I recently came across a notebook containing "The Adventures of Buzzie and Poindexter," a work of fiction which I wrote when I was 13 years old. Here's an excerpt, a description of a giant hamburger:
I stood in awe of the burger's great height: 20,000 feet! And oh, the tons of American cheese gently dripping from the sides like moss on a tree, gently strewn by gentle hands, like tinsel, or garland draping the yuletide fir! And the sesame seeds! Sprinkled like golden tears of joy, round and crisp, yet ovoid and soft! Filled with a soft greasy yet light fluid, covered with a shell as strong as it is weak! Yes, the sesame seed is a seed of contradictions! Sprinkled gaily, as if by a sprite tossing rose petals in an enchanted forest, on a lightly toasted yet crunchy and satisfied bun! Strong and husky, but still giving way to the long, loving, firm, never failing teeth of yours and my mouth! And, oh, the pickles! Yecch! But, ah, there is the lettuce! Crisp, clean, cool, wet, strong lettue! And the two all-beef, all beef, mind you, patties. Yummy pieces of dead cow!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
The Game Show Diner
As theme restaurants go, The Game Show Diner is one of my all-time favorites. Imagine...a 1970's game show set. The marquee bulbs. The 1974 colors. The sparkly sculptures, smooth abstract shapes. Yes--that's the decor of the Game Show Diner. What could be better?
The other day, I had lunch at the Game Show Diner, and I was impressed--as usual. The host, of course, is dressed like a host. A game show host, that is, one from the early seventies. (Early? Mid? Is 1974 mid? How does that work?) Anyway, walk up to the host lectern and see a man in a crazy, wide-lapel suit covered in criss-crosses. The tie is gigantic, as large as a human being made of cloth. The hairstyle is longish--how strange the way hair has changed since then...much more restrained.
When you walk into the Game Show Diner, you immediately hear the theme song. It's maddeningly repetitive. You hear the wah-wah, the ostinato, the brass section. The host says, "What do you do for a living? Tell us a little bit about...you!" and extends the magic-wand-like Bob Barker microphone to you.
The host brings you to your seat...a game-show-contestant desk...your name appears on a light panel in front of the desk, and lights up as you approach. You sit down and the host says, "Your celebrity will be right with you. Good luck."
Normally, if your host told you "good luck" at a restaurant you'd be terrified, but it's the Game Show Diner, so you understand.
A moment later, your celebrity indeed is with you.
Now if you'll recall, the celebrities on game shows in the 1970's were allowed to dress down, a little more loose and with-it than the hosts, and so you're not surprised to see your celebrity wearing a sport coat. The host comes back and stands at the celebrity's side.
"Name a beverage," your host states.
"Uh," you rack your brain, looking for a beverage to match the one in your server's mind. "I'd like a glass of wine..."
The server turns his pad around--on it is written: Wine. The happy theme song starts playing. The horns, the wah-wah. "Great!" the host states. "Just fantastic."
"OK, next..." the host says. "Name an entree."
Again, it takes a bit of ESP to win this game...What is your server thinking?
"Chicken a la King!" you shout. The server turns around his pad. "Corn Dogs Florentine."
A horrible buzzer grates in your ears. The host says, "Aw whoa! So close! Wow! Sorry!"
Unfortunately, you don't get another choice, so there's no entree for you tonight. Next you need to guess the dessert the server is thinking of.
"Apple pie," you say.
The server flips his pad and you see he's written "Melted Milk Balls with Lettuce Wedge."
The buzzer again. Audience sounds of disappointment with a little booing.
The host says, "So sorry, my friend. But you do have that fantastic glass of Boone's Farm!"
"That's fine, that's OK," you assure the host. "I didn't come here with any food, and I won't leave here with any food."
Which other eatery gives you this kind of suspense and excitement? And so I am happy to award the wonderful game show diner a full Five Consolation Prizes!
The other day, I had lunch at the Game Show Diner, and I was impressed--as usual. The host, of course, is dressed like a host. A game show host, that is, one from the early seventies. (Early? Mid? Is 1974 mid? How does that work?) Anyway, walk up to the host lectern and see a man in a crazy, wide-lapel suit covered in criss-crosses. The tie is gigantic, as large as a human being made of cloth. The hairstyle is longish--how strange the way hair has changed since then...much more restrained.
