Those Almejas Who Own the Border Grill Piss Me Off

Hire some kitchen workers from Mexico, carefully watch what they cook for the "crew stew", appropriate the recipe and pretend that you are innovative, call it something colorful, put it on your menu, charge rockstar prices, throw in a margarita or two and, voila, you have the Border Grill. And those two cunts that own this place piss me off. I cannot understand why they are treated like royalty.

Fuck This Steakhouse

I wish that many people in my life were equipped with a switch located on the back of their heads where I could shut them down or power them back up at my leisure. I would for sure flip the off switch on anyone who tried to get me to come back to Mastro's Steakhouse. After dinner here last night, I concluded that I am sick of this overpriced and under flavored high end steakhouse horseshit and Mastro's is the last pile of dung that I care to step in. Finished, I tell you. I got a nice bone in filet, which was well aged and cooked a proper medium rare all served on a sizzling platter. Also, some very decent brussel sprouts, sauteed spinach, scalloped potatoes, and a chopped salad. And some oysters Rockerfeller to start out. But I could have bailed out of jail for less money. More than 50 bucks for a steak like this was more like aggravated sodomy than it was highway robbery. The vegetables were good, but very very salty. I felt this meal had so much salt in it that I was being cured like a country ham from the inside. The potatoes as well. I did not know that cheese was the star topping on oysters Rockerfeller. I thought it was supposed to be Hollandaise sauce. The chopped salad was tasty and served in a cold bowl, but it was really a Greek Salad and should be labeled as such. But I want to point out the highlights of this meal. The pretzel bread, and all the breads for that matter were out of this world good. I mean fantastic. The chopped salad was worth every cent of the 12 bucks that it cost. Also, I felt that the busboys and runners were very friendly, kind and professional. Our server was too, but the busboy and the runners attitudes were really impressive. When I was eating my filet, I kept thinking "COLD ROAST BEEF" as in a Stephen King short story. This hunk of beef was just a waste of a great steak. I kept wondering how this thing would have tasted if I had ordered the same cut at Park's BBQ or Solwoon Galbi. I am sure that the Koreans would have converted the filet into something well seasoned, tasty, satisfying and worthy. Grilled over charcoal, of course. American steakhouses need to take their un-imaginative preparations of beef served in mammoth portions and ram it up their snouts. This steak was so anti climactic that I almost felt like I needed to jerk off when I got home.

Intense Anger Towards Diners, Drive In's, and Dives; Nostalgia for Unshaven Bush, and Fab's Hot Dogs

During the late 1970's and early 1980's, I remember the fitness revolution that seemed to be in full force and effect in the Greater Los Angeles Area. I remember the joggers, all those women with unshaved bushes wearing leg warmers in front of Jane Fonda's Workout Studio on Robertson, and even the Exercising Barbie that my sister played with. Okay, I played with it too. I admit it. People were taking quaaludes, going to juice bars, and appeared to be in much better overall shape than they are today. I wish we had that fitness craze going on today and I also wish they would bring back the unshaved bush. A couple of quaaludes wouldn't be too bad either. In this era, I could not have even imagined that a show like Diners Drive Ins and Diabetes would ever be on TV beckoning America to an early grave from diseases of affluence.

I had read about this place on Yelp, but rarely venture deep into the Valley. When I came in, I saw that Guy had been there. I do not like him, Sam I Am. Guy is the worst thing to happen to the entertainment industry since Robin Williams began his career in Hollywood, or perhaps even worse than a snuff film. That is very irresponsible of Guy and the Food Network to show America that it is okay to let your health go to shit.

But when in Rome. I ordered two hot dogs. The Fab Dog with bacon onions and red relish, and then the Cheese Coney, then I went back and got some more. Thirty dollars worth of hot dogs and tater tots later, I guess you gotta stuff an apple in my mouth too. I also got, the Carolina Slaw and then the Hot Polish with fresh Garlic and Jalepenos. My daughter got a veggie dog, and then proceeded to have a Spicy Polish and a Bratwurst. I was a very hungry caterpillar. We are all Guy sometimes.

Bank of America and Peanut Cock

The parking attendant at the Larchmont Branch of Bank of America his great attitude and congenial personality. I came here to cash a Cashier's Check drawn on this bank earlier this afternoon. The teller asked me if I wanted to open an account at Bank of America, and I politely declined. He then asked what institution I use for my banking needs, and I again told him that I was not interested in doing business with Bank of America. He then asked me for my index finger print and my SSN in order to fill out form 8300. He then asked what my occupation was, and I told him I was an executioner at San Quentin. All seemed to be going well until Peanut Cock, the manager came by and asked to see an additional form of identification. I offered him my California Fishing License which is a State Issued form of identification containing my name, address and birthdate. He told me I need my passport, and I was wondering if it was because we were about to go on a fucking power trip. I was correct. Without my passport, he refused to cash the check. So I went back home, brought it back, and eventually I got my money but suffered the indignity of having to deal with Peanut Cock (note: I am using the word "cock" in an avian context). Dude, I know you want to pretend like you are important because this is the Larchmont Branch, but you are merely a middle-management, check cashing and money changing jockey and a mighty confrontational one at that. I am sure you are also responsible for making customers who use your bank comfortable and happy with the services you offer. So dispense with highbrow attitude and follow your fucking job description and remember that in any retail business, the customer is always right. Hopefully, next time someone gives me a Cashier's Check, it will be drawn on a more friendly bank.

Musso and Frank's and the Stench of Hollywood Ghosts

If nostalgia means puking up gin a few hours after you leave this place along with some toast points, then you are gonna get a hefty dose of nostalgia here. If you do not drink alcohol, and frown on the food available at the Circus Circus Buffet in Reno served by waiters in red monkey suits then you will not want to drop one hundred bucks on Welsh Rarebit. With that said, Mario the bartender will expertly facilitate your drunkening with a martini (with sidecar) by which all martinis should be judged. You can close your eyes and inhale the stench of this old carpet, and you can almost picture W.C. Fields pissing on your leg in the bathroom or Gloria Swanson trying to grab your wiener at the bar.

Fuck those Shit-Stains at Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles

The chicken and waffles here are good, but what really sets this place apart is the fucked up service. I don't want to spend my money tipping people that clearly do not like me. Give me fried chicken, but let me keep my dignity.

California Donuts Uber-Alles

I was so stoned last night I needed some cheap sugar more than anything else in the world. And not just any sugar, but the cheap, deep fried kind that the lovely ladies here at California Donuts use to coat the god-like stuff behind the glass that lure me off 3rd St. like Hansel and Gretel. Sometimes I want cheap refined sugar instead of the natural variety. Sometimes I prefer warm pieces of donut with heavily processed apple filling for under a dollar. Sometimes I get a few of the coconut glazed or maybe an old fashioned or two. I don't get donuts very often but when I do, this is usually the place. California Donuts will surely solve your sweet food jones for a small handful of change and will help you realize the full potential of your inner Lard Ass. Fuck driving to Glendora to get some dumb ass strawberry donut when there is a place like this with real character just around the corner. Everything I have tried has been good, sweet and cheap. I just wish they had a little better coffee. It seems like everyone patronizing this place always seems so happy. The family that does insulin together stays together.