Snarky Restaurant Reviews

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This is Jonas Knox from Two Pros and a Cup of Joe.

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Hello and welcome to Citation Eated, a podcast where we choose a subject, read a single article about it on Wikipedia, and pretend we're experts because this is the internet.

That's how it works now.

I'm Cecil, and we'll be punting this week.

So I introduce the one guy that hates football and the other two that have home football teams as bad or worse than mine, Eli Heath and Noah.

Okay.

Okay.

Somewhere there's a parallel universe where Dungeons and Dragons is the most popular activity, and you sporties aren't allowed out after school,

too.

Yeah, me too.

Yeah, yeah.

So I should point out there are 16 pairings of human beings in all of Earth that Bears fans can talk shit to.

But as a Giants and Jags fan, respectively, Cecil has happened upon one of those 16 pairings.

We'll play four more games left.

I think the Wolverines could take the Bears on a good week.

I'm just saying.

That's my hometown team.

And the Lions.

I'm a Lions.

The Lions certainly can.

Yeah, me too.

I always have been.

Season tickets to.

I'm a huge Vikings fan.

No, I'm not.

I can't say that.

Listen, I'm not going to Metland Stadium with Aaron Rodgers, getting all the COVID up in there.

Absolutely not.

It's true.

Let's talk about Bill Belichick for a a while.

Do you know he has a fucking 24-year-old girlfriend?

Oh, you traded up to an older lady.

No, she just aged.

She just aged.

Last time I heard about that story.

Imagine telling your dad you're dating 98-year-old Bill Belichick.

I will shoot.

Odds are, though, that like

your dad is also kind of like, oh, but like, is he going to come up with a damn thing?

Also, if he marries her, she's okay for the rest of her life.

I'd shoot myself, but I'd be like, honey, you got to do what you got to do.

Bam!

Right.

And then just sprack.

The good thing is, is that they're both experts on deflated balls.

All right.

Well, let's move on.

Not joining us tonight is Tom.

We had a script written for today, but Tom is out with a very sick wife right now.

So we have to.

shift a little bit this week with a late change.

So instead of just one of us writing an essay and the rest of us riffing on it, we decided to take two really snarky restaurant reviews from newspapers and read them while offering the normal peanut gallery commentary.

We hope you like it, but in reality, this was one of the only ways we could get a show to you this week.

I apologize.

Yeah.

Right.

No, we hope you like it, but we know you'll take it.

That's a hell of an opening bid, Cecil.

But, you know, they appreciate the honesty of it, I'm sure.

Exactly what it says on Guy Fieri's restaurants.

We'll get to it.

Yeah.

Okay.

But I still don't know why Tom called us doing doing the fake sick voice you have to do when you call out of work.

Like, does it mean you do this?

Was there a fire burning in the background on that voicemail he left for us?

It felt like there was.

That one's like an apocalypse happening.

He's got a lot of kids.

That's the general sound of having that many kids.

If you are on a phone call and you have four kids, something is on fire when you have a kid.

You have to get off the phone call.

Those are just the rules.

So while we're here, we'd like to take a moment to thank our patrons who have heard us do this sort of thing before for patrons.

So thanks again, patrons, for being amazing.

You liked it then.

You pretended at least.

And if you like what you hear today and you want to hear more things like this, you can become a patron to our show.

Stick around and we'll tell you how.

And with that out of the way, tell us, Heath, what person, place, thing, concept, phenomenon, or event we'll be talking about today.

We're going to be reading two snarky restaurant reviews.

One from the Sydney Morning Herald on Coco Roco and the other from the New York Times on Guy's American Kitchen and Bar.

That is Guy's

place.

Amazing.

New York.

Let's dive right in.

Okay, so this is Coco Roco by Matthew Evans in the Sydney Morning Herald from 2002.

Worst thing that happened that year.

When dining on the view is the only recommendation.

If a restaurant serves good as well as bad food, do you give it the benefit of the doubt?

I eat at Huddle at 2 a.m., man.

