Happy Hour

Happy Hour, I Mist You!

Happy Hour just got shitty. 

Actually, it’s something that’s been happening over time; the slow decline of Happy Hour in the Connayo-rhymes-with-mayo Valley. But I suppose a slow decline is better than a rapid tanking. Think about it, if you take rapid tanking and apply that to aging, that’s some scary shit! Things slowing start falling apart on you as you age; you lose vitality, you get massive amounts of wrinkles, body parts start heading south, your eyesight goes and your hair turns grey, just to name a few.  Now imagine all that shit happening to you rapidly… you’d drop dead on the spot just from the shock alone. Well, same thing with Happy Hour; losing it in a rapid tanking would probably kill you!

Ya drunk bastard.

Used to be that you could go out on a Friday afternoon around 4ish to some cheesy Mexican restaurant and they’d have this huge spread of free food and you could eat all you want; could stuff your face to high Heaven! Hell (that was intentional) you’d be so happy you’d stay for at least a Margarita or two… or three… or floor…

*hiccup* I mean, four.

And if you didn’t want Mexican food on account of all salt on everything that you’d walk outta there looking like a blow-up doll from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, you could go to other places; ones that served crudité with Ranch dressing and neon orange cheese bites with crackers. Shitty, but free at least. You can’t get that anymore, the restaurants want to charge you for every little thing. Discount on food and drinks for Happy Hour?

Hahahahahaha

Nope.

I mean, if you call reducing the price by a buck or two for a $14 Martini, then yeah, you get your goddamn discount. Restaurants have essentially given up on giving Happy to the Hour. Well, they’re happy, we’re just not.

Take Aroha, for example.

No, I didn’t just sneeze, that’s the stupid name for another restaurant that wants to take your money for nothing…

…and your chicks for free.

Hahaha… haha, ha, ha… ha.

ha…

Sorry.

Anyway, back to this stupid restaurant Aroha. First off, they shoulda just cut to the chase and called it Aloha.  I went there to meet my friend, Ms. M., who’s having a love crisis and needed my opinion, whether she wanted it or not, and she suggested the place. Upon my arrival, this guy in dirty shorts and shirt with an impulse problem, accosted me before I even got to the front door, and for a moment, I thought he was going to tell me the place was closed, because I could never imagine a restaurant in gold-crusted Westlake Village allowing an employee to approach a customer looking so slovenly unless he had bad news to deliver. Like for instance, Trump was going to remain president for a full term, so he and the rest of the staff were going to Canada… or something equally horrible. Turns out, he was just really lonely and needed someone to talk to because the restaurant was empty.

After he finished accosting me, I asked where on the patio I could sit for Happy Hour, which was a joke, because I couldn’t imagine them imposing rules on where you could sit for Happy Hour when they were completely empty.

Well, I was wrong.

Aroha.jpg

Can you see the Ceasar salad? I couldn’t either.

So I sat myself down on the empty patio where he said I could sit to qualify for their “Happy Hour”. It was actually a very nice patio; they had comfy couches and chairs with bright turquoise cushions, and the water misters were spraying a fine mist to keep things cool since it was really hot that day. But here’s where it starts to get annoying: Mr. Spastic approached me again, this time in his uniform, because he was now going to be my server. Christ. Then, he starts confiding in me while I was waiting for Ms. M to show up; telling me he’s been stuck in a rut… for the past 20 years… Jesus, do I look like a therapist? I always get the chatty ones.

Shortly after that, they turned the misters off and when I asked why, he said it was because some customers can complain about it.Some customers”, to which, there were none. I guess I wasn’t considered a customer… so I asked that they be turned on again but only if I wasn’t going to get charged for having them mist me with water. He chuckled, but I couldn’t tell if it was a chuckle because he thought what I said was funny, or a chuckle like, “Of course we’re gonna charge you, you silly twit.” I think it was the latter.

Maybe that’s what “Aroha” means.

