7) In the very, very few instances I’ve been to “fancy” restaurants, I’ve noticed that rich people eat funny. They seem to think that in some cases, the chef just not even trying is actually “cool” and “hip” or “ironic”, which makes it okay to shell out hundreds of bucks for it. It’s like if the chef has contempt for his patrons, they’ll happily scarf up whatever he throws at them. For instance, if you order a steak sandwich in Manhattan at an upscale joint in Manhattan, you’ll pay about $45 for this “steak sandwich”:
See, they think it’s clever to just grill a steak and throw it between 2 pieces of Wonder Bread. Fuck you – if I wanna eat a steak, I’ll fucking eat it with a knife and fork. Meanwhile, for $6 you can get this:
12 inches of shaved ribeye, so greasy/juicy it melts in your mouth along with the cheese wiz. Same thing with “hash browns.” Fancy joint, for $7.50 you get this:
as in “I barely chopped up a potato and threw some grass on it, fuck you, gimme $7.50” whereas for about 80 cents you can get:
buttery, crispy outside and soft potato inside. Remarkable. With the fancy chef, I guess we’re just lucky he doesn’t throw this at our heads:
Sunday, July 06, 2014
Steak Fries
Must say, I had the greatest steak fries I've ever had Saturday night, at Sydney in Gettysburg. Wonderfully crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside - totally belying what I'd previously known about some things:
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