You have placed the bar too high.

I wouldn't do that with a three-chef's hat restaurant.

So why should I do it here?

Especially when more than half the dishes I've tried are simply unpalatable.

Okay, so far, this is just Noah describing every restaurant he's ever eaten at.

So just the ones that we've eaten at, Eli.

If you go to fucking Huddle House with me, I'll be fine.

That's fair.

That's fair.

Go, go, Roco.

I'm not pregnant.

And you don't smoke yet.

That's right.

Go Go Roco is the swank new eatery at King Street Wharf.

The opening was touted as Sydney's most glamorous restaurant.

If glamour peaked at about 1985, then perhaps they're right.

It did.

It did.

God got them.

Though.

Something about the warmer.

Something about the polished stainless steel around the open kitchen and the black reflector tiles in the bathroom make me feel I should be wearing a pink shirt and a thin leather tie.

Maybe it's just me.

I think you had a different 80s than I did, man.

Actually, all that stuff is back in because Gen Z can't afford to shop anywhere but thrift stores and estate sales.

So it makes sense.

So let me.

And pink shirt, thin leather.

That sounds

great.

You should be in that, right?

You know, have good food and wear that.

Okay, continuing.

What is not disputable is that this place had a $3 million fit out, has views westwards over the water, and scored Sarah O'Hare as its official guest at the opening.

I don't know what any of that is, but it's dude.

It's 20 years ago and it's across the world.

And it's Australian stuff.

She's the host of Australia's Next Top Model.

Okay.

All right.

Okay.

He continues.

It set itself up as a flash restaurant with big end-of-town prices.

Its business card even boasts that a new level of dining comes to Sydney's King Street Wharf.

I couldn't agree more.

When you're opening, Gambit is the host of Australia's next top model.

It's not a great sign for your food, right?

No, right.

Like, at least get me a fact guy.

Where's Jack Black eating?

That's what I want to know.

Where did Jack Black go in this farm?

Way more relevant.

Good point.

Trader.

Coco Roco is actually two restaurants.

Coco, the posh place upstairs

off Lime Street and Sibling Roco,

also smartly fitted out on the foreshore.

Forever in pursuit of excellence, we choose the more expensive option.

Oh, God, it sounds like Eli and Heath making me eat at $100 brunch with a 63-minute wait.

And that coconut pancake foam was exquisite.

And listen, it's the price of eggs went up.

Puevos is hard to get.

Exactly.

It's inflation.

It's economy.

That's why we voted for Trump.

Thanks, Biden.

Expensive is right, he continued.

Mains skid dizzily from a vegetarian dish at just under $30 and crash over the $50 mark.

It's a brave restaurateur who tries that without the goods to back it up.

Well, you could just package it with one of those little static covers, really nice box like an iPhone.

Totally worth it then.

All right, the most scathing review this person could offer is: this restaurant cooks like I write.

A degustation of oysters, $28 for $6, $40 for $12, arrives as different flavored bivalves rather than oysters from various regions.

Relax.

There's a saffron.

I will not relax.

I will not calm down.

There is a saffron-infused gin one.

If you picture him being dragged ankles out of the restaurant, Wali says this review, it makes you imagine

the right thing.

That's what almost certainly happened.

There's a saffron-infused gin one.

There's a seafood foam, which looks like it's been piped on top.

Texture is scary.

And let's be polite, not my tastes.

He means like cum, everybody.

Hey, whenever anyone in food means let's be polite, they mean this tastes just like cum.

And so I'm going to say this instead.

And I enjoy that more.

The limoncello, however, is worse.

Flavors jangle like a car crash.

Jangle?

Oh, that's a weird choice of the verb.

Yes.

Okay.

Thank you.

All at once, it's sickly sweet, overtly alcoholic, slippery, salty, and bitter.

I feel like that last sentence was on Heath's Tinder profile.

Not to be a pedant here, but slippery isn't a flavor, guys.

That's a

yeah, it's a texture, different

thing.

I'm beefing.

