By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Minutes I waited for my food in Steel count: 45
Things I ordered that required cooking count: 0
I drove with purpose. I saw the red "S" on the black awning, double confirmed that I was in the right place at the sight of a couple of ass-clowns in ass-clown ties on the front porch smoking, slowed down and put the car in park. Like it or not, Steel, these jeans and Chucks are coming through those doors.
Once inside, the skanktown hostess and I had a one-on-one battle of judgy "Are you seriously wearing that?" once-overs. I won, because pointing and laughing beats single-eyebrow-raise every time. She seated me, and I took a moment to check out my surroundings.
Me: (over intercom speaker) Skeezy Man Sluts, party of 12, your table's ready. Skeezy Man Sluts, this dirty half-moon booth is available for your loud debate about the relative coolness of Uptown Bar versus Uptown Pub, determined solely by number of times you've run into other dudes wearing Axe. Creepy Old Dudes Breathing Loudly and Showing Up Five Hours Early Just to Get Good Seats for the Happy Hour Boob Parade, party of two.
And then, my waiter put a napkin in my lap. (Where do you look when that happens? And how does this ritual make things fancier, anyway? "Oh, you just unwrapped and touched all my silverware and then invaded my personal space to put a hand towel on my lap. Shmancy.") He then asked me if I'd like anything to drink. I go for an iced tea. He disappears. About 20 minutes later, someone asks me if I'd gotten a menu yet. I hadn't. My iced tea shows up. The guy who brings me my menu spills my iced tea all over my table, my jeans and the floor.
I order one vegetable hand roll. (To be fair, there were other small things I could have ordered. I could have ordered miso soup, edamame or two pieces of sushi. To be fairer, though, there were at least three pages of menu items that actually laughed in my face when they heard I only had 10 bucks). The hand roll was seven bucks. It's about 4 inches long, about three bites, and it tastes like nothing. I would rather give a hand job for seven bucks than eat another one of those things.
Steel, you're the expensivest. Let's not hang out for lunch again soon.