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We're deep into Mardi Gras season.

I'm not sure where I'll be celebrating on Fat Tuesday, but I certainly know of one restaurant that I could easily give up for Lent: Dadeo New Orleans Diner & Bar, a new Cajun joint where I recently ate a meal so atrocious my stomach is still convulsing in repentance.

This den of culinary sin is located on Cambie Street in Vancouver, site of the old Tomato Fresh Food Café. The restaurant opened last summer and is operated by the same owners as the original Dadeo in Edmonton.

My dining companion, who lives a few blocks away, is wary when I tell him where we'll be eating.

It's pretty quiet there, he warns. But not usually this dead, he later amends, when we walk in on Sunday night to discover only two other patrons slumped over the bright-red vintage soda-pop-style bar.

The manager tries to seat us at a vinyl booth close to the door.

Uh, do you mind if we move to the other side of the dining room, where it might be a little bit warmer?

Our wish is his command. Unfortunately, Mr. Obsequious has no influence in the kitchen.

We start with a Hurricane cocktail. Blown away we are not. The sickly sweet drink is in desperate need of more rum.

An appetizer of catfish fingers ($11) is coated in a thick layer of breadcrumbs that, sadly, does not mask the dish's aroma. Catfish is naturally musky, and I usually enjoy the strong flavour, but this specimen (farm-raised in Idaho) stinks like ammonia.

The sweet-potato fries included in the basket are lightly battered, spiced and quite tasty. We rejoice - too soon.

My Combo Ya-Ya ($14) is crowned with blackened shrimps and scallops rolled with too much coarsely ground seasoning. Yes, the seafood is spicy, but the overwhelming taste is the flavour of dirt. (Too much dried oregano, I think).

The veggie jambalaya, in contrast, is a study in utter blandness. The creamy tomato sauce on the side tastes like grocery-store bottled rosé sauce, puckered with stale parmesan cheese. Two fried oysters, thickly battered in the same breadcrumb coating as the catfish, are chewy and overcooked.

Believe it or not, my dinner is 10 times better than my friend's Combo Fabio ($16).

Admittedly, no one should ever order a plate named after a Harlequin romance cover model. But who would have thought the flaky coating on this dried-out quarter of southern fried chicken would make Colonel Sanders seem sublime?

Or that the half-rack of St. Louis ribs would be so tough you'd almost need a chainsaw to hack though the calloused meat?

The potato hash, served on the side, is as thick as wallpaper paste. The gravy, though flavourful, is cold and lumpy.

"Would you like me to pack the leftovers up for you to take home?" Mr. Obsequious asks.

"Yes, thank you," I reply as my friend shudders: "Are you crazy?"

"No need to give ourselves away," I sputter, choking down the legs of a terrible Australian house wine.

Then dessert arrives. Well, maybe we should be honest.

Bread pudding ($7) is a bowl of crusty, dry cubes swimming in a caramelized whisky sauce. Key lime pie ($8) is whipped sky-high in a graham-almond crust, sprinkled with toasted coconut.

"Is it supposed to be this fluffy?" my friend asks.

Well, I guess it is if you make it with a Betty Crocker recipe that calls for whipped cream.

In all honesty, his cottony pie is much more appetizing than the store-bought turkey stuffing masquerading for a dessert on my plate. I tell him to stop complaining.

"You really aren't happy, are you?" Mr. Obsequious asks, as he whisks the barely touched desserts away.

"And you don't want this, do you?" he later shouts from across the room, staring forlornly at our leftovers, packaged in Styrofoam and sitting on the bar.

"I didn't think so," he sighs.

Mr. Obsequious offers us a 10 per cent discount on our meal.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he weirdly offers.

"Uh, no, I didn't think we did," I say.

The dinner was so horrible I feel bad even writing about it. I feel like Alan Richman, the decorated restaurant critic for GQ magazine who notoriously dumped all over New Orleans a year after Hurricane Katrina hit (and was roundly criticized for it).

There's a big difference, though. I actually enjoy Cajun cuisine, most of the time - just not here.

Dadeo: 3305 Cambie St.,

Vancouver; 604-874-1053.

agill@globeandmail.com