When fat acid heat was a cool name for my tinder profile, since they'll make me change it,

whatever.

He continues: only the lone natural oyster is gloriously free from interference, and there's an exquisite verge jelly on another.

Next up, the carpaccio of beef, $22,

comes with a dreary roast almond paste underneath and far too many yellowing rocket leaves on top.

The meat itself is fine.

It's fine.

Although the Parmesan cheese strips taste tired.

Sorry, tired?

Did the bread get married too young and now it and its wife have grown apart?

The cheese is suffering from ennui and I will not have it.

I bet he didn't tell his waiter that he thought the parmesan tasted tired.

Can you give me more energetic parmesan parmesan here?

Yeah, they could throw it in your face.

Can I get an espresso for the Parmesan?

Am I right?

Is that my right?

Cartoon people I dined at this meal with.

Yes, that's exactly right.

We are all wearing monochrome.

I just, I truly hate this reviewer so much.

I want to go to this restaurant for spike because I hate this reviewer so much.

I bet we could all agree the restaurant with the reviewer in it should have been bombed.

Small Queensland scallops, $24 on jagged shells.

I hurt myself is implied.

Maybe eat better.

Don't hurt yourself.

I'll throw my ACL eating your jagged shells.

You weren't supposed to eat the shells, man, of the scallops.

They were so jagged I could barely choke them down.

Jagged shells with cauliflower and vanilla nearly work, but are uninteresting to me.

Oh, uninteresting.

Are you guys picturing a scallop that won't stop talking about how, like, we really needed this rain?

Jesus.

So, the blockchain, hey man, you got fucking jagged shells.

Shut up.

Parking around here is ridiculous.

Yeah, they say use a garage, but if it's going to end up being 80, oh my God, I'll eat your shell.

I'll eat the shell.

Why anyone would put apricots in a sherry-scented white sauce with a prime rib steak is beyond me.

We live in a society here.

Thank you, guy, backing me up.

A generous chalk of meat comes perfectly rested, medium, as ordered.

But,

but,

the halves of apricot are rubbery and tasteless, which is probably a good thing.

I scrape the whole wretched garnish to one side.

The meat has a good length of of flavor.

Do you measure that?

Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Is that a thing?

Yeah, the length of it.

Like,

as you're chewing it, you're counting.

1, 1,000, 2, 1,000.

All right.

Well, it has a the meat is good on that and is a damned fine steak, even if it is $52.

I can't help but think at this price, I could be dining at Rockpool for God's sake.

On a side dish, three housemade mustard's milk, Guinness.

Hey, what?

Yeah, I don't know.

I don't know.

I read what this person wrote.

Three housemade mustard's milk.

I can't tell if milk is a verb or a noun there.

It doesn't matter.

Three housemade mustard's milk, Guinness, and lavender prove that some things are better left alone.

Last sentence also on Heath's Tinder profile.

That's true.

It goes to a dark.

There's a video of him milking that mustard.

Got some interesting matches.

Everybody's making fun.

The other main roast chicken, $35,

is outstandingly dull.

Got him.

Which is odd considering it's a Glenloth bird that I usually love.

A few days later, in the interests of impartiality, I am back.

This time, it's a salad to start, $8.

Sweetly dressed.

with honey and balsamic vinegar and topped with fine crest.

It's not great, but passable, except for a few wilting leaves.

Okay, I'd love to hear about the time anybody had a great salad.

No, I don't want to hear that.

A poached beef filet, $46, shows, like last visit, they can cook a steak.

This time, it's medium-rare, although the meat is curiously dry on the edges, but the accompanying broth is well below average.

It is sticky sweet with pork and the overcooked potatoes floating in it do it no favors at all.

Oxtail and sweet bread dumplings are a delight, however.

But should have fucking gone to Huddle House.

I keep trying to tell him.

It's true.

No one was across from him the entire time he was having this meal.

Yeah.

Scattered and smothered.

I've never had pork belly that could almost be described as dry.

Almost?

Yeah.

