Menus

// It’s what’s for dinner…forever

By Jordan Childs .
10.04.09 // Menus

View Comments / Oct 04.09 / Menus / by Jordan Childs

// A little unfriendly even at Friendly’s

By Tristan Smith .
10.03.09 // Menus

I have often been described as “competitive” by people I’m not friends with.  And that’s fine, even though I’d rather climb a tree as a team or organize a jailbreak cooperatively.  (They are typically more successful this way.)

One thing I will dominate you in, though, is ordering food.  Grind you right under my bootheel, smugly chewing my goat cheese while you suffer the indignity of bad gnocchi.

To be specific, this is how it will go:

The menus will arrive and I’ll feign engagement in our conversation while actually plotting my moves.  I’ll look around at the plates of other diners, studying their victories and missteps like a captain in the Napoleonics.

Then I’ll choose an appetizer that we’ll both enjoy, but was secretly chosen to compliment my main.

We’ll sip our wine and I’ll wait like a bettor at the track.

The food arrives.  The gates open.  The dogs run.

View Comments / Oct 03.09 / Menus / by Tristan Smith

// The Menu

By Elektrovideo .
10.03.09 // Menus

View Comments / Oct 03.09 / Menus / by Elektrovideo

// Cannibals: A Love Story

By Charles Hodges .
10.02.09 // Menus

Since she didn’t have a car, and because the date had been set up via the internet, she had a friend drop her off at the restaurant.  She walked in and saw him sitting there.  He was much more attractive than his profile picture.

As she approached, she noticed that the tablecloth was unusually taut.  When he stood up, his hands released it and a steak knife went flying into the air and onto the ground.

“Oh, excuse me, I’ll get that,” he said, bending down and grabbing the knife as if he had never handled a blade before.

They sat down.  The candles were perfectly lit.  And they should have been.  After pouring over the cannibal restaurant guide for hours, he had finally decided on this particular one because of its ambiance.

“I really like your dress.”
“Thank you, I got it for my birthday,” she said blushing.
“Oh, when was your birthday?”
“August.”
“August what?”
“Fourteenth.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Oh, no reason, just interested.”

He stared at the menu.

He thought to himself, what the hell do I get?  If I go with nose or ears for appetizers, she’ll totally think I’m cheap.  But if I go with throat or forehead, she’ll think I’m pretentious.  Maybe I should just get some elbow meat – yeah – just start it off nice with a couple slices of elbow meat.  She looks like the elbow type.

The waiter interrupted.

“Ahem, yes, can I get you two lovely friends a drink?”
“Umm, yeah, that’d be great,” he said.

Please order blood, please order blood, he thought to himself.  I am so tired of going out with girls that don’t order blood.

“For the lady?” the waiter said.
“I’d like a pint of blood,” she responded.
“Do you do pitchers?” he asked.
“No sir, only pints.”
“That’s fine, I’ll have a pint of type B.”
“Oh, excuse me, madam.  Did you have a type preference?”
“B’s fine.”
“Very well then.”
He was so excited she had ordered blood.  Oh, he really had a catch now.  For some reason, however, he couldn’t progress past small talk.  Thinking about what to say next made him lock up even more.

Then, there was silence.

Minutes later, the waiter came back with the drinks.  She was feverishly playing with her cell phone, and he was nervously biting off and swallowing his cuticles.

“Ahem, excuse me, would you like me to tell you about tonight’s specials?” he said placing the drinks on the table.
“Oh, yes please,” she said.
“Yes, that’d be great,” he said.
“Very well. To start, we have a grilled kneecap skin.  That’s going to come with an earwax compote and a side of braised hair celery.  That goes for $22.00. Personally, by the looks of you two, I believe you could split it.  Next, we have a lung and fingernail salad served over a bed of fresh foot lettuce.  It’s not my favorite, but customers have been raving about it, so what do I know? It’s served with the house dressing and is $14.00.  Finally, for our main course, we have a seared baby heart.  It’s going to be served rare on a grilled russell hasbrown with type A au jus on the side.  And that goes for $38.50.  Any questions?”

“Is the braised hair celery already in the dish, or can they leave that out?” she asked.
“They can leave it out, madame.  It should be no problem.”
“Okay, thanks.”

There was an awkward silence.  The waiter looked at both of them, his glasses sitting on the end of his long nose.

“So I’ll be back in a little bit to take your orders?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Thanks,” she said.

He shifted his feet underneath the table, and she held her purse in front of her stomach.

“So what looks good?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, everything!”

She looked up and smiled at him.  She hoped he would see how excited she was.  He looked up from the menu; they locked eyes and, for the first time since his mother’s death, he actually felt something.

“Yes, it does all look pretty good,” he said.
“What do you think you are going to get?”
“I don’t know, I was thinking maybe we could start of by sharing that kneecap, without the braised hair celery of course.”
“Yeah, that sounds fantastic,” she said, grinning like she was staring into the sun, loving his attention to detail.

–

As they were finishing up the kneecap, the waiter brought dinner to the table.  Despite his unbelievable salesmanship, they both had decided to get two handburgers.  There was something about their mutual decision that was more than an order.  The waiter asked if they needed anything else.

“Hot sauce,” they both said at the same time.

They looked at each other.

“Very well then, some hot sauce, for the lovely couple,” the waiter said, smiling and bowing away with a towel on his arm.

–

Outside of her apartment, he let the car idle.  The exhaust mixed with the cold air, making billows of smoke that enveloped the entire automobile.  They were alone.

“Do you want to come in?”
“I don’t think I should, I mean, it’s late.”
“My roommate was making toe cakes earlier.  I’m sure we have some left.”

