It’s been over two years since the fall of the Atomic Cafe. The previous owners having different fissions for the space, subsequently splitting the Atomic Cafe. (Cough) Hearing radioactivity had returned to normal levels and knowing the half life of Caribbean food to be about a year, we decided to return to the new restaurant now at ground zero. Chernobyl after all is now Russia’s gourmet darling.
Once we got there we realized the site was still showing signs of fallout. “Tonight’s special is a seared Ahi Tuna with a balsamic reduction sauce.” said the waiter who had flippers instead of hands. “Our soup du jour is a French Onion Soup.” Through the kitchen’s swinging doors we could see a prep cook taking a chainsaw to an onion the size of a carriage.
After we’d ordered, the bus boy scurried down the wall from above and left a bread basket on the table. “Would you like a refill?” our server asked telepathically from across the room. We nodded at him that we were fine.
We asked another diner how she liked the new restaurant. “I’m glad they kept some of the Atomic Cafe’s Caribbean theme. Like this parrot,” she said rubbing her finger under the chin of a street pigeon with glowing eyes. “Polly want a cracker?”
“Polly would enjoy a cracker, darling.” The bird recited back to her.
We asked the hostess if she’d found she had any new abilities since working there. “Yes. I can withstand hours of passive aggressive stares from soccer moms.” she said and adjusted her bra over her three breasts.
As we waited we started to worry about the cleanliness of the kitchen. Roaches can survive a nuclear fallout. We asked our server. “Roaches? I wouldn’t worry about that.” he said. Another server wheeled out a covered serving tray to the booth across from us. He lifted the lid and the steam rose around an oversize exoskeleton with triple jointed legs. “Bon Appetit.”