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Broke Wife, Big City
A Review of My Son’s Imaginary Restaurant
By Aprill Brandon
It’s a tired old trope and yet still remains a true one. When it comes
to so many ventures, it’s all about location, location, location.
Which is the one thing my 5-year-old son’s recently opened restaurant
has going for it. Situated conveniently right in the heart of my living
room, this one-couch eatery specializes in unique dishes that are as
creative as they are inedible.
Aptly, or perhaps ironically, named Restaurant, the place has what can
only be described as a homey vibe with a shabby chic aesthetic, heavy
on the shabby. On entry, you are greeted by a riot of colors and
smells, none of which are food related. The cleanliness also left
something to be desired for this particular reviewer but the other
patron, an elderly canine named Buffy, didn’t seem to mind.
The owner and head chef (and host and server) Riker revealed to me that
he had only recently taken an interest in the culinary arts. Prior to
opening Restaurant, he had his sights set on becoming a ninja
astronaut. Alas, the lack of experience and passion showed. The service
alone was, to say the least, wanting.
“What do you want to drink?” he demanded soon after I sat down.
“How about a Diet Coke?”
“We don’t have Diet Coke.”
“You don’t have Diet Coke at this imaginary restaurant?”
“Nope.”
“OK, what do you have?”
“Um...coffee or tea.”
“I’ll take coffee.”
“Actually, we don’t have coffee. Do you want tea?”
Deciding to try my luck instead with their wine list, I summoned the
sommelier, who happened to be the owner’s younger sister. At only
3-years-old, she was on the younger side of wine experts and it quickly
became evident she had only gotten the job because of family
connections.
“Could you recommend a red, miss?”
“Red what?”
“Red wine.”
“Can I have some?”
“No.”
“Can I have pink wine then?”
The conversation quickly went off the rails from there. Resigning
myself to the fact that I would just be thirsty throughout this entire
meal, I was surprised, and somewhat wary, when the chef eventually
presented me with a pink teacup that sang “Twinkle, Twinkle”
incessantly.
“Here’s your coffee.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have coffee. Also, this is empty.”
“OK, it’s root beer.”
Restaurant’s signature dish is pizza. (Although entree options are
subject to change with little to no warning). With no menu in sight, I
decided that would likely be my best bet. Even bad pizza is still
pizza. Or, at least, it had been up until now.
“I’d like to order a pizza, please,” I informed the chef.
“Oh yes, pizza. Pizza has sauce and cheese. And crust. And...um...do you want mushrooms on it?”
“No.”
“Well, you have to have mushrooms on it.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how this works.”
“It is.”
“Oh.”
The kitchen, a converted bedroom in the back of the house, came alive
with the sounds of clanging toy pots and pans and what definitely
better not be my expensive William Sonoma kitchen utensils stolen from
a certain drawer. Luckily, I didn’t have time to ruminate on this long
since my dish arrived quickly (under two minutes, in fact, by my
count). On the down side, it resembled nothing even vaguely pizza-like.
The crust looked like a slab of cardboard (mostly because it was actual
cardboard). The sauce looked suspiciously like Play-Doh covered in dog
hair but at least it was red. I was informed by the chef that the
“cheese” on my pizza was definitely cheese and not a blank piece of
paper. And yes, there were mushrooms as well. Plastic mushrooms.
Plucked straight from the toy aisle years ago in the Kmart region of
the Northeast.
“Here’s your pizza!” Chef Riker announced while delicately placing the dish down on my criss-crossed lap.
“Oh...wow.”
“Take a bite!”
Wanting to retain a fragment of my professionalism, I did as I was told.
“Mmm…this is...interesting.”
But the chef had already run off by then, pitter-pattering off to do
more important chef stuff one can only assume. Or perhaps to scold the
improper behavior of his sommelier, who was at this point was crawling
around on the floor meowing and yelling “Momma! Look! I’m a kitty cat!”
Unsure what to do next, I sat there uncomfortably while my fellow
patron at Restaurant started barking and making quite the ruckus.
Likely because his pizza didn’t turn out as he expected either.
To my relief, Riker soon returned with a towering stack of Legos.
“I forgot your dessert.” he apologized. “Here you go. It’s ice cream!”
I’m sure it will come as no surprise that the ice cream was as unpalatable as everything else had been.
“So, what do you think of my restaurant?” Riker asked, standing there with hope in his eyes.
“Best meal I ever had, chef.”
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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