Times are tough, and people are sat at home chewing bellybutton fluff instead of eating out or ordering in. What are restaurant owners doing? Some are not paying staff, and others are sending abusive emails calling them "fucking lazy motherfuckers."
Not to be a total pawn for the evil Fox marketing machine, but I really love that show "Hell's Kitchen." I don't care if Gordon Ramsay says "cunt," or kicks couples out of a restaurant during their romantic Valentine's day dinners. Last night, as I sat through the commercials to find out which team had selected a portion of halibut that weighed closest to six ounces, I realized that this must be a good show, because it had me waiting anxiously to watch a dramatic scene of fish fillets being placed on a scale.
Other times it's a way to placate a grumpy restaurant patron, as NYM's Grub Street blog reports:
A Hell's Kitchen resident emails to report that on her walk across 43th Street to work each morning she often notices a certain sweet aroma as she passes the Times Building. She put together a bit of doggerel announcing her finding and speculating on its cause, which we pass on to you now:
We read with interest the lead story in yesterday's Metro section, "Hell's Kitchen, Swept Out and Remodeled." We're always intrigued by the changing face of the city, we're recently frustrated by the disappearance of neighborhood quirks and characters, and we're saddened by the increasing unlikelihood of ever again finding rival dancing gangs on the West Side. And while the article touched on all those points, we were most intrigued by this one:
