The Zab-E-Lee experience is something like walking...

The Zab-E-Lee experience is something like walking into Harry Potter's Leaky Cauldron. As you step from nearly a completely empty parking lot lined with storefronts (so entirely unimpressive as to make one ponder at what a negative imagination scale might be like) into a comfortable, quaint, Asian-themed restaurant so starkly contrasted with its surroundings in terms of visual appeal, aroma, and geographical feel, you might experience all the effects of a physio-temporal shift akin to stepping out of a souped up Delorean after a ride at 88 mph.

One of the dangers of Zab-E-Lee is returning repeatedly, only to find yourself ordering the same thing you ordered on your first visit every time. You probably thought to yourself, "This is the best <xyz> I've ever tried. This is my place for <xyz>." If you do this, you're missing out on a lot of good <abc>, <qrs>, and my favorite, <fgh>. Although a simple system of darts (for the unskilled player) might produce a sufficiently random meal choice that will always produce a delicious selection at this particular restaurant, I instead suggest complex algorithm based on the lint pattern of your pocket. Reason being is I don't want to someday find myself eating there with a dart stuck in me because you took me literally.

Service has always been reasonably efficient and friendly. It may take a few minutes to seat your unreasonably large group, but they work hard to accommodate you. Don't sit there for half an hour like a fool, getting angry that they haven't taken care of your check for you. Go up to the cashier and tell them what you had.

Conclusion: Don't eat at Zab-E-Lee. You'll make it harder for me to get a seat.