After reading a whole bunch of non-fiction essays today at Kristan's, I accidentally missed the Orange Grove exit on my way back, and was forced to take Fair Oaks. It's a drive right through the heart of Pasadena and Old Town, which I always enjoy, except for the part when I am forced to drive by the Cheesecake Factory.
The Cheesecake Factory represents everything wrong with restaurants in America. You wait forever to eat food that's uncreative in its flavors and its displays. They put sauce on everything. You're also forced to sit next to booths of drunk advertising executives and squawking junior production developers telling stories they think are hi-lar-ious. Top 40 instant grooves play and the waiter/waitresses never fill up your water glass. The whole operation is just one step above Acapulco's on newspaper-coupon night.
It's also where I met and instantly disliked my food nemesis, bleu cheese.
What I hate most about the Pasadena C.F. is that many of the booths inside are window adjacent. And the windows are big and frequently washed. That means that as people are stuffing their faces with large burgers, greasy quesadillas, and mama pieces of cheesecake, I can't help but get a little voyeuristic. All those people grinning at each other, then out the window, with cheesy-caked smiles and sauce-coated hands.
1 comment:
i've never been to a CF that there wasn't a nine-hour wait for a table. let's burn that motherf#&%er down.
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