I walked in with a very specific craving: a proper Shish Taouk plate — generous, abundant, the way Lebanese food is meant to be experienced. The photo at Amir promised exactly that. A full plate. Something satisfying. Worth the $20+ price tag for a counter-service restaurant. What arrived felt almost absurd. There is no plate. Instead, the rice, potatoes, and salad are squeezed into what can only be described as a small soup bowl — the kind of vessel physically incapable of holding the quantity implied in the photos. It’s not a subtle difference. It’s a completely different reality. What’s presented visually and what’s delivered in practice are fundamentally misaligned. This isn’t a question of taste or preference — it’s a question of integrity. When you market a dish as abundant and then serve it in a container that literally limits how much food can be included, it stops being presentation and starts feeling like deliberate minimization. I asked about it, and the employee handled it with professionalism — but you could sense the discomfort. This isn’t on the staff. It’s a decision made higher up, and it shows. Lebanese cuisine carries a cultural expectation of generosity. It’s part of its identity — the table that overflows, the sense that no one leaves hungry. What’s happening here feels like the exact opposite: engineered cheapness. At this price point, and with that kind of visual promise, this approach doesn’t just disappoint — it undermines trust. Shame on the owners!