Personal Narrative: A Personal Experience At Claim Jumper

To entrust Claim Jumper for a decent meal will only lead to a betrayal with a kiss. Claim Jumper will not provide a meal that will satisfy an empty stomach, but they will provide a meal that forces the stomach to become filled with filth.

The overall atmosphere at Claim Jumper was as lifeless as a morgue. As unbearable as it could be, the silence was deafening to a certain degree. It was possible to interact with others without having to shout above one another, but I expected some zeal to tower as I was in for a meal during happy hour.

Even if Claim Jumper was devoid of life, I was impressed with the amount of life exerted by the waitress. She was phenomenal with her work ethic and her social skills. I enjoyed the ordering experience as the small talk with the waitress was breathtaking. It felt like I was engaged in a casual conversation with an old pal that I have known for years.
Without altering the dish, the New York Strip was lackluster in the appearance department. It was as if the devil himself spawned in the kitchen of Claim Jumper and defecated onto a plate. Still, I relished the steak, dwelling on how the dryness and bitter taste cleverly allowed the accompanying green peas total dominion. Furthermore, the mashed potatoes were an excellent addition to top off this catastrophic dish. I despised the thin strips of potato skins left in the mashed potatoes. The mashed potatoes were like eating oatmeal with strands of sandpaper glued onto each bite. The dish was an atrocity, and it should never be served again until the chefs learn to grill a steak