<p>The bacon bleu burger is served with a plate full of onion rings at Kilroy's Pub & Grill at Camp Rilea in Warrenton.</p>

Dining out for this column has me eating my fair share of mediocre food. In fact, I’m probably subjected to a little more than my fair share. Kilroy’s, located at Camp Rilea but open to the public, may be the most generic, uninspired, mediocre food I’ve ever encountered.

I’m not really calling it bad; it’s just that none of the food has any character or personality thrown in, and that’s because people have nothing to do with it besides heating it up and assembling it. Little, if any, is made from scratch. I’ve had this type of food many times at many places, but it’s almost always gussied up with some interestingly-named menu items or something to differentiate it from that of a comparable restaurant. The few times the menu takes liberties with the naming of items, it doesn’t work. Remember “freedom fries“? Yeah, I don’t think I’d seen that since 2003. The congressional representatives that pushed for the renaming later found the decision to be embarrassing and regrettable. But Kilroy’s holds fast on the matter.

I’m assuming the name Kilroy’s comes from the graffiti drawing “Kilroy was here.” The origin of the simple line drawing (a man hanging his schnoz over a wall he’s clutching to) is a matter of debate, though it was most popular during World War II. Kilroy, along with other random drawings and scrawlings, can be seen along the walls inside the dining area. I’m not sure if anyone with a marker is allowed to tag their graffiti, but I was thinking really hard about putting up a Mr. Roboto reference. Also adorning the walls and ceiling are various firefighter memorabilia, random military posters and flags (“Live free or die,” “Don’t tread on me,” “Liberty or death,” “Buy war bonds”), hats, gas masks and gear from Navy, Army, Green Beret, jungle warfare, etc. It’s like a military Applebee’s in there. It’s also kind of a sports bar. But when there isn’t a game on, TVs are usually tuned to Fox News. It’s a pretty common rule at bars not to add politics where alcohol is served, but being on a military outpost, it’s probably no big deal to the clientele.

As I mentioned, the food is totally devoid of individuality. Sometimes it’s the austerity that stands out. Take, for instance, the wraps. The beef steak wrap ($9) is a tortilla filled with beef and lettuce. That’s it. No sauce, no cheese, just beef and lettuce. The barbecue chicken wrap ($8) was the same way, but the chicken was sauced. I’d put the ratio at 60/40 lettuce to meat by volume. These items could be so much better! Caramelized onions and a peppercorn cream cheese for the steak. Pickled onions and a fresh slaw with the chicken. Little touches go so far.

“Big Bomb Burgers” are a little better, but suffer from a previously-frozen puck burger and a cheap untoasted bun. The Jalapeno BBQ Jack ($8) indeed had pickled jalapenos and jack cheese, but the factory barbecue sauce was applied so liberally it shot out the sides all over my hands when I went in for a bite. I’ve never thought iceberg lettuce was appropriate for sandwiches or burgers unless maybe if it’s shredded. The crunch and water content seem to distract from the meat.

“House” must be a brand name because the chili ($4, $5) is from a can. Onion rings ($6) are pre-fab, and low quality at that. Sandwiches are served with factory freedom fries or tots. Sometimes the fries are waffle fries, sometimes regular I figure it’s their freedom to choose what to order from week to week.

Like the rest of the menu, sandwiches are ultra-basic. Cold deli sandwiches ($8) are white bread with mayonnaise, a little lettuce and tomato, red onion (which is always cut inconsistently and on the thick side), and the meat of your choice. A club sandwich ($9), though not quartered as is customary, was not unpleasant to eat. The reuben ($8) qualifies as a reuben, but again, there was absolutely nothing special about it. I’ve had more interesting sandwiches from vending machines.

I like a pickle with a burger or sandwich, but there are none to be found at Kilroy’s. And there are no plates. Food is served in plastic baskets lined with paper.

The Kiloton quesadilla ($7) is available with cheese, chicken or steak, and is about the same quesadilla you get from any bar menu, complete with sides of sour cream and factory salsa.

House salad ($5) was all right. It comes with both iceberg and mesclun mix (I’ll give them that as a first), grape tomatoes, mushrooms, baby carrots, sliced cucumber and a side of factory dressing, all packed into a bowl so small there’s no way to mix it up without spilling it everywhere.

I’ve never seen anyone else eating at Kilroy’s, and staff (although friendly and well-meaning) seemed overwhelmed by just our table, and undereducated in the field of hospitality. Heading out to Camp Rilea, you’re stopped by a guard who may or may not ask for identification and asked what your business is. Then it’s kind of difficult to find Kilroy’s, as the building looks no different from any of the others. If you ask me, it’s not at all worth the trouble.