5/28/05 I hate restaurant reviews. I don't like the adjectives reviewers use. They always describe shit as being “delectable,” or “scrumptious” or “eclectic” or “gooey.” Like music reviewers, they ran out of ways to describe stuff a long time ago. The end result of this is inanity at best, and completely inappropriate description at worst (like the Rolling Stone review I read in which the Red Hot Chili Peppers album Californication was characterized as being “baroque.” On behalf of J.S. Bach and G.F. Handel, who are dead and so can't defend themselves, FUCK OFF AND DIE ROLLING STONE).
Plus they're almost always favorable reviews. You NEVER see an awesome harsh review because the reviewers usually work for some newspaper or magazine or some shit and the fucking editor is afraid of getting sued. Fuck you and your editorial restraint. Being on the internet, and paying for all this crap myself, I could give a shit if a chef gets pissed at my review. Remember, assholes: it's a free country.
We need some strong literary antibiotics to cure the banal infection that's dripping from the dick of the art of culinary review right now. I'm going to administer to you fuckers a megadose, but like most medicine you might not like the taste. I'm very opinionated. I like to eat. I like to drink, fuck, and swear. I'm a bad role model. But at least, at the VERY LEAST, I'll never call something “delectable.”
Call me Cipro. I'm going to solve all your problems. Enjoy the ride.
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