Mario Restaurant — Restaurant in Barcelona

Let me start with the only neutral fact: the fries were okay. They existed. They were edible. That’s it. End of the compliments.

Now… the burger. Oh boy. That thing looked like it had already survived three wars, a house fire, and maybe a trip through the sewage system before it landed on my plate. The bun was broken like a cheap sandal, the cheese had abandoned ship and glued itself permanently to the napkin, and the lettuce looked like it had been run over by a bicycle five times.

This wasn’t food – this was a threat. Looking at it, I felt like I was being bullied by the chef. Eating it would’ve been a declaration of self-hate. Out of pure dignity, I didn’t touch it. I left it sitting there like the crime scene it was. If someone from the health department walked in at that moment, Mario would be shut down before dessert.

And then, the staff. Honestly, they were almost as bad as the burger. They walked around like zombies who just realized their lives went downhill the day they got hired here. Not a smile, not a single ounce of care. If looks could kill, I’d be writing this review from the afterlife. They weren’t serving customers – they were punishing them.

The fries? Okay. The Coke? Cold enough. The burger? A disaster so big it deserves its own Netflix documentary. The staff? Rude enough to make you feel like you owe them money for daring to sit down.

Restaurant Mario should be ashamed. I wouldn’t recommend this place to my worst enemy. Actually, no – I would, but only if I wanted revenge.

This wasn’t a dining experience. This was a public humiliation – and I...

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