Posts Tagged ‘food’

Remember the good ole days?  Coffee meant coffee and there were no venti, half-caf, 140° soy orange mocha lattes with dairy-free, non-fat whip cream, and a dusting of organic nutmeg.  You’d go to a coffee shop for the coffee and to read the paper; not to hold business meetings or multitask on the phone.  You use to not care about the artwork on the walls or the latest house music hit playing on the store’s radio.  And you certainly didn’t set up shop with your laptop.

He could be working in an office, at the library, or on a desk just about anywhere else.  But where’s the show in that?  He needs to be able to walk into the place and announce his arrival by asking everyone present where the closest outlet is.  Depending on the store’s set up, this may give him an opening to begin moving around furniture or draping his power cord across multiple tables.  He takes his time milking this set up process so everyone knows that he’s marking his territory and setting up shop at that table.  And not to let the spotlight leave him just yet, he needs to ask those sitting around him if the place has free wi-fi or if they are able to pick up a signal from the apartments upstairs.

So what exactly is he up to?  Probably not surfing the internet or checking his email because he already has a smart phone for that.  Perhaps shopping online, but that is unlikely because he doesn’t have much cash after spending ten dollars on coffee drinks every time he shows up with his lap top.  Maybe he’s a very important businessman conducting very important business.  Or maybe he’s taking some time off to find himself and write the great American novel.  As Stewie Griffin so aptly put it, “How you uh, how you comin’ on that novel you’re working on?  Huh?  Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there?  Gotta, gotta nice litte story you’re working on there?  Your big novel you’ve been working on for three years?  Huh?  Gotta, gotta compelling protagonist?  Yeah?  Gotta obstacle for him to overcome?  Huh?  Gotta story brewing there?  Working on, working on that for quite some time?  Huh?  Yea, talking about that that years ago.  Been working on that the whole time?  Nice little narrative?  Beginning, middle, and end?  Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends?  At the end your main character is richer from the experience?  Yeah?  Yeah?  No, no, you deserve some time off.”


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Who needs the respect and admiration of your coworkers when you can clumsily grope the boss’ wife, thrown up in the office ficus, photocopy and subsequently send out copies of your junk to the company’s biggest clients, and pass out on the couch in the break room?

Tis the season to be drunk and tacky.

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ed hardy beerAlthough we don’t normally do this, we would like to supplement our previous post on wearing Ed Hardy.  Now you can not only look like a douche bag, you can also drink and get drunk like one too.  You can now drink Ed Hardy brand beer.

In a shrewd business move made in an effort to expand the brand of choice for those that try too hard, Ed Hardy has partnered with a little known Mexican brewer to bring Ed Hardy Light Beer and Ed Hardy Premium Beer to the masses.  Adorned with the likes of a tiger and flaming skull with a dagger through it, the bottles appear to be geared towards those who are fans of the “lifestyle brand.”

For those readers that will inevitably say something along the lines of don’t knock it until you try it, here’s a review from our recent tasting of the beers.

Aroma:  Smells of desperation, hair gel, and Axe body spray with subtle hints of day old stripper sweat and Jägerbombs.

Appearance:  Pours a radiant shade of silver bedazzle and glitter that inexplicably turns an unnatural shade of brown or orange in the vein of fake tanners.  At first glance you think drinking it makes you look like you are partying like a rockstar; however, you just end up looking like Jon Gosselin.

Flavor:  Tastes like Red Bull and vodka mixed a strain of hepatitis only found in girls that would hang out with THESE guys.

Palate:  A bitter and sobering finish when you realize you just paid for and drank an Ed Hardy beer.

Overall:  Fail.

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restaurant-staffWe all know who he is once he walks into a restaurant.  Depending on if you’re in the restaurant industry, your spidey-sense may start tingling the moment he decides to dine in your establishment.  He is the restaurant customer who will have his food spit in during the course of the evening.

Pre-meal:  After calling a few days in advance and making reservations for a party to ten, he swaggers into the restaurant an hour and a half late with only one other dining guest.  It appears his bottle of Drakkar Noir spilled all over him as he was getting ready for the evening because the host could smell him coming and it was so bad that they were considering calling the local haz-mat team to check out the mysterious yet foul odor.  He proceeds to get upset that his table has been given away after it has been held for an hour.  Although he was told over the phone that he wouldn’t be seated until his entire party was present, he gets defensive and agitated that he and his guest can’t be seated right away.  After his tantrum passes, he is begrudgingly led to his table.  However, after about two minutes he gives his server the proverbial finger and tells them that the remaining eight guests won’t be showing up and it is just two for dinner tonight.  Have fun taking apart eight place settings and removing two tables because he will be watching the server like a hawk and making asinine comments about how unprepared the restaurant is.

