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.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Metropol: You Are So Nasty, Love Frank

In this week's Diner's Journal, Frank clears his throat, bangs a silver tuning fork against his servant's temple, hums a warbling A, and sings (to the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb"):

"Metropol is totally rank,
totally rank,
totally rank,
Their food is borderline dangerous,
And their service is retaaaaarrrrrrded."

And yet. BAFFLINGLY. He kind of finds it attractive.

I'm not even going to excerpt from this review. You can almost exactly recreate the sensation of reading it by punching an unassuming teenager in the face and then giving him a funsize Butterfinger.


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