GUY FIERI, have you eaten at your new restaurant in Times Square? Have
you pulled up one of the 500 seats at Guy’s American Kitchen & Bar
and ordered a meal? Did you eat the food? Did it live up to your
expectations?
Did panic grip your soul as you stared into the whirling hypno wheel of
the menu, where adjectives and nouns spin in a crazy vortex? When you
saw the burger described as “Guy’s Pat LaFrieda custom blend,
all-natural Creekstone Farm Black Angus beef patty, LTOP (lettuce,
tomato, onion + pickle), SMC (super-melty-cheese) and a slathering of
Donkey Sauce on garlic-buttered brioche,” did your mind touch the void
for a minute?
Did you notice that the menu was an unreliable predictor of what
actually came to the table? Were the “bourbon butter crunch chips”
missing from your Almond Joy cocktail, too? Was your deep-fried
“boulder” of ice cream the size of a standard scoop?
What exactly about a small salad with four or five miniature croutons
makes Guy’s Famous Big Bite Caesar (a) big (b) famous or (c) Guy’s, in
any meaningful sense?
Were you struck by how very far from awesome the Awesome Pretzel Chicken
Tenders are? If you hadn’t come up with the recipe yourself, would you
ever guess that the shiny tissue of breading that exudes grease onto the
plate contains either pretzels or smoked almonds? Did you discern any
buttermilk or brine in the white meat, or did you think it tasted like
chewy air?
Why is one of the few things on your menu that can be eaten without fear
or regret — a lunch-only sandwich of chopped soy-glazed pork with
coleslaw and cucumbers — called a Roasted Pork Bahn Mi, when it
resembles that item about as much as you resemble Emily Dickinson?
When you have a second, Mr. Fieri, would you see what happened to the black bean and roasted squash soup we ordered?
Hey, did you try that blue drink, the one that glows like nuclear waste?
The watermelon margarita? Any idea why it tastes like some combination
of radiator fluid and formaldehyde?
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