Strange.

It's a disease technically.

Until tonight,

a generous square of pig's paunch, $33.

I like the title of that.

Yeah, is snuggled into a mass of starchy lentils.

The meat is unevenly spiced with Moorish flavor.

Whoa, yikes.

Yikes.

I hope that's cool in Australia.

Not so much here and now, I don't think.

Let's do those a different time, everyone.

Wow.

And the lentils are poor.

Texturally, it brings to mind the poor sign equal of a parched queetix.

That's fucking Australian cereal or something.

Yeah, it's the big, big cracker.

So, for those of you wondering, Moorish flavors means it's Middle Eastern and North African food.

That said, it would probably be best to update the term from when William Shakespeare meant it as an insult.

Thank you.

For dessert, Honeycomb Cheesecake, $17,

has little to recommend it with its soggy pastry base.

Compared with the Raspberry and Shiraz sorbet, however, it is heaven.

A dismal pyramid of sorbet, $15.

Jangles, don't use jangles, man.

Stop

never using it right.

Yeah.

A dismal pyramid of sorbet jangles the mouth like a gamelayan concert.

That's okay.

I looked this up actually.

It's like a traditional, like, I think Japanese-toned percussive instrument.

Indonesia, yeah.

Indonesian?

Okay.

Weird thing.

Yeah.

I do think that this review strayed slightly into ranking the races towards the end.

Yeah.

No, I looked it up as well.

It turns out the etymology, it's Javanese for, I'd like to simultaneously sound pretentious and simplistic, please.

Okay.

Yeah.

That sounds accurate.

Okay.

Continuing.

Poached berries underneath are okay,

except for what I guessed might have been soggy blackberries, but I'm not sure.

Gross.

It could be argued that cocoa is still settling in, but apricots in sherry-scented white sauce aren't meant to garnish a ribeye of beef.

He's coming back.

He's got a coffee.

He is furious about sherry-scented white sauce and whether or not it's apropos with

the menu.

Abuse their own kids to death.

And I read about it.

I feel the same way.

The menu is not held back by minor glitches, it is flawed in concept and execution.

In a city where harborside dining has improved out of sight in recent years, it is a bleak spot on the culinary landscape.

Wow, starting to sound like a therapy session all of us have attended at one time in our lives.

Why don't we take a moment for some apropos of nothing?

Thank God, I hate talking in this guy's voice.

Even I don't care if it was Australian, it was pretentious.

Hey, podcast listener, I'm Eli Bosnick.

And I'm Heath Enright.

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Okay, so the last review was of a restaurant on another continent.

Is there something a little closer to home?

Perhaps some beloved frosted-tipped fire shirt-wearing star owns it?

Indeed, there is, Cecil.

Indeed, there is.

In fact, it's the reason for the episode today.

The most destructive piece of restaurant criticism ever written is what we've got for you.

I'm talking, of course, about, as not seen on TV, the review of Guy's American Kitchen and Bar in Times Square by Pete Wells of the New York Times.

I want to point out in advance that I've eaten at one Guy Fury restaurant and I went on to have a heart attack immediately after.

I'm just saying, I bet I can offer something more scathing than this motherfucker over here.

I'm going to get a sword from this podcast.

All right.

Well, take a listen and decide if that remains true at the end.

Here's the review from Pete Wells.

It begins.

Guy Fieri, that's the last time I'm saying his name like that.

It's Fieri.

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 and 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 Lafrida custom blend, all-natural Creekstone Farm Black Angus Beef Patty, L-T-O-P or L-TOP, that's lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle, SMC,

super melty cheese.

I hate it.

I hate that.

That's so much damn it.

I've never been to this place.

I already hate it.

And a slathering of donkey sauce on a garlic-buttered brioche.

Did your mind touch the void for a minute?

I can say this with no hyperbole.

There is no force in the verse that can make me consume something called donkey sauce.

I am sorry.

Oh, challenge accepted, Cecil.

Challenge accepted.

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 Amon Joy cocktail too?