He thought back to when he was a child.  Every birthday: toe cakes.  Every winter solstice: toe cakes. Every time he was home sick from school: toe cakes.  He looked at her face, her body sitting next to him. He felt like what he was thinking was leaking out of his ear and filling the car.  He felt like she knew things about him that he didn’t even know.  If he went in for toe cakes, what would happen next?  Marriage? Kids?  Retirement? Death? From then on out, he thought, every choice you made limited the number of choices you had left.  He had plans.  He had dreams.  He was going to be famous.  He was going to be rich.  He was going to self-actualize.  After all that, there would be time for the rest.  There would time to make the important decisions.

He adjusted his rear-view mirror even though the back was full of fog.

“Toe cakes, huh?  Your roommate knows how to make those?”
“Yeah. They are amazing – better than Fred’s downtown.”
“Well, I guess I could come in, give them a try.”

View Comments / Oct 02.09 / Menus / by Charles Hodges

// Humans 1 – Dogs 0

By Joey Camire .
10.01.09 // Menus

Somethings dogs are great at… reading is not one of them.

Humans 1 – Dogs 0 from Blommit on Vimeo.

View Comments / Oct 01.09 / Menus / by Joey Camire

// A Longshoreman’s Diet

By Sarah Pappalardo .
10.01.09 // Menus

View Comments / Oct 01.09 / Menus / by Sarah Pappalardo

// Now You Know

By Tom Pappalardo .
09.30.09 // Menus

For my first post here, I decided to be stupidly over-ambitious. It won’t happen again.

View Comments / Sep 30.09 / Menus / by Tom Pappalardo

// Men U: Ad Vitam Paramus

By Ben and Ryan .
09.30.09 // Menus

The two of us have always maintained an interest in our respective family histories, so when we recently found that we both had great great uncles who had been graduates of a little known university for gentlemen we were, understandably, very excited. We quickly did some research and came across this, the only remaining catalogue of course descriptions from Men U: A University for the Modern Gentleman.

View Comments / Sep 30.09 / Menus / by Ben and Ryan

// Inside the Mind of Gavin ep. 1

By Alex Aloise .
09.30.09 // Menus

Come on Gavin. You’re 31. You can do this. People go to restaurants all the time. How hard can this really be? You sit down, pick up the menu, choose a meal, and order. Simple. I’ve got this. Here goes nothing.

Wow. This girl’s pretty cute. She keeps smiling at me. Why yes…Taryn…I will follow you that way. Oh man is she actually going to sit down with m…oh. This is MY table. By myself. Got it. Next time, I’ll bring someone with me.

Alrighty. Got my seat. Got my menu. Let’s do this. Oh my god.

What the…There are so many sections! How do I start this? Drinks. Salads. Appetizers. Entrees. Entrees. That’s probably Latin for Enter. I bet that’s where I look first. Thank God. Here comes the waitress. She’ll know what to do.

DRINK! Of course. That makes sense. This is a big deal. My first restaurant. I guess I’ll drink. Wwwwwwoah. What the crap? Another menu? Ok. Get it together Gavin. It’s just a drink. Let’s just see what they’ve got. FUUUUUCK! More sections. Soda. Beer. Wine. What the hell are Spirits? What is this place? F it. Crantini. Man. Talk about nerve-wracking. At least they give you this break to compose yourself afterwards.

Good. There’s my drink. I need that…Eat? You want to know what I want to eat already? I’m still recovering from the drink menu? Damn. They must really want people in and out of this place. Shit. What was in the menu? I can’t look at it again. She’s standing right here. She’s ready now. Umm…there was…no that wasn’t it…wasn’t there…Corn!

I’ll have the Corn.

What does she mean is that all? That was on the menu. Can I order more? I can order more. Damn it. What else was there…Bundt Cake!

I’ll also have the Bundt Cake.

Phew. Glad that’s over. Good choices Gavin.

View Comments / Sep 30.09 / Menus / by Alex Aloise

// The Soup de Jour: Regret

By Jake Dubs .
09.29.09 // Menus

View Comments / Sep 29.09 / Menus / by Jake Dubs

// Today’s special will be baby hands.

By Ben Cheney .
09.28.09 // Menus

Do you appreciate menus?  No?  I don’t either.  I always assumed it was my God-given right to have my choice of fare.  I mean, I’ve had that choice since 1985.  But apparently it hasn’t always been that way.

Before the advent of menus, if you chose to dine at a restaurant, you had to have whatever the house was serving, no matter what it was.  If it was goat head, you ate it.  If it was baby hands [choice of fingernails attached or detached], you ate it.  If it was cauliflower topped with thyme, basted in a sweet butternut glaze, grilled over a fire and sprinkled with paprika, you ate it.  [But this was also a time when the general public declined to shower despite being caked in dried poo and bits of grain and hay, so I’m sure it wasn’t that big of a deal.]

This no menu concept may sound strange, but that’s because it is.  What if McDonald’s only sold Big Mac Extra Value Meals today?  No other options, not even the Filet o’ Fish [now made with real bits of fish].  Well, for one, Long John Silver’s would probably see a small sales boost, but I also have a feeling that there would be a lot of very confused McDonald’s patrons.

Keeping the McDonald’s example in mind, if we step back from the choice of one conundrum, the real symbolism of menus begins to emerge.  [It’s kind of like those crazy autostereogram pictures.]  As we pull the theoretical picture slowly away from our theoretical face, letting our theoretical eyes relax, this is what we see [in a theoretical sense]: At their very root, menus represent freedom; they might as well be red, white, and blue.  A fixed choice [which is an oxymoronic phrase in and of itself] shackles us to captivity.  It’s captivity at the table.  You can try to pick the lock with a fork, but it won’t work.  You will be forced to eat the baby hands with a side of chocolate covered corn chips and tomato juice.  And at that point, you might as well have no freedoms at all.

View Comments / Sep 28.09 / Menus / by Ben Cheney