The Bruni Digest

In which I sit on a dirt mound somewhere in Brooklyn with my ears pricked, waiting for New York Times head restaurant critic Frank Bruni, who I imagine to be a Venetian count in a huge ruffled collar, to dole out stars from the inside breast pocket of his brocaded chamber robe. This blog is predicated on the suggestion that every Wednesday, in the Times Dining Out section, Frank lays a huge faberge egg of hilarity.

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Location: New York, New York, U.S. Outlying Islands

I am fiscally irresponsible, which means I have weak bones and a dorsal fin. And a penchant for dining out, even though I am, in the words of many rich people, a "poor people". I make a different face when speaking each of the foreign languages in which I am shittily proficient.

Monday, February 28, 2005

Brasserio Caviar and Bananas: Ridiculous Restaurant, may I introduce you to Ridiculous Reviewer?

A match made in heaven!! And by match, I mean the kind that you light on fire when you napalm the banyo. Because Brasserio Caviario and Bananeria seems like a self-immolating funhouse, and Francerio Brunissimo is going to get in, get a caipirinha, and get out-- with a barrel of astonishing facts that he can garland with his glittering prose, like a tranny's boa.

Now, this DZ Discovery Zone of a restaurant-- complete with mulitcolored walls and an emphasis on sharing-- is replacing Rocco's, of "The Restaurant" reality TV fame, which Bruni calls an "al dente disaster." It was actually about as "al dente" as a pat of butter stewed in hot acid, but Frank is not a TV critic, so we'll let it pass. Also, I will forgive him anything, with lines like these:

"But chicken was dry. Two kinds of steak met one kind of fate: flavorlessness. Tuna joined them in that ignoble, insipid land."

TUNA, YOU WENT TO ALABAMA? COME BACK FROM ALABAMA, TUNA! What? Zing! No, but seriously folks, Frank literally sat down at his Gutenberg press and arranged the letters to spell out that Tuna was joining steaks in an ignoble land. And my reason for existing is reaffirmed.


This next little citation is fairly remarkable, not for Brunisms as much as for how totally douchy this server at Brasserio obviously is:

"The servers are chat-chat-chatty about all phases and aspects of a meal, from the way to approach the sprawling menu ('it's a share concept') to the use of salt shakers ('tap three times, then throw some over your left shoulder') and the merits of the 'crepe passion' dessert ('it's my personal passion')."

how casual and friendly of you, server! here is your prize:

The money is fake and she's high on synthetic progesterone. Bon apetit.

At the end of the piece, though, Frank's conclusion is what Paul Revere would have dubbed "wicked smaaht":

"Crazy as it sounds, pizza is what Caviar & Banana does best...Mr. Chodorow turned all the way from Europe to South America for a fresh start, but he's back in the mozzarella again."

OH SNAP. OH DAMN. He said it. Where's the naked chick with the long hair who has four of herself in the car with her?? Cause for real, this is ironic.

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