They're the culinary creations of a mad scientist who's been experimenting with fire, smoke, and despair.
Think: charcoal-grilled pineapple pizza, burnt toast with a side of existential dread.
Our offerings are not for the faint of heart (or taste buds). Proceed at your own risk.
It's just the scent of our chef's tears, wafting through the air like a morose mist.
A little background info: we're a restaurant with an emotional baggage policy.
Sure thing! Just don't forget to bring it back in its original wrapping (i.e., our special "I'm-a-burnt-but-still-edible" box).
We'll give you a full refund, minus the cost of our chef's therapist sessions.
Ha! Like that's a possibility. Our chef has a secret underground bunker stocked with an endless supply of burnt food. We're not hoarding, we're just... conserving.
A gift shop? You mean, like, a "Burnt Offerings" branded souvenir shop? Yeah, we have one. But only for the brave, the masochistic, and the terminally curious.
Check it out: /subpages/burnt-offerings/giftshop