Note: The above pic was our Pride Skimchee from when NY finally let the lovers love legally. It was a rainbow chard, carrot and corn kimchi. Love of every color, shape and taste in a jar. Thanks, my Lovely Yes Miss Honey, ie. Blake Martin.

In the meantime, look at what age and experience have done to Ice-T’s Fuckit point. No more Fuck Tha Police but I’ll make that Law & Order money. Fuckit, let’s do a reality show and make even more skrilla. Dude has a whole ceiling moonroof on his house. I’m okay with that.

Note: As I’m posting this, I find a tumblr that is all about Law & Order food. HELLO. I’ve seen them all. No joke. Go to this.

http://law-order-food.tumblr.com/

We got in, hung with my best girl friend down there, Audrey and her doggie, kittie, and snakey. She has a picture of Stiffy the Snake on a dresser which I thought was hilarious since he’s in a terrarium not 10 feet away. We went to a graduation party and then skipped over to Sidewalk Café for Greek Nachos and cheap drinks. Every single time I’m in RVA, we stop by Sidewalk for nachos. We just can’t get them up here like down in VA. It’s like a sick joke to an obsessed nacho fan.

Willie, the best fucking tattoo guy ever, and love of my life (not that way kids, I’m engaged), called us a karaoke cab which had the potential to be really embarrassing and fun but everyone was too drunk to make it happen. I was trying my damnedest, though. The next day, after a yummy breakfast and popsicle session with Josh, we went to graduation and made fun of bunk-ass feet that apparently are all the rage with the girls in RVA. We went to a new japanese steakhouse with the fam and got horrible service and again, made fun of some dumb girls who were underdressed for their prom. I mean, when we were going to prom, we had hair done, nails did, make-up done. We went OUT. These girls looked like they had just got home from getting Pinkberry. Like, no biggie. We stopped by my aunt Bridget’s Highland Dancing Studio, Thistle & Shamrock, to check out the new construction and kilts for Ricardo’s groomsmen. He was giddy.

We met more cousins and friends out at Bellytimber, where we consumed more alcohol and plotted to do silly shit to people we hate, in jest, of course. We were heading out the next day, stopped to get some vittles at the new spot downtown, Station 2 where we had green bean fries, beer cheese potato nachos, and bacon wrapped pimento cheese stuffed jalapenos. And grilled wings, but those weren’t very memorable. After hitting the road for a couple hours, I was forced to become personally acquainted with the bathrooms of a Barnes & Noble and Bojangles somewhere in Maryland. The drama continued and we had to get a hotel for the night. Who does this? Who has such bad stomach problems that they can’t fucking drive??? I had to cancel a freelance gig for the next two days. WTF.

Anyways, we finally made it home and I’m happy to say that Stewart is a proud graduate of a 4 year college (or was that 6?) and owner of his very own home brew called “Bachelor’s Brew”. We made it a few weeks ago and it should be delicious in another couple. It’s a red ale and has the cutest labels, courtesy of me. I used a pic of Stewart when he was little wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja pajama pants and cowboy boots he never took off, leaning on a BB gun and put a graduation cap on him. So cute.

I love you, Everyone. And thank you for all your love and support, especially through this quicksand of bullshit (you know what I’m talking about). We’ll survive.

This spot was running all night in our hotel. We city folks just don’t get it.

SAMMIES

• HONEY MUSTARD GRILLED CHICKEN W/SWEETTART PICKLED CUCUMBER, FENNEL & RED ONION W/ ARUGULA PESTO ON CLUB ROLL (ADD BACON &/OR SWISS CHEESE)

• FRIED EGGS, PEPPERJACK, SAUTEED HOLLAND PEPPERS & SPICY SESAME KETCHUP ON EVERYTHING BAGUETTE (ADD BACON)

BITES

• OLD BAY FRIED CHICKEN LIVERS W/ ALE & ONION MARMALADE

• LEMON BASIL OR CHIPOTLE CUMIN DEVILED EGGS

SALAD

MIXED GREENS, HEIRLOOM CHERRY TOMATOES, MULTICOLORED CARROTS, TOASTED SUNFLOWER SEEDS & FETA W/SPICY CUCUMBER VIN (ADD GRILLED CHIX OR HARD-BOILED EGG)

DRANKS

• FRESH SQUEEZED LIMEADE W/ AGAVE

• WATER

SWEETS

“TREATS BY JEN” MINI-MERINGUES, TANGERINE CREAMSICLE OR RASPBERRY ALMOND

We’re at 116th, anticipating a small gem of a spot w the best biscuits or fruit smoothies. We had made fun of the name of this tiny spot on the corner, Spaha Cafe. Spanish Harlem. I suspect that only shitty, deceptive real estate brokers use this terminology to sell rape boxes in a horrible neighborhood. That being said, it appeared laid back, door open, breeze flowing, bob marley playing behind the counter. We figured, this could be the best healthy option we will have up here in this neighborhood. Walking in, the cold box is sparse, w thin sandwiches & whole red velvet cakes. The mid 30s Hispanic dude donning a fitted and plaid shirt asks what we’d like and we reply we’d need a minute and he walks away. I’m looking at the salad set up and it is sparse as well. The menu is hand written on white foam core in green pen w things just scribbled out. Like, “Nevermind”, not “Were out of this.”

Signs all point to fuck, wrong decision. There’s one customer eating a salad on the computer in the corner. A couple other guests walk in and she gets up from her lunch and posts up behind the register. She asks what’s on my salad and just starts poking $2, ingredient after ingredient. A $5 salad quickly turns into an $11 uninspired mess of dead vegetables. The strongest flavor in the salad was the dude’s apathy. Hubby orders a pesto chicken panini for $7.50. It takes 10 minutes to get and was an insulting size. Like children’s menu w a splash of elementary sophistication. She asks questions over and over again, each time adding more to our check. A salad, sandwich and ice coffee (w barely any ice, come on, you don’t make the frozen water, a machine did) came to $22 on 116th and Park and I feel like slapping this bitch.

Your food sucks. Your work ethic is pitiful. Your attitude is embarrassing. She didn’t want us to be in her space, eating her romaine hearts, sipping her coffee flavored water. She seemed “over it” though the place was empty at 1:30pm. Her energy told me she has never worked in the restaurant industry before. No spoons for feta cheese. Using a bread knife for pesto. No napkins. It’s these little things that make it obvious.

Also obvious is the windfall of an idea that she had–make a “nice” place for the growing population of white folk who are migrating to the neighborhood. No other place is making cappuccinos. And with Lavazza coffee! We can make shit edibles and the white folk will come and we can charge them Manhattan prices. The fleecing of a race to make them feel like they are being considered in a predominantly brown/black neighborhood. Myriad awnings use the word “barrio”, a reference to Spanish hoods (I’m half white, I know how to use the word “myriad”).

We sit down and Hubby gives me a green light to begin eating while he waits on his Little Guy Panini. A woman orders a cappuccino and quietly sits in a table near us and reads the paper. The owner, I’m assuming since her entitlement wouldn’t exude so strongly from a just a sandwich artist or barista, comes around as a queue of 5 forms, picking up a lone plate and wiping the crumbs to the floor with her hand, no towel, napkin, or gloves. Shes straightening up, anticipating these customers would like to sit down. The paper reader has pulled a table closer to lay her A6 out without awkward folding. The owner, says, are you using this, the reader says, yes to read the paper (which was the cafe’s, not hers) and the owner says, ok, yeah, no, I need it so people can sit. She pulls it away from the woman, leaving her paper, flapping by the floor.

The men who order a tuna sandwich and a panini sit down near the owner’s lunch tables, and one man eats his cold sandwich while his cohort waits. She calls him and gives him half a sandwich. She tells him to get started and he can get the other half when it’s ready. Every customer says “thank you”, she says, “sure”.

A white girl in all black w a douche skully and sunglasses walks in straight to the back and I witness the first smile in the cafe. Hi Lisa!

We leave as two of the five customers. The three people working in this tiny, fledgling cafe don’t even look at us.

I’m sure she has no idea how horrible she appears, taking our money through gritted teeth. At some point you may have been good at something. But this isn’t it. You are the reason why the restaurant industry is plagued with rampant abuse of power and service. It is not okay to treat customers like you are doing them a favor. The whole system is set up for a restaurant to provide food and service. You are not doing guests any favors by providing a table or a paper to read. We expect napkins (they had a roll of paper towels), fresh food (every bite, I anticipated the tongue buzz from rotten cheese or eggplant), and a sense of thanks.

We’re paying your rent. We’re payin for your kids diapers. Were paying for you to sip coronas on your stoop. That’s how this works. You put in, we put in, you take out. You put in, we put in, you take out. And over again.

Eventually, she will exhaust herself with her customers’ annoying demands such as, can I have a knife, more salt, or extra balsamic on the side. My only wish is that people who decide to start a restaurant/bar/food business, do their research and/or hire the experts. If this happened, if all entrepreneurs accepted humility and educated themselves instead of assuming knowledge and know-how, the perception of the food service industry would change. I promise. When asked what one does for a living, one would proudly say, I’m a bartender; I’m a barista. We could consider these jobs, “normal” or “a REAL job”. As it is now, we are contract workers who generally accept mediocrity and complacency and move on when the weight is too much to bear. If this woman at Spaha Café would hire someone with charisma and experience, she could save her project. She could contribute to mending the economy by taking someone off unemployment. She could have satisfied customers returning instead of miffed customers leaving.

