A girl, happiness!
Gonna go see Pink Mt.tops!
I love Eat... they have $1 oysters on Mondays. And the OysterFest they put on every year is a can't-miss for mollusk enthusiasts!
Man, Chris Onstad, I have loved attempting to decode the surrealistic humor in your wonderful Achewood comic strip-- so divine-- and now that you have moved to town and begun writing these Merc reviews, I have to say that I don't understand where the detractors are coming from, with their negativity, and I wish they would appreciate your style more. Because it is a style, and it shows you have a lot of style. I don't think it shows you are full of yourself, as one of these aholes said. As a matter of fact, I wish you would write Everything in the Mercury-- that way there would at least be a glimmer of creativity in the populace of this city, which has evidently declared itself Above All That, because it's cool to Not Do Things, suddenly, apparently.
Haters, Those Hurt of Butt, and Non-Grown-Ups: what would you like the review to consist of: a bulleted list of menu items, ending with a picture of a thumb pointed in some direction? "I was like, 'Yum', and then I was like 'Woww... cheap!' You know? Organic!" I don't get it at all. Did I miss the legislative session that caused it to be some sort of crime to think about things creatively and express them on a printed page? Last I checked, that there is known as "art," and it's something this food column has been sorely lacking since Onstad's predecessor took over. Now that he's finally gone, maybe we can... I don't know... "Keep Portland Weird," or something? Isn't that why you moved here/ stayed here? Do you think maybe it's time to move somewhere that appreciates your gentle lack of humor and fun?
Also, HST helped to refine a "style" of writing that, in my opinion (not that I'm allowed to express one, obviously) started with the surrealists (Andre Breton stated in his manifesto that "the more the relationship between the two juxtaposed realities is distant and true, the stronger the image will be -- the greater its emotional power and poetic reality.")-- does that mean that any bizzarro, comic, train-of-thought, or magically realistic writing style has to be lambasted, and the epithet "HST" hurled at it? How weird, indeed, this culture. Jeez.
Go get a black coffee and brood somewhere. I'll be waiting on tenterhooks for the next issue of the Merc, for More Onstad!
Hey, Tony Perez!
Here's what Imma do: I'm going to go back to your high school yearbook, where your favorite teacher said that you "really show a lot of promise, and I know you are going to realize your dream of becoming a world-famous novelist!" And that real cute, sexy, but sort of nerdy girl wrote about the inside joke that only you and she can understand, that made you feel like you were the coolest guy that ever existed; somehow above what the rest of the people surely can experience or understand. We'll use these perceptions as a meter stick to judge the relative accomplishments you've garnered thus far (where that novel be, Genre Man?), and your staying power as a force of cultural relevance, with regard to your own idea of your (former) genius. And then we'll score it, on a little old Yahtzee score pad. And we'll see how you do! And then I'll ask you if you want to write anything differently about Skyline. Because, like it or lump it, Beard did think they were wonderful… then. And, guess what? By my reckoning, they're at least as good (reliable? Dependable? "Oh-you-didn't-already-sell-the-two-you-make-nightly-'Available'?") as these dressed-up burgers that certain feverish five-star restaurants offer on their menus. These burgers are not what the framers intended when burgers were introduced as a simple, affordable staple of American cuisine. As a matter of fact, all these amazing great burgers are an Applebee's gimmick catering to lazy fucks who can't operate their own grill (I'll inject my own truffle oils, thanks). If you've ever been to Slow Bar and had their's, and not been able to go out later that night, you know these silly, ironic trifles can be toxic. If you've ever been to the hip, happening Killer Burger, you know Skyline's blows theirs out of the water.
I'm only offended by this review because an effete, well-heeled bastard has publicly given a bad review to a classic restaurant that has made its name catering to the most proletariat of night-out dishes, the humble hamburger. This recklessness will surely result in a drop in sales for Skyline Burger. But, then again, if I'm looking for Brad A. Johnson-quality food criticism, I'm afraid I'll just have to look elsewhere.
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