When you walk into the Game Show Diner, you immediately hear the theme song. It's maddeningly repetitive. You hear the wah-wah, the ostinato, the brass section. The host says, "What do you do for a living? Tell us a little bit about...you!" and extends the magic-wand-like Bob Barker microphone to you.
The host brings you to your seat...a game-show-contestant desk...your name appears on a light panel in front of the desk, and lights up as you approach. You sit down and the host says, "Your celebrity will be right with you. Good luck."
Normally, if your host told you "good luck" at a restaurant you'd be terrified, but it's the Game Show Diner, so you understand.
A moment later, your celebrity indeed is with you.
Now if you'll recall, the celebrities on game shows in the 1970's were allowed to dress down, a little more loose and with-it than the hosts, and so you're not surprised to see your celebrity wearing a sport coat. The host comes back and stands at the celebrity's side.
"Name a beverage," your host states.
"Uh," you rack your brain, looking for a beverage to match the one in your server's mind. "I'd like a glass of wine..."
The server turns his pad around--on it is written: Wine. The happy theme song starts playing. The horns, the wah-wah. "Great!" the host states. "Just fantastic."
"OK, next..." the host says. "Name an entree."
Again, it takes a bit of ESP to win this game...What is your server thinking?
"Chicken a la King!" you shout. The server turns around his pad. "Corn Dogs Florentine."
A horrible buzzer grates in your ears. The host says, "Aw whoa! So close! Wow! Sorry!"
Unfortunately, you don't get another choice, so there's no entree for you tonight. Next you need to guess the dessert the server is thinking of.
"Apple pie," you say.
The server flips his pad and you see he's written "Melted Milk Balls with Lettuce Wedge."
The buzzer again. Audience sounds of disappointment with a little booing.
The host says, "So sorry, my friend. But you do have that fantastic glass of Boone's Farm!"
"That's fine, that's OK," you assure the host. "I didn't come here with any food, and I won't leave here with any food."
Which other eatery gives you this kind of suspense and excitement? And so I am happy to award the wonderful game show diner a full Five Consolation Prizes!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Fishsticks-on-a-Stick Au Go-Go
Today I did something I had never done before in my career as a food critic. Today I walked out of a restaurant before I ordered.
Walking out before you order violates the food critic's code, I know. How can I possibly review an eatery if I haven't tasted the food? But today I walked out of Fishsticks-on-a-Stick Au Go-Go.
First let me state that the decor at Fishsticks is marvelous. You really do feel like you're in a swinging discotheque that happens to serve fishsticks. If fishsticks had been provided on Sunset Strip in the late 1960's, maybe things would have turned out differently for the counter culture.
That being said, the decor is no excuse for what I found there. Go-go cages with animatronics robots can't cancel out what's deeply wrong with Fishsticks. In all good conscience, I had to walk out. And it wasn't just my conscience bothering me--the whole concept of Fishsticks made me want to crawl under a rock in embarrassment.
The reason I walked out before I ordered anything from this living exercise in nostalgia and seafood is that I literally couldn't order anything from their menu without turning red in the face.
You see, Fishsticks is one of those places that thinks it's cute to give their menu items names that you couldn't possibly order without cringing and wanting the earth to swallow you up.
It's one thing for International House of Pancakes to offer something called Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. I would be physically incapable of speaking that phrase aloud. I can barely write it. But it's just one item on the menu, and I suppose one could always abbreviate it to Fresh and Fruity. Or point.
And it's another thing for bars to offer drinks with suggestive names. That seems appropriate in a bar atmosphere.
But it's something else for a restaurant to only offer menu items that have names no one could possibly ever want to speak. And offer those of us with shame no alternatives.
Again and again, I searched the menu in vain for something I could say aloud. Why on earth would they call the Caesar Salad-flavored fishstick "I Have Weird Thoughts about Mucilage"? Giving a name like that to a salad shows nothing but a kind of snickering contempt for the patron. And why take an open-faced beef sandwich-flavored fishstick and call it a "Simply Super Idea"? And is it really necessary to call a radish-flavored fishstick "The Wink Factory"?