God,

was your deep-fried, quote, boulder of ice cream the size of a standard scoop?

Okay, I hated the food and the portions are too small is a hell of a take.

Right?

Like, I'm sitting there just, excuse me, I believe I ordered a boulder's worth.

Here is a

just a scoop you seem to have given me.

He continues: What exactly about a small salad with four or five miniature croutons makes guys famous big bite Caesar A big, B famous, or C guys

in any meaningful sense?

I'm picturing on this guy like desperately suck it on Romaine so he can claim later that he also didn't bite it.

So he has a D, like giving up after the third Heimlink or something.

Fuck you.

I love that this entire review is in questions, in just furious

questions.

He continues, 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 bonhi 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?

Because it's blue.

Biggest rookie mistake ever.

Never drink the blue drink, man.

What the fuck?

Right.

Unless you prefer your breakups yelled while you're being arrested, then by all means, order the

also, that should be green.

There should be Midori in there.

It should be green.

I don't know why it would be blue.

Whatever.

Bring it up with Mr.

Just don't order watermelon margaritas period.

That's just stupid.

Oh, disagree.

What?

I would never even let a person or they'd be like, they'd come to.

I worked at TGI Fridays in Times Square, like a block from this fucking place.

People would try to order the dumb shit.

It's like, nope, no.

That's why you weren't made for the Fiati lifestyle.

You want fucking donkey sauce?

Go to Guy Fieri's.

This is a fucking TGI Fridays, motherfucker.

We are classy.

He continues this time about a different Guy Fieri location.

At your five Johnny Garlics restaurants in California.

Is that real?

He's got a place called Johnny Garlics, like a chain.

He says,

Wow.

At your five Johnny Garlics, if servers arrive with main courses and find the appetizers haven't been cleared yet, do they try to find space for the new plates next to the dirty ones?

Or does that just happen in Times Square where people are used to crowding?

In Times Square, you're lucky a guy wasn't sleeping on your table when you were seated, man.

Fair enough.

You read this review out loud into a mirror and Karen appears behind you or something.

If a customer shows up with a reservation at one of your two Tex Wasabi outlets and the rest of the party has already been seated, does the host say, why don't you have a look around and see if you can time it and point in the general direction of about 200 seats?

Fuck yeah.

I feel like the other option is to just take you to each party and ask if this is yours.

Did you guys is this guy this one with you?

No.

Next one.

What is going on at this new restaurant of yours, really?

Like,

like on a deeper spiritual level, Pete Wells?

Yeah.

Like,

emotionally?

Yeah.

Is that what you're asking, Guy Fier?

He is, though.

Has anyone ever told you that your high-wattage passion for no-collar American food makes you television's answer?

to Calvin Trillin?

If Mr.

Trillin bleached his hair, drove a Camaro, and drank boozy cream sickles.

When you cruise around the country for your show, diners, drive-ins, and dives, rasping out slangy odes to the unfancy places where Americans like to get down greasy, do you really mean it?

Or is it all an act?

Is that why the kind of cooking you celebrate on television is treated with so little respect at Guy's American Kitchen and Bar?

I'm sorry, wait.

Are you suggesting?

that a television personality might be pretending to be otherwise than they really are just because cameras are rolling.

I hope you brought some pretty damning evidence to back up that slander, sir.

It's just giving free.

I've actually heard Guy Fiery is pretty cool in real life.

I've heard he's like, he moderated a gay wedding.

He gives free pretzel machines to schools.

Okay, but Donkey sauce

called donkey sauce.

You're already on the hate transit.

It's delicious.

I bet it's delicious.

I bet it's artificial.

There's literally no way I'll ever know.

I will never know, Noah.

I'll never know.

We'll see.

I think it's just supposed to be like garlic ioli.

It's fine.

It's fine.

You can call it something else and I'll eat it at the moment it's called donkey sauce.

I will call it donkey sauce.

I'll call it.

I will move out of the state.

