It’s been a terrible week to be a Guy Fieri. First, he spends Monday and Tuesday generously donating fifty-percent of his Times Square restaurant’s profits to the Red Cross, which, granted, he erroneously believed was a motorcycle gang. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, New York Times critic (cri-dick, is more like it) Pete Wells comes along and so rudely reveals to everyone that Guy’s Times Square restaurant isn’t even a restaurant despite that it has tables and chairs and serves food-ish things.
Here are some excerpts from Wells’ review (actually just a list of questions he maybe wants Guy to answer, but mostly wants Guy to feel shame about) …
Did panic grip your soul as you stared into the whirling hypno wheel of the menu, where adjectives and nouns spin in a crazy vortex? When you saw the burger described as “Guy’s Pat LaFrieda custom blend, all-natural Creekstone Farm Black Angus beef patty, LTOP (lettuce, tomato, onion + pickle), SMC (super-melty-cheese) and a slathering of Donkey Sauce on garlic-buttered brioche,” did your mind touch the void for a minute?
Listen. Excessive acronyms aren’t for everyone. But, how were the cocktails, Pete? Look, I can ask questions, too.
Hey, did you try that blue drink, the one that glows like nuclear waste? The watermelon margarita? Any idea why it tastes like some combination of radiator fluid and formaldehyde?
I’m mostly impressed that he knows what formaldehyde tastes like. And is also alive. Then there’s …
How did Louisiana’s blackened, Cajun-spiced treatment turn into the ghostly nubs of unblackened, unspiced white meat in your Cajun Chicken Alfredo?
DID YOU SAY CAJUN CHICKEN ALFREDO? Ew, wait, better yet, did you say “ghostly nubs?” Incidentally, there are several body parts I refer to as my ghostly nubs, but I won’t say which (MY TITS).
It just so happens that I made Guy’s Cajun Chicken Alfredo on Saturday night for some friends who I like, but not enough to serve them food that doesn’t have enough fat to kill them onsite. I did make sure the nubs were all nice and blackened, though. Real nice and black nubs.
Here are all my nub fixins. A person and several more have told me that it’s important to use a good wine to cook with because the wine cooks down and the flavor becomes more concentrated (also, when water gets below a certain temperature, it becomes a thing called ice). I continue to disregard that advice. Wink!
Not pictured: THREE CUPS OF HEAVY CREAM. Would’ve been in the picture, but they were too busy being filled with fat and calories. I made Guy’s famous blackening rub from scratch. The very same stuff he currently wants to rub into Pete Wells’ dickhole.
The recipe called for three chicken breasts, but I used two because these were made of hormones more than they were made of chicken. Hey, how do you make a hormone? I don’t know either.
I decided to grate the parmesan cheese by hand and instantly regretted it. Also, something something about Pete Wells’ dick and a cheese grater.
The finished product. Alright, now go back to forwarding the NYT review to your cousins the Schadenfreude Twins.
And, Pete Wells, I’ll take some questions now.