Brunch

Don’t Get Jinxed!

You ever get so irritated with a server giving you bad service that you never want to return to the restaurant? I have yet to understand why it’s taboo to talk poorly about an annoying server giving you bad service, which is ridiculous because there’s so much of it out there. Saying we shouldn’t talk about bad service is like saying we shouldn’t talk about how shitty Starbucks coffee is, which, we’re not right now because that’s not the subject… even though it does not negate the fact that they serve shitty coffee and there are way too many of them. If Trump really wants to do this country a favor, he should deport all the goddamn Starbucks!

People get uncomfortable when you criticize a server giving shitty service, like you’ll get struck down by lightening or something. The biggest reason I hear people saying you shouldn’t talk badly about a bad server is because their job is sooooo hard

Yeah? So is picking strawberries out in the fields but do you hear the Mexicans complaining about it? No, because when was the last time you found yourself near some strawberry fields… forever?

Any job can be considered hard, not just waiting tables. Just try running this country into the ground! I know because I may or may not have done that crappy job myself at some point (waiting tables, not running the country into the ground) so you can’t preach to this choir. What I find most ludicrous is that we pay servers for the shitty service they give us in the form of a guilt tip (not to be confused with guilt trip). We feel guilty because we’re doing something to them that’s completely rude and intrusive: Ordering food. How dare we? So we give them money at the end of our dining experience whether the service was good or not, out of pure guilt… do you know how crazy ridiculous that is? As crazy ridiculous as a sociopathic reality T.V. narcissist becoming president!

Jinky’s happens to be one of the biggest offenders, and to top it off, it’s so overpriced, so if you want shitty service and a ding in your wallet, go there. On one of my visits, I ordered a cup of their homemade chili. If you order a cup of chili, you’d think you’d get an actual cup, right? Not at Jinky’s! You won’t get a cup of chili, you’ll get a barely-a-cup of chili. That’s an actual measurement they invented. The portion was so small and miserly, I thought they may have mistook me for the midget sitting in the next booth over. Now don’t get your panties in a bunch, I would never refer to a midget as a midget… it was a toddler. Anyway, the goddamn chili set me back $8.00… for beans people! I used to live in Westlake Village, so I was accustomed to getting overcharged, but Jinky’s beat them out in that category.

My biggest complaint is the service, which is consistently bad. Overall, the service can be brimming with apathy, but there’s one particular server that takes the lead in crappy. He’s the crap-master of table-waiting; the king of I-don’t-give-a-shit. For one, he always looks slovenly, with a dirty, wrinkled shirt and greasy hairstyle. Plus he’s sloooow; in pace and comprehension. It would never occur to him, for instance, that if you serve tea, soup or oatmeal, you should probably bring a spoon, because in his caveman existence, dirty fingers work fine. I would bet money that if I uttered the words “Unga Bunga” he would totally get it! That’s because moments before he placed his rotund schlubbiness in my face, he was out back taking a bong load. If you have a couple three hours to waste, sit in his section for amusement. That’s how long it’ll take for him to take your order, bring your food, bring you the things you’ll need with your food, after having to repeatedly ask, and finally, to present you with an insulting bill. And he completely expects to get a tip for all this, not understanding that the word “tip” is actually an acronym for “To Insure Promptness”, obviously a concept that is completely lost on him whenever his mother wakes him up from his nappy-time so he can haul off to work.

Although I’d like to protect my readers from such slovenliness, in the spirit of a 12-Step program, he shall remain anonymous, I will not state his name … except that it starts with the letter M…

…and ends with a T…

…and sounds like the object you wipe your feet on at the front door, which is exactly what I’d like to do whenever he approaches my table to give me that special, shitty service that only a self-entitled Millennial knows how to give (Add one more T on the end for good measure). 

And speaking of T, if you order tea there, be prepared to get hot, brown water because their tea bags are tiny and once you place it in the teapot, it gets diluted to the point where you’re not even drinking tea, but rather, hot, brown water (I think I may or may not have already said that. Thank God I’m not so moronic as to Tweet about it though). So I explained… very slowly… to Mr. T (no relation) why I needed another tea bag and he was so obsequious in his response, I actually thought I was only going to get halfway shitty service that morning instead of the usual full Monty.

Silly me.

He sweetly stated he would need to charge me an extra $1.75 for another tea bag to which I promptly told him no thank you and to please remove the tea from the bill… because they already charge $3.75 for that hot, brown water. Jesus Christ, even Starbucks only charges you around a buck ninety for a cup ‘o crap! Instead of wasting a tea bag and having to take it off of the bill, he could have easily brought me the extra one without an additional charge, since they should serve actual tea and not brown water. In the process, he would have ingratiated himself to me for his effort to provide good service. But, it was not meant to T… I mean, be.

empty-like-my-experience

Empty, like my experience.

Why do I keep going there, you ask? It’s a fair question and I cannot argue it would be ridiculous of me to keep patronizing a place I clearly do not like. The answer is: The food’s not horrible in a town that has horrible food, and if you know how to order, you can avoid getting ripped off. For instance, if you want a light breakfast, they make really good sourdough toast and it’s a mere $2.25. Plus they grill it instead of putting it in the toaster, and it gives it that nice, smoky flavor that I love in grilled bread. You can also share most any dish because the portions are large. I’d avoid potatoes. They tried to be clever by offering their equivalent of Tater Tots, a disgusting food to begin with, one that’s in line with chicken nuggets, Skittles, and bottled ranch dressing *shudder* but it could’ve worked had they made them in-house. It fails because they’re the commercial, frozen kind, what’s so special about that? Their other choices of potato are equally awful. How can you screw up a potato? Ask Jinky’s! For breakfast, they offer a single pancake, which is such a brilliant idea, but then they ruin it by charging six bucks for the goddamn thing. Six. Bucks. For. One. Pancake? Suck it Jinky’s.