How, for example, did Rhode Island's supremely unhealthy and awesomely good fried calamari dressed with garlic butter and pickled hot peppers end up in your restaurant as a plate of pale, unsalted squid rings next to a dish of sweet mayonnaise with a distant rumor of like that's a huge spoiler for next week's essay we should

the reverse the people who listen to this in reverse order get all of that

sediction

listed you don't even know it how did louisiana's blackened cajun spice treatment turn into the ghostly nubs of unblackened unspiced white meat in your cajun chicken alfredo okay i know we're reading this because tom is out this week but are we sure he did not write to that

Well,

I'm pretty sure the fucking review gets to the point eight words in.

It's fair.

It's fair.

How did nachos, one of the hardest dishes in the American canon to mess up, turn out so deeply unlovable?

Unlovable.

Wow.

Why augment tortilla chips with...

fried lasagna noodles that taste like nothing except oil.

Why not bury those chips under a properly hot and filling layer of melted cheese and jalapenos instead of dribbling them with thin needles of pepperoni and cold gray clots of ground turkey?

By the way, would you let our server know that when we asked for chai,

he brought us a cup of hot water?

Okay, first of all, that's fucking hilarious.

B, you ordered chai at Guy's American kitchen and bar.

I'm sorry.

Oh, P.

Wells, did the baby you challenged to a fight outside not rise to the occasion either?

When you hung that sign by the entrance that says, welcome to Flavor Town, were you just messing with our heads?

Boy, this isn't a town at all.

It's just a restaurant.

Does this make it sound as if everything at Guy's American Kitchen and Bar is inedible?

I didn't say that, did I?

Tell me, though, why does your kitchen sabotage even its more appealing main courses with ruinous sides and sauces?

Why stifle a pretty good bison meatloaf in a sugary brown glaze with no undertow of acid or spice?

Undertoe?

Wow.

I kind of like that actually.

Yeah.

Pete Wells.

Solid.

Why send a serviceable herb-stuffed rotisserie chicken to the table in the company of your insipid rice-aroni variant?

Okay, if you're too good for rice-aroni, you're too good for me, man.

If you guys need me, I'm going to be at the fucking huddle house.

Yeah, rice-arroni is pretty good.

Pretty good.

It sounds better than San Francisco treats.

Great point.

Great point.

Everybody knows that.

Why undermine a big fist of slow-roasted pork shank, which might fly in many downtown restaurants if the general so-style sauce were a notch less sweet, with randomly shaped scraps of carrot that combine a tough, nearly raw crunch with the deadened, overcooked taste of school cafeteria vegetables.

Is this how you roll in Flavor Town?

Hey, guys, I try not to talk about my mental health too much on air, but in case you're wondering what my inner monologue is like, I just talk to me the way Pete Wells talks to Guy Fieti, in case you're wondering why I did it.

Do you pronounce your name in some weird, like, over-accent to be pretentious?

Yeah, that's how I get it.

How do you say Eli Bosnik in your head?

Boosniki.

Eli Bosnik.

Yeah, I figured it out.

Okay, okay.

Got it.

Somewhere within the yawning, three-level interior of Guy's American Kitchen and Bar, is there a long refrigerated tunnel that servers have to pass through to make sure that the French fries, already limp and oil-sogged, are also served cold?

Oh, if Guy had a secret refrigerated tunnel, you'd be hanging in it by now.

I like the idea of people just entering

the main floor with the food, but it's like steam coming out everywhere.

It's like the beginning of the Super Bowl when the team runs out or something like that.

I don't think that.

What accounts for the vast difference between the donkey sauce recipe you've published and the donkey sauce in your restaurant?

Why has the hearty, rustic peel of roasted garlic mayonnaise been replaced by something that tastes like Miracle Whip with minced raw garlic?

And when we hear the words donkey sauce, which part of the donkey are we supposed to think about?

What part you milk?

Come on now.

It's not that hard.

Yeah,

it's your imagination.

We'd already agreed it was the milk.

It's headed to Cecil's house right now.

