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.

My Photo
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 14, 2005

[sigh] waiting for Wednesday

I wonder what lexical bathhouse cabaret Frank Bruni will perform for us this week. Remember when he wrote about Lure Fishbar and every sentence had a nautical metaphor? I'm not a real journalist, so I'm not going to research this, but I will paraphrase it as "this restaurant, skippered by a wench named Rita, should hammer down the nannygig and set the blarny a-blow before the boom swings port and the mast goes stern." OK he didn't say that. But there were MANY nautical metaphors.

This is what he looks like in my head:

This is me, ol' Jules:

See you on Wednesday I guess.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

By God your humor is unmatched BY God what an excellent Blog You have

4:00 PM, February 26, 2005  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

"lexical bathhouse cabaret"?

Ah, dear Jules. Your wit, she wounds me so sweetly.

10:52 PM, March 02, 2005  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh "Anonymous," you rapscallion you!

5:41 PM, March 03, 2005  

Post a Comment

<< Home