I will say the waitrons were incredible, bearing up under the burden of hearing patrons jump through the degrading hoops the restaurant chain has set up for them. But the courage and determination of the waitrons, just like the clever decor, was not enough to keep me in my seat once I'd seen the eatery's abysmal menu.
I hope that the Fishsticks corporation will rethink this naming strategy. Are you really trying to humiliate us? Why else give your food, which one would hope you are proud of and which some day, if you drop this silliness, I may indeed taste, these ridiculous, anti-human names?
And so, sadly, I give Fishsticks-on-a-Stick Au Go-Go a mortified Zero Stars.
Walking out before you order violates the food critic's code, I know. How can I possibly review an eatery if I haven't tasted the food? But today I walked out of Fishsticks-on-a-Stick Au Go-Go.
First let me state that the decor at Fishsticks is marvelous. You really do feel like you're in a swinging discotheque that happens to serve fishsticks. If fishsticks had been provided on Sunset Strip in the late 1960's, maybe things would have turned out differently for the counter culture.
That being said, the decor is no excuse for what I found there. Go-go cages with animatronics robots can't cancel out what's deeply wrong with Fishsticks. In all good conscience, I had to walk out. And it wasn't just my conscience bothering me--the whole concept of Fishsticks made me want to crawl under a rock in embarrassment.
The reason I walked out before I ordered anything from this living exercise in nostalgia and seafood is that I literally couldn't order anything from their menu without turning red in the face.
You see, Fishsticks is one of those places that thinks it's cute to give their menu items names that you couldn't possibly order without cringing and wanting the earth to swallow you up.
It's one thing for International House of Pancakes to offer something called Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity. I would be physically incapable of speaking that phrase aloud. I can barely write it. But it's just one item on the menu, and I suppose one could always abbreviate it to Fresh and Fruity. Or point.
And it's another thing for bars to offer drinks with suggestive names. That seems appropriate in a bar atmosphere.
But it's something else for a restaurant to only offer menu items that have names no one could possibly ever want to speak. And offer those of us with shame no alternatives.
Again and again, I searched the menu in vain for something I could say aloud. Why on earth would they call the Caesar Salad-flavored fishstick "I Have Weird Thoughts about Mucilage"? Giving a name like that to a salad shows nothing but a kind of snickering contempt for the patron. And why take an open-faced beef sandwich-flavored fishstick and call it a "Simply Super Idea"? And is it really necessary to call a radish-flavored fishstick "The Wink Factory"?
I will say the waitrons were incredible, bearing up under the burden of hearing patrons jump through the degrading hoops the restaurant chain has set up for them. But the courage and determination of the waitrons, just like the clever decor, was not enough to keep me in my seat once I'd seen the eatery's abysmal menu.
I hope that the Fishsticks corporation will rethink this naming strategy. Are you really trying to humiliate us? Why else give your food, which one would hope you are proud of and which some day, if you drop this silliness, I may indeed taste, these ridiculous, anti-human names?
And so, sadly, I give Fishsticks-on-a-Stick Au Go-Go a mortified Zero Stars.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Insomnia Waffles
When it's late at night..after midnight..and you can't sleep for whatever reason - whether you're worried sick about some loss you fear is impending or else annoyed by some noisy person downstairs - well, you might want to go over to Insomnia Waffles to while the time away till dawn. It's past one am and I can't sleep so here I am at Insomnia. I've set up my laptop on the counter here so I can transmit my wi-fi review to you live from the waffle shop. So with my waffle wi-fi working, I send you my thoughts about Insomnia Waffles, my favorite waffle shop in town. First off, let me say that Insomnia Waffles is the non-scary version of an all-nite waffle place. I really dig and appreciate and admire any place that is the non-scary version of something that people usually think of as scary and to-be-avoided. So for somebody to take the waffle shop concept and transmute it into a diner-friendly place is almost miraculous to my eye.
Insomnia is also great because it doesn't try to help you sleep. I think that a restaurant that tried to put you to sleep wouldn't actually be worth much. If you walked in here and they were playing lullabies over the sound system and serving you glasses of warm milk--well, that might put you to sleep but what would you do then? Spend the night in a waffle shop? I think not.