This review ultimately harkens back to my last post re: the dumbass dubstep DJ trying to flip beats into burgers. In the end, JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN, DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD.

Note: I just looked this place up on Yelp, the useless source of reviews. I just read the “About This Business” and what do you know, she has no resto experience. It also says that she cares and is active in the community. We must have caught her on the day her dog died, she got her period, and the IRS announced an audit. Any of the pics I found were from when it must have first opened because they did a complete redo of the interior and it’s nothing of the original. The heart is gone.

Another note: I don’t know what the fuck I was doing with verb tense here. I wrote this on the train and it started out as notes and turned into a post. I don’t feel like editing this and being all anal about the grammar. Usually, I correct erroneous usage of subjective and nominative pronouns in a prepositional phrase but I’m really busy today and am anxious to get in the kitchen. Gimme a break. Thank you.

This applies to many an application. Take for instance, a dubstep DJ branching into the food truck business. No. Skrillex. Grillex. No. And it’s not good food. It’s sausages with Count Chocula cereal on it in a bun with bible phrases. It’s able to be ingested and then shit out but so are staples and condoms of crack. Insert, JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN, DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD.

I understand that this dude may consider himself an artist in the musical form. I am not arguing that. What I’m saying is “why not?” is not a good enough reason to dive headfirst into uncharted territory called restaurants or even food trucks, to be more specific. You shouldn’t be making and selling food with the idea of “I like this so I’ll put it out there.” I like liverwurst sandwiches on white bread with mustard and cucumbers but let’s be real, most people don’t. I also eat fish eyeballs. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna start a food truck and made a fish eyeball taco (maybe with sriracha?).

I have no information on this Skrillex dude besides he’s the pop version of dubstep. I don’t know who pioneered this shit, who was the O.G., and who is a toy. I don’t care, either. I have friends that DJ the fuck outta this stuff and I’ve been to the parties and I feel like an old, snobby ad exec standing there. “These kids are all 19. Are those dreads? Is she wearing lights???”

For Skrillex to launch a food truck called Grillex is cheap and dumb. Simply put. At least put some fucking thought into it. There are people who do this type of thinking for a living and with this guy putting hasty, ill-conceived efforts out there, it makes these people look stupid. This DJ can do what seems so impossible to others. Little Joey in DC dreams of opening a slushy truck one day and then this guy (I won’t say douche, that’s a little harsh, he’s done a lot for electronic music, from what I can tell), turns a key, tapes a cigarettes to a bottle of water and sells it. If one finds success in one venue, one then thinks that they MUST move to master another.

This is the same thing as Jay-Z opening a club, Flava Flav opening (and quickly closing, I might add) a chicken shack and Michael Jordan golfing.

I’m talking about JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN, DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD.

Let the people who live and breathe food and restaurants and bars and clubs do it. You other folks, just fucking pay us and front the money to start it and keep it going. Come have a free drink at the bar that you paid for. Don’t put Frosted Flakes on a hamburger. We’re not all idiots.

BITES
• LEMON CAPER DEVILED EGGS
• BUTTERMILK FRIED CHICKEN LIVERS W/ SPICY SESAME KETCHUP

SALAD
ARUGULA, BLACK RADISH, ROASTED SUNFLOWER SEEDS W/ HONEY KUMQUAT VINAIGRETTE (ADD GRILLED CHICKEN OR CHOPPED HARD BOILED EGG)

DRANKS
• LIMEADE (FRESH SQUEEEZED LIME, AGAVE, SODA WATER)
• WATER

SWEETS
TANGERINE CREAMSICLE AND RASPBERRY ALMOND MERINGUE DROPS FROM “TREATS BY JEN”

Why is this not a kick ass resto in NYC? Not yet, anyways.

That’s my job.

It is my pleasure to introduce the world to Biddy & Yolk, a chicken or egg eating concept. Everything on the menu is made from chicken or egg. It harkens back to the philosophical debate of “which came first.” At Biddy* & Yolk, you decide!

We’ll be debuting at Smorgasburg this Saturday!!! Come gobble up some grub from 11am-6pm on Kent between N 6th & 7th in Billyburg. Also, put it on your calendars: every first Saturday will be “Wing Day” featuring the best grilled wings you’ve ever ingested with a handful of finger sucking sauces. Each week, we’ll tweet the menu and keep you up to date if we run out or change anything. Follow us @biddyandyolk.

If you’ve been wondering where Skimkim products have been, I’ve shelved them and reworked the entire line from recipe to packaging. It’s ALL NEW. And yes, the new line will be showcased at Biddy & Yolk. For those of you looking for your Asian Green Goddess mainline, I, your dealer, will be at Smorg on Saturday. We don’t have to meet behind the port-o-pots anymore…

*Biddy is a synonym for a hen or chicken. Yes, for a gregarious old woman, too, but that’s obviously not what we’re frying up.