The Enshittification Of Fast Casual Fare

Brought to you by chicken that cut the roof of my mouth.

Photo by Doris Morgan on Unsplash

So, I was doing a photoshoot with my husband the other day because I was so behind on modeling and promo pictures. We were in the area, visiting a friend, so we made our photos, and then got hungry after walking around the mall.

We made the mistake of going to a fast casual restaurant known for its “wild wings” and sports gear. Now, I’ll be the first to say that I was a massive, massive fan of Buffalo Wild Wings back in the day. I was stoked.

I was ready to buy my favorite sauce: Carribbean Jerk. Yum.

We sat down, ordered our food, and then it arrived. It looked starkly different from how I remembered my last visit. The boneless wings were small, sad little lumps with sauce poured over them.

Even the sauce looked wrong. Caribbean Jerk usually had a rich, red-brown color to it. This sauce was abysmally orange and kinda smelled like cat food. My husband’s wings were not much better.

I tried them. They tasted like cat food — specifically, the wet cat food I taste-tested for my cats that I rejected. (I won’t let my cats eat anything I don’t approve of.) I tried to power through it. My husband ate two of his and then stopped.

We chose to pay and leave the restaurant. I felt sick the rest of the night.

The wings were so tough, my mouth actually bled from biting into one. My husband and I sat in the car after throwing out the wings, feeling embarrassed for the staff there and for us.