doom Lord reviews... The Hilton New Orleans Breakfast Buffet.

New Orleans is commonly reputed with one of two characterizations, the first being a diverse cultural center of history, art, cuisine, and sinful merriment making for a tourist's dream come true, and the other being a city of chocolate, the flavor of which is diluted by plague-ridden flood waters, corpses, and gun-toting barbaric pillagers. The Hilton New Orleans Riverside is an ivory tower that rises above the riverfront like a glistening icon of salvation which, internally and externally, bears all of the aesthetic trappings of, "a full service luxury complex," ranging from quaintly-dressed bellhops to high-speed internet access available at the thrifty price of fifty USD per night; the Hilton's hospitality in its policies on amenities knows no bounds. Therefore, the reader can imagine my astonishment at the fact that the breakfast buffet of the Hilton New Orleans seemed to be a bit more reminiscient of the latter description of fair Atlantis.

Having risen early after an entertaining night on the town on the infamous Bourbon Street, I was more than receptive to the idea of stuffing myself to the point of bursting at a delicious hotel breakfast buffet, which is always the most pleasant of amenities of any resort. The Hilton New Orleans Riverside, however, seems to be an exception in the world of "full service luxury complexes," and isn't very keen on amenities, and so I discovered that what would have typically been complimentary at any "full service luxury complex" worth its salt was going to dent my wallet by an additional twenty dollars. I was only briefly taken aback when the troll guarding the entrance coarsely informed me of the toll to gain entrance, however, and as is unfortunately characteristic of me, I decided to look at my glass as half-full rather than half-empty, noting to myself that such a fee garunteed that the rabble would be kept out and that the cuisine would be exceptional. I was wrong on both accounts... So terribly, terribly wrong.

I'm about eighty-seven percent certain that the service staff of this "full service luxury complex" was screened and instructed on etiquette by a Neanderthal with an advanced case of ADHD, as I can't think of any other explanation for the polluting presence in my "full service luxury complex" buffet of the slouching, hardly-articulate, uncouth baboons who seemed to be of the opinion that they had better things to do than to spare me, the guest, the time of day. My party and I were hurriedly dismissed to our seats and left to fend for ourselves after rudely being denied our request for a table with reasonable proximity to the buffet in the inflection of a ghetto-reared street rat. Awaiting further service in futility for a few silent lingering moments, I hefted myself up from the opposite end of a clear design flaw and traversed across the sea's-breadth of a dining area, squeezing between patrons who rightfully gave me annoyed glares as I was forced to weasle around them and disrupt the privacy of their experience.

Approaching the station where I was offered the live entertainment of my eggs being cooked in a skillet, I found that those manning the galley had alot in common with their maître d'ordures, as I was simply asked in a dull and agitated tone by the cook who was named after an ancient city, "What do you want?" Oh, but stay yourselves, my fellow indulgent connoisseurs, and keep those chins indignantly upraised, for my experience at the egg station does indeed get worse. As I gave pause for what surely was only two seconds at the most, tapping my chin in clear contemplation as I was making my decision, I was once again addressed, this time barked at by the dog on the other side of the fence, "I said, 'what do you want,' sir?" I am not infallible, but I'm quite certain that any establishment, particularly one boasting the claim to be a "full service luxury complex" should be staffed by people with at least a minor degree of civility. Need I say more..?

Yes, I do. The waffles were cold, the eggs were watery and undercooked, the juice was warm, the sausage was tough-skinned and tasted terrible, I had to request coffee which was apparently supposed to have been set with my table, the syrup was inconveniently placed on the buffet rather than served in a container forcing me to sit, butter my waffles, and then once again travel to the buffet or take the ultimatum of using a tiny bottle of sugar-free syrup, and while wholly unrelated to my buffet experience, the damned Starbucks coffee shop upstairs lacked the equipment to make my Frappuccino.

But as always, I look on the brighter side of things - Hopefully, the exhorbitant overpricing will be able to buy Paris and her annoying little dog a breakfast buffet with a little more class.