Just wanted to update everyone on my status with Pies and Thighs. The best way for me to that is with a quick story…
After enjoying one of the best episodes of Lost ever at the Knitting Factory, me and the other nerd I know that’s into Lost stopped by Pies and Thighs on the way home. (Remember I’m around the corner from the beast.)
We ordered the Catfish Box which is basically an order of two strips of the best fried fish I’ve ever had in the US, cornbread, a side, in this case Mac and Cheese, and coleslaw. The tartar sauce was laced with hot sauce, as most things are here, and balance the salty crunchy coating on the fish. Oh, and we ordered some apple pie and a cookie.
That may be enough to suggest how serious this situation is. Me next to some of the most hard to resist food I can think of. Everything is either fried, crunchy or hot sauce injected. Even the biscuits have a snap to them. But no, this is not enough to suggest the true nature of the situation.
Once done with our meal, we were unsure what to do with the plates and silverware. I said leave it on the table. My friend said we were supposed to bring it up. Personally, I think self-bussed table are BS but I digress. In any case, she was right as the appropriately chic hipster, relaxing with some after-work pie nodded in agreement. To my defense I stated that I had only been there twice. To the shock of the employee, she reminded me that they had only been open for two days.
Who knew that authors had such a way with words? You figure if they can be so descriptive and explanatory they would have been able to do something about print dying. But I digress as I picture my co-blogger launching a hot cup of grande latte at my head.
Jay-Z really does get schooled here. Smith Mag held a contest to see who can better Mr. H to the Izzo in just 6 words. I appreciate that the intention isn’t to gloat, rather to reclaim the description of New York put forth by “Empire State of Mind.” Hova maybe an easy target on this one, but even I noticed that despite how much I love the anthem, the lyrics are hollow.
Jay-Z: “The city of sin is a pity on a whim.”
Smith Mag Author: “Can’t have simultaneously: job, apt, relationship.”
That the author’s re-imagining of the verses are both funnier and more compelling is a tribute to the talent that goes into the art of writing. Oh and every description being 6 words in length is like a big middle finger to Twittter. Awesome.
Dirty armpits. Yup, I’m sad to say but it’s true. Well, I’m not sad that it smells like that. I’m sad that I know what it smells like because there is no reason to know what it smells like. I don’t intentionally water down my Jameson. Yes, I like an ice cube and yes it will melt but people splash water in even the best whiskeys. This was no slight watering down to reduce the bite my friends, this was the dirty act of a shit-head bartender.
OK, it probably wasn’t the bartender’s fault. I’m sure this offensive directive comes down from management, so perhaps I should be referring to shit-head managers. The idea that the 400% markup is not enough makes me so angry. How hard is it to be a little honest?
This is a rare occurrence but having just experienced it forced me to vent. Jameson on the rocks $10. That’s about two shots for what buys you 1/4 of a liter at a liquor store. But I get it, I know a bar needs to make money. And hey, we’re all willing to shell out for it. So at least, please, give me what I pay for.