I Should Have Stayed In

Every so often I do the responsible thing and check my bank account just to make sure my spending is somewhat in check. Most of the time I find myself broke— last weekend, however, was not one of those times. To my chagrin I find my accounts all square and I have some spending money to lavish on myself, being the unselfish guy that I am—I decide to take a girl I’ve been kind of seeing out. If you’ve never been to San Diego before, you would be disappointed to find that its utterly void of any pillars of gastronomic excellence. I’m not saying that there aren’t decent restaurants, but there certainly aren’t any exemplary ones—a shame considering how big the metropolitan area is.

After walking around we settle on a place downtown. The façade is nice, in keeping with an upscale (but not crazy expensive) place, busy (but not too busy), and the pace has a nice tables outside so we can people watch wile we enjoy dinner. We get seated and the waiter treats us to a forty minute monologue chronicling the nights specials, not a good sign. We’re both quite hungry and tear into the stale focaccia at the table. After what felt like hours and two refills of the bread basket our food is served.

My rib-eye arrives at the table looking grand. The hunk of meat shares a plate with a heap of garlic mashed potatoes, and there in the middle is the perfectly crusted mac-n-cheese. From what I just described you might be predicting the perfect meal, well—you would be horribly wrong. Right there next to my perfectly cooked steak is what looks like a skid mark on an otherwise pristine white ceramic canvas. Who the fuck would mess with culinary perfection, you ask? The douche bag wanna-be Thomas Keller in the kitchen, that’s who. The stupid bitch though he would try to be cutting edge with my meal, the dumbass decided that he was part of the “foodie” crowd, the stupid-fuck went molecular gastronomy on my ass. What could the “chef” have done that was so egregious? The bitch put an asparagus foam on my plate.

If you’ve never tried a foam before, its basically a puree that’s pressurized so that the result is an airy goo. In my case, a white-ish brown goo. Basically, right next to my delicious steak the glorified Applebee’s line cook decided it was in my best culinary interest to have a side of splooge with my steak. My mistake, maybe next time I should order my rare rib-eye and ask them to hold the sperm, or at least set it on the side.

An asparagus foam dude? Really? I hope your kids get Down syndrome, and not that high-functioning Down syndrome either—I hope they’re so retarded they hump random household objects any time they aren’t getting fed or sleeping.

No dessert for me, I’d hate to see what’s in the canoles.