Each week, the Cheap Bastard goes looking for a new place to eat a meal for less than nine million dollars. This week, she goes gluten-free at Company Café, 2217 Greenville Ave.
Spice rack wall art count: 1 Stroller count: 451
Company Café on Greenville Avenue is for high-maintenance yuppies. If you have a gluten allergy or a preference for grass-fed beef or a love of organic goat cheese and a primal need to pay $15 for a salad, they have an entrée with your yuppie-ass name on it (Hayley or Bradford or Sadie or whatever). You want a Diet Coke? "Sorry. We don't have that. How about a nice iced tea or a Mexican Coca-Cola made with pure cane sugar?" Oooh! Sounds great! Can you also punch me in the eyehole for coming here?
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If you're eating gluten-free, dining at restaurants is a butt pain. So, Company Café is really smart to offer a load of gluten-free options. Not sure when we all became so anti-gluten (guessing it was probably the day Michael Jackson died), but I do know that life sucks if you have to be gluten-free. Pretty sure I'd shiv my doctor in his man shaft if he told me I had to give up gluten.
Instead of ordering the gluten-free chicken-fried steak (I'm staunchly full-gluten when it comes to chicken-fried steaks), I ordered the loaded sweet potato fries. They come topped with bacon, green onions, fresh jalapeños, cheddar, applewood-smoked bacon and bacon. (I'm not sure if you heard, but THERE'S BACON.) Plus, they were one of the few things on the menu that you could get for $9. Almost everything else on the lunch menu was priced above $10. "Hey, stupid! You can't read! You could've ordered a half salad with chicken added for just eight bucks!" Yep. Other things on the list of Shit I'm Not Gonna Do: punch self in boob; hug that semi-homemade Sandra Lee lady; the cabbage patch; stop saying "That's what she said," when my mom talks about eating sausage; empathize; Sudoku; start liking Meg Ryan's new face.
When the server brought me my giant potato pile, he said, "Uh -- this is just the half order." This big-as-a-Beyoncé-ass, KFC-bowl-lookin' thing is just a half order? Sweet. That means it's cheaper, right? "Uh ... I think, yeah." Indeed, yeah. I demolished those fries (which were melted-cheese-and-crunchy-bacon-fucking amazing, by the way) and when the check came out, those delicious yuppie fries only cost me $6. Shit, if I had known they were going to be that cheap, I would've added an extra side of gluten.