LITTLE FISH IN A DEEP FRIED SEA

I can’t seem to get enough of this topic. But, I’ve got an idea, and I want to run it by my trusty readers. I want to open a restaurant in a rather untapped area. One where there are not enough seats to accommodate the hungry public. I want a catchy name, deep fried appetizers, and a friendly mascot. I was thinking of putting this restaurant in the Maine mall area in South Portland. By now, you are probably picking up on my sarcasm, because I’m laying it on thicker than the BBQ sauce from Chili’s.

It is now beyond ridiculous. There are a thousand restaurants in that area.....all serving the same food.

“Oh, oh, I just can’t decide! Do I want the Olive Garden or the Mac and Cheese grill? Do I want Bugaboo Creek or Lone Star? That Border place or Chili’s?”

Let’s face it. You’ll walk in, get greeted by the underappreciated hostess, (just ask her), meet the unhappy with his or her life, so they’re settling with this mascot, and sit around looking at a ton of useless paraphernalia on the walls. Street signs, jerseys, mirrors from the fair and a ton of other unmentionablesare all over the place. It’s as if all of the restaurants got together, stole a bunch of street signs one night, got drunk, and broke into some rich voyeuristic hermit’s home and stole all of his stuff. These are the items that now adorn the walls at these dumps.

Dumps, you say? I know that you think I’m an idiot for saying that, because you love the mozzarella sticks at the Ground Round, but why wouldn’t you, it’s deep fried cheese! Say it with me. DEEP FRIED CHEESE! Of course it’s good. You take a block of cheese, roll it in raw egg, cover it with stale bread crumbs, and throw it in a boiling vat of grease. Why wouldn’t you like it.

All I’m saying is that you’ll find the same crap at the Bugaboo crack house that you’ll find at the Clone Star. Or TGI Chiligrillgarden. Or Eastsideweatherhut.

So here I am taking a stand. I want to open a place that tells the truth. One that embraces the best of all worlds. A restaurant that puts it right out there. I’ll call it Angina’s. Or MSG’s. How ‘bout that?

You’ll walk in, a 600 pound host will wheel you to your table, you’ll get deep fried bread not slathered in butter, but soaked in it. My apps will be Twice fried cheese sticks, These will make you cramp Buffalo wings, and our real special, the “you bring it in, we’ll fry it” special. You can bring in a bucket of smelts, or a cat shit encrusted shoe sole, and you’ll have my personal guarantee that my fully trained chef’s can make it to your liking. On the walls, there will be death certificates, pictures of medics giving the thumbs up, and quilted toilet paper. Out front, there will be a “NO PARKING AMBULANCE LANE” sign. Our sign will read “Angina’s, a honest DIEning experience.”

Pass the butter, please.