Hello folks, I'm Fat Fuck, here with a restaurant review for the fat fucking people. I don't watch a lot of television; in fact, I've only watched two shows my entire life. Since Oprah finished last year, I'm down to one program - No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain. If you like travel shows, hosts who don't give a fuck about reservations and getting shitfaced then this show would be right up your alley. Because I'm such a supporter, I figured I'd visit Brasserie Les Halles - Chef Bourdain's restaurant - for my first restaurant review.
As it was a Holiday, Brasserie Les Halles was almost impossible to get a reservation for one... So I went in with no reservation. With my journalist tools (a pair of glasses and a flask of whiskey), I waltzed in like Bourdain would and plopped down at the first open table. A pretty muscular waiter mosied up to me and said something to the effect of, "Sir, I don't believe you have a reservation." To which I replied with, "Sir, I don't believe you have a dick."
Back outside and pretty tired from wrestling a gaggle of waiters, I decided to use an alternative method - the power of the press. I went to the host and revealed that I was actually working for a column, when prompted for the name I said, "You're a faggot." Thankfully he interpreted that as, "Zagats." I was lead in and given an intimate table in the corner. My flask ran dry, I figured I'd start my meal with some alcohol. Lo and behold, they had no liquor - they didn't even have beer. I begrudgingly ordered a bottle of wine and began to review the menu. It was time for a full-course meal:
-Appetizers. I can't read anything on this menu - which is strange because even Chinese restaurants print in American - you'd think that people would understand that just because they use American letters doesn't mean the words are American. I knew the only way to read this menu would be through wine-goggles - so I powered through half the bottle like a beast.
-I was ready. If you're gunna review a restaurant, you might as well order things based on price, right? I went with the most expensive item, turned out to be escargot - which sounded like a high class wooden crate.
-To my dismay they didn't serve me a wooden crate, they served me snails. I'm adventurous, I'm drunk, but snails? Mother fucker, how are you gunna charge eleven dollars for four snails? French cuisine was starting to confuse me. But whatever, I ate them shits because I'll be honest - if I didn't get anything in my stomach, I was likely going to vomit everywhere forever.
-I vomitted everywhere for what seemed to be an eternity.
-The Maitre D' escorted me to another table, apologizing for my reaction to the food - I didn't let on that I was merely shitfaced. Although calling him a "pencil dick mustache" probably didn't help my case, or that French fairy's self esteem.
-It was time to order my dinner, I went with the special - some shit named "squab." I finished the rest of my wine AND the complementary bottle while I waited.
-I'm completely hammered; if I remember how to eat, maybe there's a chance I'll remember how it tastes.
-Dinner is served. It looks like chicken! FUCK it tastes like what I'd imagine spooge tastes like... Just kidding. It tastes like spooge.
-I call the Maitre D' over, "Dickstache, did you cum in my food, assbandit?" He shakes his head "no" or in horror. "Then did the chef spooge in my food? Or replace all the chicken with spooge?"
He furrows his brow, "Sir, it's squab - not chicken. This is pigeon, it's supposed to taste like that."
-I socked that asshole right in his mouth for daring to ever serve me spooge or pigeon or whatever the fuck it was. I pulled my check from his gay little pouch, ate it and bolted out the front door.
-Dessert. Downtown Manhattan was busy at this time of night, giving me perfect coverage from any police. As I couldn't finish my meal in Les Halles, I stumbled into Carvel for some ice cream.
-My dick is in the "Birthday Cake Batter" bucket, the police are pulling me out of it. I scream out, "Now everyone will know what spooge tastes like!"
-The police let me off with a warning, they're either fans of FFDNYFG or a shriveled ice cream dick was punishment enough.
Well, it was a pretty successful night. I was able to taste French cuisine for the first time in my life and I won't lie, it was pretty terrible. Any cuisine based on animals you can find in your backyard will probably taste like shit - or in this case, spooge. Unless the French are playing some cruel joke on Americans for all the shit we give them, I don't see a reason to charge thirty dollars to eat the flying equivalent of a rat.
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