I'm going to fly to your house and make you drink it all.

I'll drink all of it.

I'll drink all of it.

Bat taken, see dog.

Just doing shooter after shooter of fucking donkey sauce.

I'll drink a whole bottle of donkey sauce in front of you, and it won't be the third worst thing about my week.

Is the entire restaurant a very expensive piece of conceptual art?

Is the shapeless, structureless, baked Alaska that droops and slumps and collapses while you eat it or don't eat it supposed to be a representation in sugar and eggs of the experience of going insane?

Amazing.

Or E.D.

perhaps.

Why did the toasted marshmallow taste like fish?

Did you finish that blue drink?

Oh, and we never got our our Vegas fries.

Would you mind telling the kitchen that we don't need them?

Thanks.

Okay.

If you had to summarize what you learned in one sentence, Heath, what would it be?

Okay,

never go to Times Square unless it's a Broadway show.

Why are you going to Times Square?

Exactly.

Yep.

That's your point.

Are you ready for the quiz?

Let's do it.

All right, Heath.

How did Guy Fiati respond to Pete Wells's review?

A, by killing himself and leaving that review as the note or b by telling the today show quote i've been in the restaurant industry for 25 years this is an ever-changing evolving process do we do it perfect no are we striving to do it perfect yes come on all right yeah he's he's developing a vaccine it'll be fine it's got to be b it sounds like exactly what he would have said it is

i feel like we'd have heard about a all right

maybe it would have made this whole thing pretty fucking awkward right you know

all right I have a question for you, Heath.

What complaint has never been uttered about a meal at the huddle house?

A, the poteny was inauthentic.

B, the hints of smoked almond and the chicken tenders were understated.

C,

the sorbet somehow embodies a metallic ringing sound in your mouth.

Jangles?

What does that mean to you?

Jangles?

You're a double jangles.

Or D,

I made it all the way home without taking a shit.

Okay.

As soon as you started asking the question, I was like, it's all the above.

It's all the above.

No complaint has ever been uttered at a huddle house.

You just

exactly.

That is correct.

It is E secret,

and you're fine.

All right, Heath.

Don't go to time screen.

You're not fine.

You're not going to be fine for a while either.

It's going to be a few days for sure.

Your wife died pretty young.

Fine is relative.

All right.

Keith, we learned about an unappetizing mayonnaise-based sauce served at Flavor Town.

But what is the whitest sauce?

A, cracker dressing.

B,

white supreme sauce.

C,

honky sauce, or D,

white flight, flight, flight.

Okay, white, flight, flight, flight.

I was about to say, it's clearly ranch.

It's fucking ranch.

Everybody who gets ranch on anything is garbage.

But it's D, white, flavor flight.

You are correct.

And I'm not sure who the winner is.

I think it's all of us.

I think the winner is all of us.

We all win.

All right.

Eli, we all won.

Why don't you decide who's next?

I want

no, it's you.

No, it's Tom.

We have to.

I want Tom's wife to still be sick next week.

Jesus Christ.

And I have a feeling I'm going to get a wish.

We record two episodes at a piece.

I'm not wishing.

Jesus Christ.

It's me.

All right.

Well, for now, I

Eli Heath and an absent Tom Monday December 16th Cecil

thanking you for hanging out with us today Eli agrees with vigilante

next week and by then we'll Eli will be an expert on something Tom

with a good time yeah between now and then you can listen to the latest skeptic with a different three of us out of five of us uh i love that cecil's just there's meeting us so it doesn't matter and if you'd like to help keep this show going you can make a per episode donation at patreon.com slash citation pod or you can leave us a five-star review anywhere you can if you'd like to get in touch with us, check out past episodes, connect with us on social media, or check the show notes.

Be sure to check out citationpod.com.

And how was your experience today, sir?

Fantastic.

Absolutely wonderful.

And would you like us to thank you loudly for the private conversation we just had in front of everyone in the room you just left so that nobody knows you were pooping?

Oh, yes, please.

Thank you.

Right this way, sir.

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