The Chicken Steak-Fried Chicken XL at Wag Nabbit's

If as Ernest Hemingway once averred, morality is what you feel good after and immorality is what you feel bad after, then the steak-fried Chicken Steak-Fried Chicken XL at Wag Nabbit's is immoral--because after eating this entree I felt very bad indeed. The thing is still squatting in my guts like a granite curling stone. And I still can't tell you whether it was beef or chicken. The title completely disoriented me. I think it's a steak-fried chicken-steak, or a chicken-fried steak-fried steak-chicken, but I can't tell you. All I know about this aporia on a platter is that I'm still suffering from ingesting it. When I close my eyes I see it spinning eternally on some weird potter's wheel.

Wag Nabbit's is one of those plastic, Stepford Dives-type places that have absolutely no character. I guess they tried to lend the place some character by making a dish that was completely inedible. Well, if that's their idea of character, then I'll take bland soullessness, because I don't like to feel the way I'm feeling right now.

I don't suppose you know what it's like to have this kind of meal taking up residence in your stomach. No, you don't have to eat at places like Wag Nabbit's--because you aren't a food critic! There. I've said it. Because you're not a food critic, you get to choose the places you want to eat it. You don't have to go somewhere because it's on your list of places you haven't reviewed yet. Oh, no, you've got it easy. You can eat at the same place every single day of the week if you want. Imagine if I did that. I mean, really. Imagine it. Close your eyes and in as much sensory detail as you can, picture and imagine me, your food critic, eating at the same restaurant every day for a single week. I mean, picture me wearing different outfits, and visiting the restaurant under varied weather conditions. Are you picturing it? Are you smelling the smells, hearing the background music? Well, that will never happen. Push that vision away! That's right, erase it, because I have to eat somewhere different on a daily basis. Because if I turned in the same review seven times in a row, even if it was different each time, why my public would be outraged! They would turn into the torch-and-pitchfork mob that hunted Frankenstein's monster. I'm serious (I always am).

If this is a rant, so be it. Wag Nabbit's, or Dag Dabbit's, or Wascally Wabbit, or whatever the heck it's called, it just isn't the kind of place I would ever set foot in were I not a food critic. I mean, you may not believe this, but at one time I was a very cool and with-it individual. My favorite Velvet Underground LP was the Couch Album, for goodness' sake. And now here I am eating some darn chicken-fried steak-chicken-fried steak steak thing at Dang Dabbit's suburban hellhole. You like I like this place? You think I like the music they play in here? This isn't music, I know what music is. This is the kind of music they play as soundtrack to the horrifying rituals of the spiritually embalmed.

I'm not sure how long I can continue to review places like this. I mean, do people who dine at Dab Diggety or whatever even read my reviews? They just eat there because it's attached to the mall, don't they? I mean, if they'd made a left turn they'd be at Dippin Dots instead, wouldn't they?

OK. I've vented. I feel better. The indigestion is settling. I'm going to finish my review and take a nap. The Steak-Fried Chicken XL wasn't really all that bad. Not really. I give up. I give it five stars...

Flannel's Cafe'

According to a recent New York Times article, "Gen X [is Having] a Midlife Crisis". Well, you wouldn't know it at Flannel's Cafe', because in this midtown eatery, Generation X it still in its grungy, nihilistic, slacker prime.

Yes, it was inevitable. If most theme restaurants have a sixties/seventies ambiance, why not a theme restaurant for the "Nevermind" generation? Yes, I know "why not"--but let that pass, because Flannel's Cafe' is where X marks the spot for flavor.

I like Flannel's because it just has that friendly, unassuming vibe that we associate with the post-boomer generation. Walk in and be pummeled by the music to dine by: Nirvana's "Scentless Apprentice" from a Peavey amp suspended above the hostess station.

Do you remember all those articles in Time magazine in the 1990's about how Gen X types were sullen wage slaves? Well, the help here at Flannel's lives up to that stereotype, but in an amusing, ironic (of course) way. So it isn't offensive at all. In fact, it's kind of sweet, bathing you in nostalgia for a time when people were deeply shocked to see a cash-register operator wearing a nose ring.

The bare bones atmosphere of Flannel's won't win any interior design awards. Exposed beams and wiring, with glaring lamps (and blaring amps) and uncomfortable seating, drop you down a time warp into the psychological darkness of the grunge decade.

As befitting a "Hard Rock Cafe" knockoff, Flannel's features goofy rock star memorabilia on the walls, items such as Kurt Cobain's death certificate that couldn't be more obvious and unimaginative.

