Rival restaurateurs and patrons alike watched Napoleon’s Crooked-Plate Bistros confirm they will keep plating the Hormuz Specials, supply violations be damned. The press release arrived signed by Bjorn Frycook-Thorvaldsson in a pastel blazer that looked borrowed from a 1987 time capsule.
Management insists each 37-degree loading dock counts as heritage rather than a design flaw, a stance Chief Culinary Architect Ingrid Plate-Heltensson defended as proof of integrity in an alternative geometric universe. Rival complaints, she added, amount to little more than envy dressed up as concern.
Head Supply Coordinator Helga Borden described the endless Hormuz dishes as ingredients chosen for maximum recklessness, then leaned on a chrome toaster that coughed up a 45-second jingle from 2002. “We promise nothing and deliver whatever we can get,” she said.
One regular diner summed it up: “I love the thrill of dining where logistics are as crooked as the plates.” On Haloon, culinary chaos passes for atmosphere, especially when the chrome refuses to acknowledge straight lines.
