I am not a foodie in any sense of the word. I usually cook my own meals, but they're always uncomplicated, simple and cheap -- sandwiches, omelets, breasts of chickens, salads, sometimes very Americanized stir-fries and Mexican food. I recently stole a recipe from my dad, for example, which he proudly calls "The Stroud Concoction." It's hamburger meat, corn, potatoes, onions and lots of salt, all mixed together. That's about the pinnacle of my cooking ambitions.

That said, once a week, Kylie and I scrounge coins from under our couch cushions and head to a different moderately-priced restaurant. We're not picky about our food -- in fact, we're happy with mostly anything warm and edible -- but, since we only do this about once a week, we obviously like to be surprised by an interesting culinary find, or an unexpectedly tasty meal.

Since we moved to Bloomfield (a district we love), we've been teased by this little independent restaurant called Cafe Sam. It's right next door to a giant, three-year-old corporate hotel, and in close proximity to an area that's soon to be converted into "upscale townhouses, condos, a multilevel interior arcade with an office and medical facility, plus a high-quality hotel." Main idea here is that, since we're fans of independent businesses, we're happy for this little eatery -- excited that, at least for now, this locally-owned restaurant can survive in a sea of planned corporatization.

We had avoided Cafe Sam in the past because we thought it might be expensive (it's just a house, really, and it looks like a cozy bed and breakfast from the outside, with lush white curtains in the windows, and a little painted rose on it's subtle signage outside). Last night, we finally decided to give it a try. We walked in and were greeted by a pretty and pleasant hostess in her 30s, who lead us to our table. It was set in agreeable, moderately low lighting. We looked hopefully at the menu and it seemed great -- extensive, not too expensive, and loaded with interesting appetizers and specials. Our waitress was smiling and nice and young and bespeckled, and seemed generally happy to take our order. As we contemplated the menu, we were given a sample Margarita shot and a slice of Kielbasa meat by the smiling hostess. We were very optimistic.

Kylie decided on the Potato Pancake Crusted Salmon, and I decided on a typically simple sandwich (one of the cheapest choices on the menu, about eight dollars) -- the Buffalo Turkey Burger meal -- so I could also get their Angel Hair Shrimp Scampi appetizer, which I was really excited about. They didn't have a wine list, but we ordered glasses of whatever chardonnay they had... which was pretty good, I think, though Kylie's the wine expert, not me.

We waited a while -- maybe 20 minutes. I received the Scampi first and dug in. It wasn't exactly excellent, but it was alright -- it had an adequate number of baby shrimp in it; the pasta and shrimp were cooked in a fairly salty butter sauce that, though it wasn't mixed very well into the dish, was acceptably tasty and not so filling as to overwhelm my hunger (which was significant since, before we left, I had run about 7 miles). I offered Kylie some Scampi, but she declined; she didn't want to spoil her appetite.

Another ten minutes and our orders showed up. We were both surprised to find that the side dishes included, not fries or anything like that, but, like two leaves of browning green lettuce and this glob of what appeared to be uncooked seeds wrapped in these brown, brittle strings that I initially thought were pieces of very old wheatgrass, but which turned out to be something neither of us could identify -- maybe very thin roots or something. No idea. When I ordered the Buffalo Turkey Burger, I assumed I would get a turkey burger -- ground turkey meat hand-formed into the shape of a burger, simmered in Buffalo wing sauce and then placed on a bun, with lettuce, tomato, and maybe an onion. Instead, I got this burnt slab of what tasted like very porous rubber -- the sole of a shoe, maybe -- or maybe a bunch of paper that had been cut into the shape of a shoe sole, then soaked in oil for a week, then cooked in a frying pan and then placed on a firm, twelve-inch bun. No identifiable spice at all. Just the taste of rubber or maybe paper. Damp dust perhaps. On a bun. I had to request a reservoir of barbecue sauce just to give the thing some flavor. The glob of seeds and string was also seemingly not seasoned with anything. Kylie's meal was apparently not much better. She said "It's not like it made me want to barf, but it just tasted like they worked hard to make it taste like nothing." I had a bite of her meal and agreed -- it tasted like they had gone to great lengths to make the food as uninteresting and characterless as possible. No spices at all. No hint of flavoring. The salmon was dry; the potato was slightly burnt and crumbly; the cranberry sauce -- her additional side -- was bland and not even slightly sweet. Which prompted us both to ask: How do you fuck up cranberry sauce? We did our best to finish our meals, but neither of us could.

I realize I'm being very critical, but seriously, the food at Cafe Sam was astoundingly bad. We were really upset by this. We ended up spending close to $40 on what I think might just be the worst meal I have ever paid for. I'm racking my brain to think of a worse meal I've had -- just in general -- and I can't think of any. In downtown San Jose last year, I occasionally volunteered at a soup kitchen in a church, and the food we served there -- which was often luke warm and always coagulating into gel/lard -- was way, way better. At least the soup contained identifiable meat; at least the bologna sandwiches were served with mayonnaise on them.

Anyway. I'm pissed about the meal. Cheap at heart, it bugs me that I paid for a pile of shit. What bothers me more, though, is that Cafe Sam should really be good, and should, in fact, strive to serve excellent food on principle -- just because it's in significant danger of being bulldozed by further gentrification in the East End, and by corporate interests that threaten to strip Bloomfield of its every last bit of character... Though, now that I think about it, maybe that's the point -- a bit of Major League-inspired strategy: make the food bad enough to force bankruptcy and then move the team to Miami.

Here are some Cafe Sam reviews. Mostly positive, though one never knows if any of these reviews -- positive or negative -- are legit. The most accurate one, in my opinion, says:

"The so-called steak was cooked sometime during the past week, and appeared to have been either refrigerated or frozen during its more recent life. How they managed to wring every last bit of flavor out of it, I'll never know, but they did. It was dry and had all the flavor of cardboard."

Kylie made two suggestions in response to our dinner at Cafe Sam. First, maybe they were just having a bad night. This is possible, sure, but neither Kylie nor I are willing to give them a second shot. The food was just too offensively bad. Her second suggestion is a very good one: that we should nominate Cafe Sam for a troubleshooting session via Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. I think that's what we're going to do. Cafe Sam really could be an excellent restaurant. Maybe with a little work (and help), it actually could be.