Eateries because I can’t spell restraint
The last time I went to my favorite Seattle restraint, a Mexican sit-down diner in Wallingford, they failed to give me free tortilla chips. After the waiter handed me my take-home bag, I waited for an uncomfortable second too long to allow him to reconsider, but he stood by his decision, smiling hospitably all the while. Maybe they forgot, or maybe Covid yanked away their profits along with their chips, or maybe I should have asked, or maybe seven other reasons, but if a sit-down Mexican restraint doesn’t provide free chips, they don’t deserve my business. It’s a matter of self-respect. I’m not humble - but I am entitled - and the lack of chips left a bad taste in my month.
Following the unforgivable slight, after talking it over with my family, I requested to be released from the Chile Pepper. The union lasting only several months, the Chile Pepper and I have amicably agreed to part ways. Announced at my press conference, I’m entering the open market - looking to find a new favorite Seattle restraint. Officially I’m a free agent. If anyone has roster spots to fill on their team, please let me know (i.e., if anyone has any Seattle restraint recommendations, preferably cheap and convenient, let me know).
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Turning my focus to another restaurant (I figured it out), this last Saturday, my sister, girlfriend and I were eating lunch at Cracker Barrel, and I thought to myself, “This would be an awful place for a first date.” The aftermath: Picture two brachiosauruses making out, while trying to overlook cheese farts and gravy beltches.
I’m struggling to find a polite way to say that Cracker Barrel targeted a particular clientele…
If it’s any indicator, on arrival they asked, “Would you like the breakfast menu or the lunch menu?”
If it’s any indicator, most of the men in the restaurant sported beards that stretched midway between their third chin and moobs.
If it’s any indicator, they asked, “Would you like complementary cornbread or biscuits with that?”
If it’s any indicator, the three of us split a single dish - chicken tenders, full-size steak fries, steamed broccoli coated in butter, and biscuits.
(By particular clientele, I mean fat, but saying that borders on rude, so I’ll (pretend to) omit it.)
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Since we’re on the subject, let me conclude with a restaurant-related, persuasive piece. The topic: Why McDonald’s Deserves Your Respect.
Just kidding. They don’t. If I can’t defend Cracker Barrel, how could I defend McDonald’s. To conclude the piece, I’ll document the last five restaurants (loosely defined) that I attended:
Church - Sometimes during communion, when I’m not in a religious mood, I’ll focus on grabbing the largest scrap of bread, because at least then, I’ll score a nice snack.
Buffalo Wild Wings - During the heart of March Madness, while I was hibernating at BWWs with the other bros, I mistakenly ordered the traditional wings when I had meant to order boneless. A thirty dollar mistake (don’t judge me) it’s one of my biggest life regrets.
My mom’s kitchen - I went home for Easter. Food always tastes better at home. Food always tastes better when eaten with family.
A Pizza Mart - My girlfriend and I just learned that this small business sells more than just pizza. Thumbs up for a diversified portfolio. With our meat-lovers’s pizza, we ordered a garden salad - deceiving ourselves into that idea that we were eating healthy.
Beach fire - While back for the holiday, I roasted a hot dog over a semi-uncontrolled beach fire. (It would have been concerning, if it wasn’t for the fact that the only thing to burn was the ocean. Water doesn’t catch on fire.) The smoke and sand added unique flavoring to my dog that you wouldn’t find in an FDA-approved restaurant. After my “main course”, I ate five smores.
