My restaurant serves food from all over the world. And you’ll taste my dedication to appropriating other culture’s signature dishes in every single bite. Because I fuck them all up real good and hard. And I don’t mean they’ll taste bad (necessarily). I just mean I’ll do so little research and show such minimal awareness before embarking on new recipes that it will almost feel impressive. And you’ll pay $27 an entree for it.
Cuban sandwich? It’s now just chicken on a donut (I still use Swiss, of course). Falafel? How about breakfast falafel with blueberry compote? Pad see ew? Have you tried it on a tuna sandwich? And yes, my gyoza is pizza-themed. Thanks for asking.
I know this attitude makes me seem like I don’t respect other cultures, nor their homeland’s traditional dishes. I believe one local food critic even referred to my menu as “edible entitlement.” And they are absolutely right. Poof–your traditional borscht is a pie now, your baklava is soup, and each ingredient in your BiBimBap has been turned into frozen yogurt swirled into a waffle cone, which itself is a mutated tamale. Keep criticizing me and I’ll make a Vietnamese-Mexican pierogi that will shatter your mind. I’m even toying with turning a Greek salad into an artisanal vape juice.
My restaurant. My rules.
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