The restaurant industry tends to be cyclical. It’s one trend followed by another. You’re cutting edge for a while and then you’re chasing the pack. It can be a real rat race. Perhaps lemmings are involved?
Yes, I’m trying to include lots of references to rodentia. We’re talking about restaurants here. I don’t recognize sacred cows. Like always I gotta keep it classy.
There’s a trend where celebrity chefs are seen everywhere except in their own kitchens. I’m looking but not looking at you, Naomi Pomeroy. Squee. One final Beast reference.
Honey Badger, though, will have the last word. Keep reading.
Portland Restaurant Waiting Guide
Next up, on Iron Skillet Chef America our celebrity judge feels he’s entitled to share his opinions. Alloy cuisine!!! –Ed.
As a proud “native Oregonian” I’ve lived in Portland, on and off, since 1981. I’ve been to a few places to eat along the way. From food carts to neighborhood pub n’ grubs to world class cuisine, Portland has a veritable plethora of long waiting lines guaranteed to satisfy most any connoisseur of the latest trendy thing.
Voodoo Doughnut? I’ve never been. The line has always been too damn long. Who has that kind of time for a doughnut with bacon on it? My trick? Go to two different places, grab a doughnut from a regular place and a side of bacon from a diner. Voila! I call that Voodoo without the wait. When you’re downtown you’ll people toting around with their little pink boxes of Voodoo doughnuts as if to say, “Look at me! I did the wait!” Pro Tip: That pink box goes really well with plaid.
Keepin’ It Reality Yo
As a person that constitutes a form of life (or so I assume) there are two realities that I’m reasonably sure exist:
- My own (that I’m fairly familiar with)
- All that other shits
Note: If you get lumped in with the latter group please don’t take it personally. I don’t make the rules.
Even with the stark duality of this view, however, I imagine certain explorations into that other realm where y’all live are still possible.
For example, using inference, deduction and other external stimuli, I can attempt to discern what’s going on in that gray matter you recklessly call a brain. Clues might include things like your primitive vocalizations, ritualistic dance and other movements, and how you are adorned.
That plumage on your head in the form of a fedora speaks volumes. I interpret that as a rather pronounced attempt to establish position within your group. Am I right? Judging actual intent of other life forms can be tricky. It’s always murky guesswork. But I’m pretty sure I nailed it.
I mentioned to my wife the other day that I would deliberately do the opposite of what I really wanted if I perceived that it might be perceived by other people as an attempt to be cool. Think about it. That’s a very deep thought. I’d literally do the exact opposite of what I want, which, by definition, is that which I hate.
I’m committed. And now, a brief case study.
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Recently, after some Lebonese dinner across town, my wife said, “There’s an ice cream place only two blocks away. Let’s go!”
I was already full. Case in point: She was toting a box of leftovers but I was not. Mine had been crammed down my gullet. This scenario would soon allow me to put my advanced decision-making skills on display.
We walked into the shop and it was what I like to describe as “Portland cute.” The place was constructed to look post-industrial. This means concrete walls, vaulted ceilings with lots of duct work, lighting fixtures that hang all the way down from the ceiling and, of course, the pièce de résistance of the Portland eatery scene: the fake garage door. Those things are ubiquitous around here, perhaps even on par with the fedora and other trendy chapeaux.
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I still wake up sometimes. I wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the micro-lettuce.
Yes, for those counting, that’s two references to the same movie in the last three posts. I cut like a micro-ginsu!
If you’re not micro-plating yet you should be. Micro-utensils down!
If you like small things, that hopefully bodes well for me and this post.
Today I’m here to brag about my new restaurant and cutting edge (heh) logo design. Yeah, I made that.
Introducing MICRO. It’s flavor deconstructed but mostly shrunk. And, contrary to popular belief, we don’t offer reductions. Some things go too far.
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The Reverse Untrendy
I love finding new internet things. I never cease to be amazed.
The Nigerian scams that try to trick you into sending money to collect a big prize? Internet to the rescue. A new form of entertainment is born called “scambaiting” where would-be victims turn the tables on the evil motherfuckers.
Scam baiting is a form of Internet vigilantism, where the vigilante poses as a potential victim to the scammer in order to waste their time and resources, gather information that will be of use to authorities, and publicly expose the scammer. It is, in essence, a form of social engineering that may have an altruistic motive or may be motivated by malice. It is primarily used to thwart the Advance-fee fraud scam and can be done out of a sense of civic duty, as a form of amusement, or both.
OMG! LOLZ! Sometimes I fucking love you, internets. Brilliant!
At the office, we get asshole marketing calls all the freakin’ time. Most turn out to be search engines and credit card processing companies. One of the latter is really bad. They get their jollies off by calling us every day. They act nice up front but as soon as you ask them for the umpteenth time to be taken off their call list, they get really nasty. They’ll snarl and hang up on you.
I get it. I hate my job, too.
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The coolness of wearing wrinkles
I don’t remember when or where, but sometime back I heard that wrinkles were the new cool. It was some new trend that the kids were shiznitty about. I could usually care less about the latest trends followed by the kids, but this one got my attention. Mainly because I’m a very wrinkly sort of guy.
I know the phrase “new cool” is old and busted but I don’t care. I live about three years behind the coolness curve. By the time I pick up on it, it’s already dorky and geeky and stale. But that’s just the way I roll.
There is no way in hell you’ll catch me spending the time to take my clothes from the dryer and iron them. No way. So I just wear the wrinkles and tell myself that is the new cool. I’m happy with that.
I’ve since been informed that I must have been mistaken. Either wrinkles were never really the new cool or that trend has long since gone bye bye. Too damn bad. I’m enjoying the wrinkles.
I was thinking about this and the need to conform. I’m no rugged individualist but on the other hand, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything simply to conform, either. If I don’t want to spend time ironing my clothes then I’m not going to, and I don’t care how others may perceive me when they see the wrinkles.
I think a line from a Joan Jett song about sums it up for me:
I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation!
I don’t give a damn about my wild masturbation!
Ooops. I improvised a bit there. Most of you are probably screaming at your monitors right now, “TMI! TMI!” (The few of you who aren’t — call me!) Heh.
Fashion? Bleh. The only thing that concerns me about fashion is: Is it comfortable? If it isn’t comfortable or serve some sort of function (like an extra pocket) then I have no time for it. I can’t believe all the fashion shows on TV. I mean, seriously. Who really cares about any of that crap?