At the table:  Once the table is broken down, he proceeds to get on his phone.  Not only is he on his phone and Bluetooth the entire time the server is taking orders, he makes sure to talk loud enough that everyone knows the results from his most recent std test and that because they came back negative, he will be out partying it up later with his club promoter pals.  Graciously, he pauses in his phone conversation just long enough to order an entrée that is not on the menu.  In addition, he unilaterally decides to make substitutions to his sides and appetizers.  While the food is being prepared, he proceeds to order round after round of shots getting him and his dinner companion considerably drunk.  After hitting on his server and the bartender bringing the shots, he begins to sloppily make out with his dinner guest and gets into it so much that it reminds him of the beginning of his favorite food related movie, Julie does Julia.  At least it could be worse, he could have brought his damn wiener kids who don’t behave, have no semblance of manners, and are barely coordinated enough to get 10% of the food they throw at their faces in their mouths.

Post-meal:  Although he finished his meal nearly an hour ago, he is still at his table keeping his server there after their shift was scheduled to end.  When he is finally ready to go, he snaps at the server and repeatedly makes check signs in the air until he catches their attention.  Once he gets the check, the issue of the tip comes to the forefront.  He has to decide how and how much, if any, he would like to tip.  When he walked in and was seated, he placed twenty dollars in ones on the table and told his server that this would be their tip and every time they make a mistake he will take a dollar away.  Although he took away quite a few dollars for nitpicky things he made sure to point out to the server, he is toying with cleaning out his parking money stash and tipping in all change.  Like the Grinch who suddenly grew a heart, he fights the urge to not tip and leaves a whopping 11% gratuity on the check.  And as he signs his credit card receipt, he steals the server’s last pen to boot.

After being such as classy and agreeable restaurant patron, he wonders why that little voice in the back of his head says to check all his food for spit prior to eating it every time he goes out.

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StarbucksHis “addiction” began back in his high school days.  He was a member of his school’s drama troupe which consisted of the kids who considered themselves the “artistic but tortured souls.”  While sitting around discussing Chaucer and Nietzsche with Jeff, the “cool teacher” who let his students call him by his first name, he was first introduced to the black gold.  Later while in college, he joined the university’s poetry e-zine which met in the catacombs of the local indie coffee shop.  While discussing what rhymes with “brooding” and how to fit it nicely into iambic pentameter, he sipped espresso shots from his own personal demitasse cup which he carried around in his messenger bag.  Fast-forward ten years and he had his hopes and dreams crushed.  After graduating and having his unpaid internship with McSweeney’s fall through, he finally listened to his parents and went to grad school.  After toiling on and off for nearly six years getting a masters in philosophy and ancient languages, he eventually graduated and got a 9-5 working in a cubicle as a nameless and faceless drone with a multinational corporation (i.e. everything he has every stood against).

He can’t face his past anymore.  He makes a promise to himself that he will embrace the darkside and his new station in life.  He gets rid of his fixed gear bicycle and buys a hybrid.  He moves out of his downtown loft that he shared with six roommates to a townhouse in a newly gentrified up and coming neighborhood.  He no longer shops at Whole Foods because they support local farmers and growers; he shops there because that is what yuppies and soccer moms are supposed to do.  He donates his entire wardrobe to the local goodwill and buys page seven through thirteen of the JCrew catalogue.  And then we get to his obsession with coffee.  After having his spirit broken, he can’t face going back to the neighborhood hipster fair trade and feminist bookstore coffeehouses of his youth.  He goes to Starbucks.

Frappuccinos, lattes, americanos, cappuccinos, and macchiatos – it doesn’t matter.  Just like white people, he loves his coffee and especially everything Starbucks related.  He’s got all the latest Starbucks products: a home brewing machine, a bean grinder, five types of Starbucks coffee, and matching travel mugs.  He’s the customer that walks in the store and says things like “If I don’t get my cup of Starbucks this morning, I think I’ll have a serious case of the Mondays”, “Happy Humpday”, and “TGIF”.  Rather than use iTunes for purchasing his music, his musical preferences are governed by whatever artists are featured next to the Starbucks register.  If he’s swamped with work, he likes to take his laptop there and set up shop in his favorite nook.  He goes in there so often that the baristas are able to begin his usual drink when they see him walking in the door. Additionally, with all the customization, they need to get a head start on his grande, non-fat, 6 1/3 pump sugar free vanilla, 2 1/4 pump peppermint, no whip, 137° mocha topped with a dusting of cinnamon.

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