Insults with your burger? A sweary night out at Karen’s Diner where the service is the pits
manchestereveningnews.co.ukStraight out of the gate, the idea of going to Karen’s Diner filled me with dread. As anyone who’s been dragged into immersive theatre against their will would know, the cold, clammy terror of being picked on is very real.
Karen’s is an Australian concept, first opened in Sydney. It’s part dining experience, part theatre, where the waiting staff are purposely rude, unhelpful, dismissive (if you’re lucky) and scorched-earth offensive (if you’re not).
And so Karen’s Diner is my idea of dining hell. Confrontation, stress, tension and awkwardness. Profanity, I enjoy very much.
But the rest? No. No, no, no. So I arrived at the recently opened branch in Prestwich - there’s another in Sheffield which opened in February and another in Birmingham - wanting to be pretty much anywhere else in the world. “Reservation?” Yes. “Name?” Ben. “Sh*t name.” “It’s your mum’s name, isn’t it?” fires back my dining companion, and I wince.
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