So Insomnia Waffles does the best thing, the best response to insomnia, it just doesn't acknowledge it or try to treat it. Insomnia Waffles tells you--ok, you can't sleep, let's just make the best of it. So they do serve coffee. They don't serve warm milk. And, of course, gloriously, they do serve waffles.
In keeping with the non-scary mode, this is a waffle place that actually has more the ambiance of a coffee shop, complete with mood lighting and great background music--right now they're playing Manhattan Transfer's "Spies in the Night." It's the cool phone-call part right now--"The winds are calm in the channel" and so forth. So while this driving tune plays, I'm sitting here looking over the non-laminated menu.
Laminated menu's. Don't they kind of scare you? Because really they're made for easy clean-up, which is always the sign of some creepy institutional ware. I mean, why on earth would you need to clean a menu with a sponge? It's too disgusting to think about.
But Insomnia Waffles, of course, has no laminated menu's. (I've already noted elsewhere that I realize there is no apostrophe in menus but I think it looks goofy without it so I use it anyway. Critic's prerogative.) The menu's are on a nicely browned parchment with cool early-70's inspirational-pamphlet calligraphy and ink-brush drawings of egrets. That's the kind of menu I like. So you can see it's just one more way that Insomnia Waffles departs from the scary waffle shop concept.
Now there are many choices with a waffle. You can have a round waffle. A square waffle. A triangular waffle. I'm particularly fond of the rhomboid waffle. And once you've chosen the shape, next on the decision agenda is how large the indentions or "wafflings" should be. Now, I'm not a fan of those waffles with only one or two gigantic indentations. I like the standard waffle grid or checkerboard pattern, though I know some disagree.
OK. My server has just appeared (I mean that literally--one minute they're not there and then they suddenly materialize). I will stop typing for a moment then report back.
OK. I just ordered the Powerhouse Waffle. This is one of those menu items that gains you a special engraving on a plaque if you eat it. Normally I don't go in for such sensationalistic food stunts, but in this case--well, it's a waffle! What do you expect me to do?!
Of course I'm also having the coffee. Coffee and waffles. That's what Jarmusch should have called that movie. It would have been an infinitely better film had it been about coffee and waffles rather than coffee and cigarettes. I mean, really. And the checkerboard table would have gone so much better with checkerboard waffles than with cylindrical cigarettes. I mean, it isn't that hard of a decision, people! And I'm a food critic not some famous motion-picture director!
Let me say something about syrup. Now I have been accused by various persons of drenching my waffles in syrup. Well, as a diner, I fully indulge my instincts, and I have a strong instinct for hot, sweet syrup, and I indulge that to the fullest! I also put a couple butter pats on each waffle before I ladle the hot honey-like syrup on. I like butter pats that have little images carved onto them (I don't know if carved is the right word exactly--I'm a food critic, not some self-conscious pedant! Who cares!). I like famous faces on my butter pats. Especially cartoon characters from the 1930s. And that's exactly what Insomnia Waffles does--they have people (characters) like Mutt and Jeff molded into their butter discs. Isn't that phenomenal? You can watch Mutt's face interestingly morph under the cascade of ladled hot syrup. Delish!
The coffee at Insomnia Waffles is incredible. It isn't typical waffle coffee. It's really great cafe coffee. So again it's the non-scary version of a waffle shop and that's why I keep coming back here! Again and again. Especially when I can't sleep (which is probably the point). Like tonight.
The service is serviceable. Nobody has ever disappointed me here. And what's especially appreciated is--the waitrons don't try to make you go to sleep! Wouldn't it be annoying if your server kept saying, "You look exhausted. Time to hit the hay!" I mean, I would not want to be served by that person.
Overall, then, Insomnia Waffles is the perfect spot to dine at when sleep is elusive. You can use the wi-fi and enjoy the waff-fi, as you sip the rich roast. The roast has an incredible gravy! The coffee is good too.
And so, although I wish I could sleep, although I wish I didn't worry so much which keeps me from sleeping and sends me off to Insomnia Waffles in the middle of the night--I still enthusastically--in a sleepy nocturnal way--award Insomnia Waffles Five Winks!
Insomnia is also great because it doesn't try to help you sleep. I think that a restaurant that tried to put you to sleep wouldn't actually be worth much. If you walked in here and they were playing lullabies over the sound system and serving you glasses of warm milk--well, that might put you to sleep but what would you do then? Spend the night in a waffle shop? I think not.
