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I Am Sorry Iron Hen.

18 May

You are too hip. Almost tragically so…

You are not Grandma-friendly. I can’t go to you. I can’t wheel Grandma in and spend twenty minutes at your ultra-rushed counter trying to explain why you have taken a perfectly simple thing like slaw and fucked it up with red cabbage, walnuts and wasabi/horseradish sauce. I just can’t. There are some things that just are, slaw being one of them.

Don’t get me wrong, you have some good things. You know you do and you sell the shit out of them every day, but really, sweet potato chips? Really? They are pretty to look at, but they suck. They have the consistency of a scab and salt will not stick to them, and really, if a side can’t even hold salt, what’s the fucking point?

Gluten free this and eco-friendly that. I am tired just thinking about you. You wear me out. I guess maybe 8 years ago I could have mustered some enthusiasm for this slowcavore stuff, but not now. I am Earth Day’d out. I just want a sandwich. I don’t want to stand in line, I don’t want to wonder what in the hell Tasso gravy is. I don’t want a photo of my wait staff on my table.

Actually, I think Grandma and I will just head into Brown-Gardiner and try and decipher your fauxhemian menu over a patty melt and toast our good decision with an orangeade. Though I fear in doing so, we may accidentally be giving ourselves the ultimate hipster reach-around in going old school.

Maybe we’ll both wear our Converse high tops. But only ironically, you know?

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