I have been lucky enough to have very few bad restaurant experiences. But when your only option on a long stretch of road is Roy Rogers, I'd rather starve.
Unless the place I am about to tell you about is the only other option:
The most worthy restaurant is so remote and clearly disgusting that the chances of anyone going there are slim (hence it only gets an honorable mention) I can't remember the name – something catchy like the Eat Food Emporium – it's near the prison in Queens off the 33rd St stop on the 7 seven train.
We ate at this gem on my first day at work in Queens in my own prison at a warehouse that came with its own rape cage (seriously, a barbed wire divider right next to our office where prison releasees could work in a large dark room and whisper as we passed).
My coworker ordered meatballs, very daring I'll agree, but even the worst expectations for the worst meatballs could not prepare us for what we found–a huge, thick wire curled like a robot's public hair right smack dab in the middle of bite number one.