An obsession with gimmickry has led Red Robin to create such monstrosities as the Wise Guy Burger.The original Red Robin, located at the southern edge of the University Bridge, will serve its last basket of bottomless fries on March 21. Word of the closure was rather abrupt, and Seattleites have flocked to the mega-chain’s first restaurant at all hours since, anxious to digest one last bit of nostalgia.Yesterday afternoon, I joined that flock. And I’m sorry I did.Not to be confused with its suburban brethren, the original Red Robin always felt like a tavern–which it originally was. This made it a peerless destination for young families; the adults could swig large mugs of beer in what felt like a tavern, without having to get a sitter for the kids. And high school promsters who wanted to feel like they were of age could bask in that same glory.But in the restaurant biz, goodwill fades with quality. And yesterday, the guacamole bacon burger I had put my stomach in knots through the end of this morning’s shower, which included more than one dry heave in the wake of the mistake.It’s one thing to serve humongous burgers. That’s America for you–love it or leave it. But when you’ve tricked out your poster-sized, pun-packed (souper!) menu to include such monstrosities as the Wise Guy Burger–why order a mozzarella stick appetizer when you can put them between the buns?!–you might as well offer insulin shots for dessert, and require servers to wear at least 43 pieces of flair. Fittingly, among the folks charged with envisioning what will become of Red Robin’s soon-to-be-vacated space is the owner of Zesto’s, the Ballard burger emporium that was temporarily shut down in 2007 for a slew of health code violations (it’s since righted the ship, but still).Anticipating what a lard-ass I’d feel like after consuming my last Red meal, I made a point to park my car on the Queen Anne side of the Fremont Bridge and walk the round trip. Shortly after three, I found myself in front of the Northlake Tavern, conscious that the NCAA tourney selection show had just begun airing. So I ducked in for a beer.It took about two minutes of inhaling delicious pizza fumes for me to question the wisdom of leaving a true Seattle classic for such a tarnished icon. I found myself not-so-secretly rooting for Red Robin’s wait to be so long that I could convince my party of four to do a 180 and order some heavy, heavenly pie. I’d have felt like just as big a blimp by meal’s end, but the aftermath would have been far less troublesome. As Brian Miller stated so eloquently when news of the closure broke, it’s possible to feel nostalgia for the original Red Robin, but not for what it became.