So Insomnia Waffles does the best thing, the best response to insomnia, it just doesn't acknowledge it or try to treat it. Insomnia Waffles tells you--ok, you can't sleep, let's just make the best of it. So they do serve coffee. They don't serve warm milk. And, of course, gloriously, they do serve waffles.
In keeping with the non-scary mode, this is a waffle place that actually has more the ambiance of a coffee shop, complete with mood lighting and great background music--right now they're playing Manhattan Transfer's "Spies in the Night." It's the cool phone-call part right now--"The winds are calm in the channel" and so forth. So while this driving tune plays, I'm sitting here looking over the non-laminated menu.
Laminated menu's. Don't they kind of scare you? Because really they're made for easy clean-up, which is always the sign of some creepy institutional ware. I mean, why on earth would you need to clean a menu with a sponge? It's too disgusting to think about.
But Insomnia Waffles, of course, has no laminated menu's. (I've already noted elsewhere that I realize there is no apostrophe in menus but I think it looks goofy without it so I use it anyway. Critic's prerogative.) The menu's are on a nicely browned parchment with cool early-70's inspirational-pamphlet calligraphy and ink-brush drawings of egrets. That's the kind of menu I like. So you can see it's just one more way that Insomnia Waffles departs from the scary waffle shop concept.
Now there are many choices with a waffle. You can have a round waffle. A square waffle. A triangular waffle. I'm particularly fond of the rhomboid waffle. And once you've chosen the shape, next on the decision agenda is how large the indentions or "wafflings" should be. Now, I'm not a fan of those waffles with only one or two gigantic indentations. I like the standard waffle grid or checkerboard pattern, though I know some disagree.
OK. My server has just appeared (I mean that literally--one minute they're not there and then they suddenly materialize). I will stop typing for a moment then report back.
OK. I just ordered the Powerhouse Waffle. This is one of those menu items that gains you a special engraving on a plaque if you eat it. Normally I don't go in for such sensationalistic food stunts, but in this case--well, it's a waffle! What do you expect me to do?!
Of course I'm also having the coffee. Coffee and waffles. That's what Jarmusch should have called that movie. It would have been an infinitely better film had it been about coffee and waffles rather than coffee and cigarettes. I mean, really. And the checkerboard table would have gone so much better with checkerboard waffles than with cylindrical cigarettes. I mean, it isn't that hard of a decision, people! And I'm a food critic not some famous motion-picture director!
Let me say something about syrup. Now I have been accused by various persons of drenching my waffles in syrup. Well, as a diner, I fully indulge my instincts, and I have a strong instinct for hot, sweet syrup, and I indulge that to the fullest! I also put a couple butter pats on each waffle before I ladle the hot honey-like syrup on. I like butter pats that have little images carved onto them (I don't know if carved is the right word exactly--I'm a food critic, not some self-conscious pedant! Who cares!). I like famous faces on my butter pats. Especially cartoon characters from the 1930s. And that's exactly what Insomnia Waffles does--they have people (characters) like Mutt and Jeff molded into their butter discs. Isn't that phenomenal? You can watch Mutt's face interestingly morph under the cascade of ladled hot syrup. Delish!
The coffee at Insomnia Waffles is incredible. It isn't typical waffle coffee. It's really great cafe coffee. So again it's the non-scary version of a waffle shop and that's why I keep coming back here! Again and again. Especially when I can't sleep (which is probably the point). Like tonight.
The service is serviceable. Nobody has ever disappointed me here. And what's especially appreciated is--the waitrons don't try to make you go to sleep! Wouldn't it be annoying if your server kept saying, "You look exhausted. Time to hit the hay!" I mean, I would not want to be served by that person.
Overall, then, Insomnia Waffles is the perfect spot to dine at when sleep is elusive. You can use the wi-fi and enjoy the waff-fi, as you sip the rich roast. The roast has an incredible gravy! The coffee is good too.
And so, although I wish I could sleep, although I wish I didn't worry so much which keeps me from sleeping and sends me off to Insomnia Waffles in the middle of the night--I still enthusastically--in a sleepy nocturnal way--award Insomnia Waffles Five Winks!
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