Postcard to A Lost Weekend VIII. 05.13.03

To: Bubby’s.
From: My disappointed ass.

Bubby, America is about meat and blowing stuff up. And your chili is not about either. I want it deported. The mac and cheese did not mack for me. I added an indiscriminate amount of hot sauce to give it some kick. I spent the rest of the evening dabbing my upper lip and under-nose for some illusory hot sauce remnant.

Try that in the mirror, by the way. You’ll look like a moron too.

But, Bubby. The food lacked a little kick. Except for the hush puppies, which we could have eaten for days. Damn, those were good. We should have made them dinner. Naomi didn’t mind. She’s a fan of eating. I mind. I’m finicky and do not have Naomi’s heightened sensibilities. So I complain.

Bubby, one more thing—the strawberry shortcake had ice cream instead of… cream? And it looked hastily considered, hastily slapped together. But nothing like the key lime pie, which lacked lime.

I appreciate your restaurant, and would appreciate it more if you addressed these issues. Thank you for your time.

My Savory Regards.