Dear Internet,
I am breaking my pledge, and am visiting you on the weekends. I know, I know. I promise to do better next weekend. Really. I sware. I'll try to do better. Maybe. One can hope.
Anyway, Internet, I had the day off on Wednesday for Veterans Day. I chose to sleep in, and then attempted to prolong the experience by eating breakfast in bed. I chose cereal. This was an unwise choice, Internet, since it involved milk, and for the first time ever, I spilled milk in bed. Mind you, I didn't care so much about the spilled milk, nor did I cry over it; I cared more that I'd spilled a liquid on my bed. I guess that proves I should not be lazing around any longer than necessary, nor should I eat in bed (at least not anything that involves milk).
Then last night I went to see Jerry Seinfeld at the Orpheum in Mpls. Hilarious, Internet: I haven't laughed so hard in ever so long a time, and afterwards I fully realized that belly laughs = belly hurts. (Also, throat hurts from chortling overly much.)
Anyway, Seinfeld was going on about restaurants (To paraphrase: "What is it about restaurants that are so fancy? I want a restaurant where the food is 'not bad.' The restaurants that are 'great' are just too much. They drizzle sauce on stuff. Everything's drizzled. And what is it about reductions? If you quit reducing your sauce so much, you wouldn't have to drizzle it on. I want someone in the kitchen to just open a huge can of some kind of sauce and just dump it on. That's what I want..." and other similar stories), and one of the things he said kind of stood out to me: Have you noticed how they present you the bill in a book? "And now begins the reading of the bill..."
And this made me think of something, Internet: How disconcerting is it when you're a customer and you're given a menu on recycled paper that looks as though the maitre d' dragged it through the grease in the alley before handing it to you, and then later on hands you a small leather-bound volume with elegant gold embossed lettering known as the bill? You'd think it would be the other way around. I would like to know the restaurateur believes in his menu just the same as he believes he is to be paid (and as Seinfeld said, pay for some drizzled reduction). I think restaurants should take notice: If they must print the menu on copier paper, put some fancy font to it and then slip it into a leather-bound volume - preferably one that's thicker and with more substance than the one the tab comes in. Just sayin', Internet.
Love, as ever,
Minny LinnEy
I am breaking my pledge, and am visiting you on the weekends. I know, I know. I promise to do better next weekend. Really. I sware. I'll try to do better. Maybe. One can hope.
Anyway, Internet, I had the day off on Wednesday for Veterans Day. I chose to sleep in, and then attempted to prolong the experience by eating breakfast in bed. I chose cereal. This was an unwise choice, Internet, since it involved milk, and for the first time ever, I spilled milk in bed. Mind you, I didn't care so much about the spilled milk, nor did I cry over it; I cared more that I'd spilled a liquid on my bed. I guess that proves I should not be lazing around any longer than necessary, nor should I eat in bed (at least not anything that involves milk).
Then last night I went to see Jerry Seinfeld at the Orpheum in Mpls. Hilarious, Internet: I haven't laughed so hard in ever so long a time, and afterwards I fully realized that belly laughs = belly hurts. (Also, throat hurts from chortling overly much.)
Anyway, Seinfeld was going on about restaurants (To paraphrase: "What is it about restaurants that are so fancy? I want a restaurant where the food is 'not bad.' The restaurants that are 'great' are just too much. They drizzle sauce on stuff. Everything's drizzled. And what is it about reductions? If you quit reducing your sauce so much, you wouldn't have to drizzle it on. I want someone in the kitchen to just open a huge can of some kind of sauce and just dump it on. That's what I want..." and other similar stories), and one of the things he said kind of stood out to me: Have you noticed how they present you the bill in a book? "And now begins the reading of the bill..."
And this made me think of something, Internet: How disconcerting is it when you're a customer and you're given a menu on recycled paper that looks as though the maitre d' dragged it through the grease in the alley before handing it to you, and then later on hands you a small leather-bound volume with elegant gold embossed lettering known as the bill? You'd think it would be the other way around. I would like to know the restaurateur believes in his menu just the same as he believes he is to be paid (and as Seinfeld said, pay for some drizzled reduction). I think restaurants should take notice: If they must print the menu on copier paper, put some fancy font to it and then slip it into a leather-bound volume - preferably one that's thicker and with more substance than the one the tab comes in. Just sayin', Internet.
Love, as ever,
Minny LinnEy
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