Dykes with forks: I'm sick of Progresso Edition

I have cabin fever. After coming home from work early on Monday, I never made it out of the neighborhood on Tuesday. Oh sure, I got out to try and put ice melt on the driveway so I could drive to work. Which resulted in my falling.

But then, the mere act of waking up often results in my falling. I digress.

The weekend is upon us and I figure the rest of y’all have thoughts towards finally escaping the house, so I give you a very special Dykes With Forks, Dear God I’m Sick of Progresso Edition.

We’ll start with the bad news first. Usually, I give a restaurant at least two tries before I write it off entirely. This is not something I’ll do for Rivals Casual Grill on Glenstone. As the girlfriend says, “The food sure is bad, but at least it costs a lot.”

The girlfriend had ribs and I had a burger. We should have known we were in trouble when the ribs came out with a steak knife. Eek. Don’t know about y’all, but those of us what spent time in the South know ribs are supposed to just fall off the bone when you look at ‘em cross. These ribs darn near needed a chainsaw to separate them from the bone.

The bacon cheeseburger tasted a bit like barbeque-flavored sawdust with some strips of leather tossed on for color. The cost for our meal, with tip was about $35. As I said, I generally give a place two shots but given our waitress completely ignored us, couldn’t tell me what the beer specials were and seated us right in a draft despite the establishment not being too crowded … I’m not feeling too charitable.

The good news, Pan Asia on Walnut between Campbell and South rocks the cat box. The place is small, quiet and as yet doesn’t have a liquor license but the food is delicious and the prices are great. So far I’ve sampled the Ginger Chicken, the Chicken Pad Thai and the BoBon. All of which are phenomenal. The girlfriend has also had the Pad Thai and the Cashew Chicken. Her only complaint was the Cashew Chicken was a little too salty. We’re also big fans of their Crab Rangoons and California Rolls.

We’ve eaten there at least four times and the tab has never been over $30 with tip. Well worth the trip downtown and, given I’m getting old and crotchedy, the quiet atmosphere doesn’t hurt. Quiet that is except when I drag the lesbigaggle there … in which case there’s a racket.

An Open Letter to GO Magazine

Dykes with forks will be brought to you this week by Disgruntled Foodie. In fact, expect lots from her. She's far meaner than we could EVER be. This week she shares an email she sent to the editors of GO Magazine.

Dear GO Magazine:

Please GO away.

This weekend, I stopped in the Coffee Ethic for coffee and a bagel to kick start my Saturday. I picked up a copy of GO to read while I swilled my caffeine. My intelligence was immediately offended.

From the ridiculous puff piece on dive bars, (and you make it readily apparent you wouldn’t know what an actual dive bar was if it walked up and bit you on your pretentious hind end) to the completely out of date, and somewhat offensive, blurb on the now defunct JR’s bar under the Gay and Lesbian bar section I was appalled.

Just so you know, JR’s closed months ago. The bar is still a gay friendly place, but it’s now under new ownership and is called Trick. It has been since sometime in November. And the catty little comment about it being “the nicest gay bar on Commercial Street” (because I’m guessing it’s the only one) is petty and childish.

But I digress.

What REALLY got me was your “review” of The French Quarter restaurant.

I grew up in a town where food reviewers worked hard to maintain a low profile so that they could go into dining establishments without notice. The idea, you see, is to not only get a sense of the food but also the service. As a food reviewer, the job is to let people know what they can expect when they go spend their hard earned cash on a night out. Another part of the job is to have the cajones to say a place sucks if it’s warranted.

Review, you see, means to critically examine. Your “review” of French Quarter is no better than a third rate recommendation. And I’m certain your experience at the establishment would be far different from mine as the average customer because I’m reasonably certain your profile while visiting was anything but low.

How? Because you dragged Jeff Jenkins with you. Jenkins, in addition to being Mr. Skinny Improv, must have his nose fairly far up the GO Edtior’s posterior given his name and photo are sprinkled liberally throughout the publication. I wonder what kind of discount the two of you got as well?

Regardless, Jenkins was likely recognized and I doubt you were treated the same as Joe or Judy Ordinary Customer.

I also got to wondering if this was just a one off thing. I’m willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Until, that is, I combed through the online GO Eats archive. I found nary a “review” there. I found a few quirky and unreliable “rating systems,” a ridiculous number of articles on hot dogs, a comparison of Ocean Zen and Wal Mart’s sushi offerings, but not a single review.

Clearly, that’s because you don’t know how to write one. You’d be doing your readership a far bigger favor by simply printing the Health Department reports. At least then they’d know where it was SAFE to eat.

Now look, I realize you’ve got bills to pay and that means advertisers to keep happy. I also realize a fair number of your advertisers are restaurants … and Jeff Jenkins. At least, I hope he’s paying you. Otherwise, you’re getting raped on free press for the guy.

If you want to write favorably about local eateries, that’s just groovy, but don’t insult our intelligence by calling them reviews.

Sincerely,

An Insulted Foodie

One point of clarification: I've never eaten at The French Quarter and have no predisposition to how the food or service is at said establishment. My complaint was NOT with the restaurant, rather with the way the restaurant was "reviewed" er, recommended.

Dykes with forks: Samurai Sausage

In the holiday rush, the girlfriend and I did a lot of dining out this weekend (PLEASE, spare me the eating out jokes). And, as usual, our gastronomic forays were blogworthy.

Saturday morning, we stopped at the Montgomery Truck Stop. This place makes no pretension about being anything other than what it is: a greasy spoon. I am an enormous fan of the greasy spoon. And while Montgomery’s isn’t big on ambiance, the food is good and cheap.

I mentioned ambiance. The ambiance in Montgomery’s Saturday involved a gentleman who liked ventilation … in his pants. As I gulped a cup of coffee to bring myself out of my morning coma, this guy stands up and makes something of a show of adjusting himself out of the booth. As he did so, the enormous hole in the crotch of his jeans gave me a glimpse of sausage and I’m not talking about Jimmy Dean.

Oh. Ew. Thankfully, I have a strong constitution and was able to put the little exhibitionist out of my mind. Ahem.

At lunch time, we needed a quick bite and a co-worker had mentioned Samurai Sam’s out on Republic Rd. We happened to be out there, so we ducked in to check it out.

The official Dykes With Forks verdict? Don’t waste your money. The Teriyaki sauce on the chicken yaki soba bowl had an odd smoke aftertaste to it and the egg roll had clearly been microwaved. I would have done better to have purchased frozen egg rolls and a Healthy Choice Steamer at Wal Mart. At least that cardboard concoction would be a little tastier.

Got some place you want us to review? Want to write your own send up of a dining establishment? Send me an email or drop me a line in the comments!