Having Mr. T wait on me was enough to make me not wanna go back… until this morning, that is, when I had a lapse in memory and good judgment. But shockingly, the service wasn’t horrible. Mr. T was nowhere to be found and I actually got decent service from a very nice, well-groomed Latina server… which explains a lot. The place also happened to be almost empty… which explains a lot. The one saving grace for service at Jinky’s is Sergio the busboy. He always has a smile on his face and gets me whatever I need when my server disappears… which is frequently.

So if you’re gonna go, just know ahead of time the service is crappy and know what to order to avoid getting ripped off. Otherwise, in the wise words of the real Mr. T: Pity the fool!

Categories: Best food blog, Breakfast, Brunch, Sarcasm, Satire | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff

What is it with these type-A personalities?

You know, the ones who like to drive their BMWs right up your ass or cut you off because you aren’t driving fast enough for them because they’re jacked up on 64 ounces of Starbucks, hold the foam?… the ones who are rude to wait staff and usually undertip?… the ones who’s snot-nosed brats go to an overpriced, cult Christian school and eat sushi for lunch?… you know, the ones that live in Westlake and Agoura?…

…what’s up with them?

I’ll tell you what’s up with them; they’re weak and deep down inside, they really hate themselves. Have you ever noticed they’re always beating themselves up? You can spot ‘em at the gym; they’re the ones doing the most difficult, competitive, grunt-inducing class they possibly can. The one where the instructor berates them and calls them a fat loser, even though they have zero body fat, and they eat it up!

Because they don’t like themselves and like to be shamed. I’m telling you, that’s exactly what it is. Why else put yourself through such torture? You can work out and get healthy without pushing yourself to the brink of a hernia (that’s where the guy’s own body betrays him and sucks one of his balls up inside his body cavity, isn’t that disgusting?!) Personally, I would never date a guy who’s missing a ball. You need to have two if you wanna be with Clever Girl… hmm, maybe even three!

“Hey Mr. Overachiever, why not put down the 200 lb. weights, take a goddamn yoga class and chill the hell out? Then maybe you won’t be compelled to run my ass off the road in your Beemer!”

I never liked BMWs.

I’s not just the guys either, there are plenty of skinny bitches out there that are type-A too. They’re the ones texting on their diamond-encrusted iPhone while picking up their brats from school, clogging up the roads with their giant SUVs!

I never liked SUVs.

But I digress…

When I was in Westlake (yes, I had to go there the other day) I noticed that they were gonna open up one of those spin class places. You know, the ones the Type-A personalities take on a stationary bicycle (isn’t that an oxymoron?) It’s gonna be called Sweat Shop. Gee, that’s ironic. It simultaneously pokes fun at the very factories where the Nike workout gear they wear to class is made by that 13 year-old who gets paid a dollar an hour, and implies that you get to sweat your one remaining ball off.

Nice job.

It’s a hot spin studio by the way… that’s where they heat the room up to like, 100 degrees or something to add to the experience. That’s the new trend for the self-loathing; hot work-out rooms. It wasn’t enough for them to get their bony ass up on a bike seat that’s an inch wide and mega-peddle their way through an hour’s class, all while inhaling the body odor of the maniac on the bike next to them… they figured they’d add some heat. It’s a win-win!

Perfect.

Well while they’re beating themselves up, I’ll be across the parking lot eating delicious Belgian delights at Le Pain QuotidienThey’ve always had locations in such snotty asshole places, like Los Angeles and Calabasas, so I guess they figured they’d round it off and come to Westlake… yay!

LPQ (short for Le Pain Quotidien) is a bakery/restaurant/snotty hangout where you can enjoy some of the best breads, croissants and egg dishes anywhere! And it’s about time because this area has been seriously lacking good breakfast joints. But they don’t only do breakfast, they do lunch and dinner too.

No sweat!

No sweat!

I ordered a goat cheese and oyster mushroom omelet and the eggs were so fresh tasting and fluffy, it was like a puffy egg-cloud. Those Mexican Belgians sure know how to make an omelet! The only thing I didn’t like about it was the pesto drizzled over it, which was not mentioned on the description, otherwise I would have asked that they leave it off. But it came with some organic greens lightly dressed with a lemony vinaigrette and two slices of their fabulous bread, which was perfect!

The best part is the homemade jams and chocolate spreads that they put on the table that you can slather your bread with. They have several choices; dark chocolate, milk with hazelnut, and white chocolate, which is my personal favorite… and probably Westlake’s too, since it’s white. They also have a couple others but I have to limit myself to trying just one, otherwise I’ll have to start working out with crazies next door.

Oh, you’re probably wondering how the hell to pronounce Le Pain Quotidien too, right? Well how the hell should I know? I’m not Belgian (thank God!), but all you’ll have think about when you go there, is what type of chocolate spread you’re gonna eat on your bread…

…and if the sweaty guy leaving spin class still has both of his balls.

Le Pain Quotidien

2728 Townsgate Road

Westlake, CA

795.9762

Categories: Breakfast, Brunch, Food, Humor, Satire | Tags: , , , , | 4 Comments

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