As for the food, it's excellent, and I think if Flannel's dropped the 1990's nostalgia trappings, they might have a decent little "hole"-in-the-wall. I had the orange roughy with a lime smoothie, because I believe in taking the roughy with the smoothie.

Overall, I had a wonderful experience at Flannel's. This trip down memory lane made me pine for the days of that surprisingly light-hearted decade. If you're looking for a similar experience, be sure to pop into Flannel's Cafe'. I'm happy to give Flannel's Cafe' Five Smoothies!

In Food Critic News.....

"Raleigh native Rachel Wharton won the nation's highest honor in food journalism, a James Beard Foundation award."

Restaurant Review: Fosters American Grille

As I was walking through the parking lot, my cell phone vibrated. A message from Jacques Wool. He'd left behind his panama hat--would I go back and retrieve it from the restaurant? But of course! As I walked back to Fosters, I pictured going back to the table and grabbing the hat from the chair Jacques had sat in. I stepped back into Fosters. I was about to tell the friendly and helpful hostess that I had returned to pick up my friend's hat, but before the words escaped my lips I saw that Jacques' panama hat had been thoughtfully placed on one of the stands in the entry.

That impressed me. Then again, a number of things impressed me about the restaurant. I liked the bright, airy dining room. The decor was appealing--I enjoyed the amber spheres enclosed in wrought iron bands that hung from the ceiling. A pleasant, talkative din filled the dining room, though Jacques did mention a more sound-absorbing floor material would help us hear each other--then again, you may not be as soft-spoken as Jacques and I. I didn't notice any music playing, if there was any, and there certainly was not a television in sight. Fosters would be an ideal place to discuss Wallace Stevens...and his world.

The server was great--attentive but not intrusive. My iced tea glass kept being refilled as though by magic! And that's the way it ought to be. The menu featured a great range of items at different price points, all the way from BBQ pizza to scallops. Jacques enjoyed his Buffalo Shrimp Po Boy. I couldn't resist snapping up one of his French Fried Potatoes sprinkled with sea salt--excellent! I like my French Fries to taste like...potatoes, for that's what they are.

I had the fantastic Four Cheese Pesto pizza. The crust was just crunchy enough and the Feta cheese was terrific. I think next time I'll ask for extra cilantro--though I understand why they may have gone easy on it--cilantro does have a way of taking over a pizza...though I like it when that happens.

I absolutely will be going back to this restaurant. I like how a menu with more reasonable prices exists in a restaurant with such a pleasant atmosphere and outstanding food. And so, I am happy to report that I give Fosters--five cilantro leaves!

Special Report: The Ivory Satin Cake at Sleepy Chapel Sandwich Shoppe

I had a very disturbing and upsetting experience the other week at Sleepy Chapel Sandwich Shoppe, an experience I must share with you. As you know, for me, the Sleepy Chapel is already a place that carries an atmosphere of anxiety, so having this event occur there merely doubles how much of an ordeal this experience was for me.

After my typical Sleepy Sandwich meal, the Calamari Po Boy, I decided to throw caution to the winds and order dessert. The dessert itself was fabulous, but I rue the day that I ever ordered the Ivory Satin Cake, because doing so flung me into an entangling Kafkaesque nightmare from which I still have not recovered.

Just picture all those computer wires beneath your desk that you could never dream of untangling, and that is the sort of maddening, devilishly frustrating bureaucratic terror trap I have been cast into.

Now, at this point you're thinking to yourself (probably), "He got into some Kafkaesque nightmare because he ordered Ivory Satin Cake?" I know--sounds crazy. But hang on, because you're going to be shocked.

The cake was great. I jokingly said to the server, "You know, I would love the recipe!" The server, whose eyes were glazed, and whose head was lolling on his neck, slurred, "Sure, thing. I'll paper-clip it to the check." I shook my head sternly. "No, man," continued the disoriented waitron, "We do it all the time."

Imagine my shock when in the mail today I received a bill from Sleepy Chapel. A bill for the amount of $500! What?! I thought to myself, "They're billing me $500--for what?" Luckily it was an itemized bill...and guess what I was being charged for? You got it. Five hundred bucks for the recipe for Ivory Satin Cake.

I was floored. I was flabbergasted. I was flummoxed. I immediately got on the phone and spoke to a manager.

I was told that the Sleepy Chapel Sandwich Shoppe charges a recipe fee! I tried to explain to the manager that I had been only kidding, and that I would never have asked for the recipe had I known that I would be charged anything at all, much less five hundred dollars.

I'm sharing this tale with you so that you may learn from my experience. Don't even joke about wanting a dessert recipe from Sleepy Chapel...because the joke will be on you!

Caveat Emptor!