When A Burrito Costs 9 Bucks, You Can REALLY Taste The Irony


One time I went to fry an egg, and it was my last egg, and I was out of food in general, and I broke the yolk and started crying. I've never been tortured, but I imagine it would be just like having several dozen eggs, and having the grits and bacon all ready, and then no matter how many eggs you crack, all the yolks explode. I was in Olympia last Sunday, and I ordered eggs Benedict. My girlfriend and I were starving, and I thought I was gonna lose my mind with anticipation and worry that the meal would suck. Then I saw my Benedict in the service window, and it was steaming like crazy, and I just wanted to scream because her food wasn't ready.

Anyway, they finally brought it and, nearly trembling, I tasted the hollandaise. Tangy, wonderful. Then like a fool I let my guard down and cut into an egg. Solid yolk, all the way through. Total panic. Clearly, I had 3 options: call the police, choke it down, or send it back. I got the waiter, and he acted like that shit was totally normal - which filled me with rage.

I ended up having them just poach me 2 new eggs, which took about a day and a half to arrive, and were way undercooked and watery, and I ate them with my freezing-cold hollandaise and English muffins and shitty ham. Eventually the waiter was apologetic, and said he was gonna give me a discount. As he dropped off the bill, he said, as though it was a gift, that he took TEN PERCENT off of my entree price! I shit you not. Like the extra 90 cents is gonna make me not wanna stick my finger down my throat, or gargle acetone to get the horrible taste out of my mouth. It's been 4 days now, and I think I'm starting to process the trauma. I just can't afford therapy. Writing about it helps.

A quick aside: please, for the love of god, do not use the word "foodie". Thank you.

There are like 4 people on earth who know how to poach an egg, and they don't live in the Pacific Northwest. Also deli sandwiches are all awful here, but people don't know it. If someone makes a sandwich in Portland that doesn't totally suck ass, it costs 35 dollars, and people line up around the block and get tattoos about it. One major problem is THEY DON'T PUT ANY FUCKING MEAT ON THEM. And the slivers that do make it on there are cut way too thick. I don't understand why people can't figure out the extremely simple rule that deli meat must be sliced razor thin. Ever eat a reuben with corned beef so thick your incisors can't break through the sinew, and a whole chunk of meat gets dragged out of the sandwich every time you bite it? Well if you did, and you lived here, you'd blog about how great it was.

If I owned a slicer, I would weld it into place at the thinnest possible setting so nobody could ever violate it.

There are about 180,000 food carts here, and they all popped up in like the last day-and-a-half, and they mostly all totally suck. Also, they universally violate the most sacred rule of food carts, which is of course that they must be cheap. They are not.

There's a bus called the Grilled Cheese Grill parked on Alberta, which is this street where a million idiots and yuppies gather on the last Thursday of every month to pretend to be weirdos, and people set up booths and sell awful trinkets and shit. Anyway, this place sells...grilled cheese sandwiches! It totally blows. I've never actually ordered a grilled cheese sandwich there, onaccounta the fact I'm an adult, but I tasted one once and it was, well, a fucking grilled cheese sandwich. Poorly grilled, at that. When it first popped up I was like "no way that place is gonna last." I just checked their website. They now have 3 locations.

I should start a food cart business with just pots of boiling water and bags of Top Ramen, and charge $7.50 a bowl, and become a millionaire off the tips of 22-yr old baristas from Iowa who somehow already have every inch of their bodies covered in tattoos. My speciality will be that I open each bag fresh, right in front of you.

And then of course there is the most disgusting shithole on earth. A place that pulls in at least 14 million dollars a day from a never-ending, block-lapping line of mouth-breathing dupes. A place that makes me so angry I can't bear to write about it now. The sun is out today, which is incredibly strange and awesome, and I need some happy time. So I cannot possibly even begin to think about goddamn Voodoo fucking Doughnuts. I just can't do it, sorry.

You know what's nuts, though? I love this town. What's up with that?
Tomorrow I will write about things that are delicious here.

Anyway, you shouldn't order eggs Benedict ever again because you might kill yourself. Also don't call yourself a chef if you're the day cook at a mac-and-cheese restaurant.


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