I didn’t even know New Zealand had a cuisine… and after eating there, I still don’t know if they do. I can tell you this: It was goddamn expensive. There was also absolutely nothing on their menu that was appealing. Most of it consisted of a bunch of confusing items, none of which constitute Happy Hour in my book. They did offer a cheese plate but when I asked about the assortment, the server didn’t know and he didn’t look like he was going to find out for me either. I waited for him to say “Let me go check for you”, but he just stood there waiting for me to say “Never mind”. Instead, I asked him how much it was and when he said “$25” then I said it. He was a little chubby so I think he was trying to take as few steps as possible. Luckily he wasn’t wearing FitBit or he’d be really disappointed with how his life turned out.

I settled for a Ceasar salad which was a whopping $10 for their “Happy Hour” so I assumed it would be enough to satisfy my hunger. Then the server came out with a bread plate. At first, I thought “Oh, how nice, they brought me a little taster!” but imagine my surprise when I realized that it was my actual Ceasar salad. There were about ten small pieces of lettuce, which works out to be a buck a piece, about 7 tiny croutons and two small pieces of anchovy on top, and if you can count your food, you’re not getting enough. There was no parmesan cheese and I’m not entirely sure, but there may not have been dressing. The plate was so tiny, every time I put my fork in for a bite, I’d lose a crouton, so I think I only had four, which wasn’t a big loss anyway as they were tasteless nuggets of nothing.

The server finally came back just as I was finishing my…  um, salad? Not sure it should be called that. Anyway, I was starving so I asked for some bread, but it came out sounding sad and desperate: “May I have some bread please, sir? Some more food? I am so very hungry.” like I was an orphan beggar or something. I kept waiting for him to say “More? You want… MORE?!!” and start calling me Oliver. But all he said was that I’d have to wait as the kitchen was busy putting together a tasting menu (which explains my Ceasar salad), and it took 20 minutes to bring me some of their shitty bread to top off my “Happy Hour”.

The best part about my Happy Hour experience at Aroha? Saying Sayonara.

Categories: Best food blog, Funny, Happy Hour, Humor, Sarcasm, Satire | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fifty Shades of… Goddamn That’s Huge!

Okay, forget that last post! You know, the one about me not getting any sex because I should have never jumped the gun… what I mean to say is that I should have never shared that personal information in the first place! Hey, things change all the time and once you put something in writing, it’s there in perpetuity for all to see! Maybe sometimes it’s better to keep my mouth shut…

*snort* yeah right.

So I’ve been online searching for the largest sized condoms they make… for, you know, research purposes… and it seems that in the good ‘ol US of A, there’s only one commercial brand that makes a large size: Trojan. Yeah, they’re called Magnum (and if that doesn’t make a girl wanna go out and try to find her Prince Charming, I don’t know what does!) But this condom doesn’t necessarily mean that it covers… everything. How do us girls know it’s gonna be big enough? Of course, one can only hope… 

I found some other manufacturers that make custom sizes, but they don’t do business here in America, only overseas. I guess they think the American male doesn’t carry a loaded weapon like they do in other countries… which I think is bullshit, it’s wrong! At least, I’m hoping it’s wrong… Jeez, it’d better be wrong! I don’t wanna have to travel across the globe to another country to meet my Special Agent, I wanna meet someone here where it’s convenient. Can you imagine the cost of flying to and fro, just to get some 007? I don’t really mind flying though… in fact, I love flying, it’s sexy and exciting! Plus, I heard that pilots can pack some serious pistol too! Now if I could only get inside the cockpit…

Anyway, I’m on this particular site that makes extra-large condoms, but like I said, they don’t sell them here in America, only in these countries:

Spain (Chorizo)

France (Really? Naw, that’s gotta be a joke…)

Germany (Bratwurst)

UK (Bangers)

Slovakia (Where the hell is that?!)

Sweden (Unlikely)

Denmark (Uh, very unlikely)

Italy (Duh)

Hungary (Don’t go there)

Poland  (Pole land? Hmm, makes sense)

So this website, where they sell these enormous condoms, even gives a man a way to measure his, uh… “success” before purchase, which is very smart since they’d wanna get the right size and everything. But I’m frustrated because why don’t they sell them here, goddamnit? A girl needs it! I mean, Clever Girl always wants protect herself in the… the… biggest and best way possible! 

Naturally I got really hungry after doing all that research, if you can imagine, and I remembered my mother once telling me that I should never make a huge decision on an empty stomach, so I decided to get something to eat. You’d think I’d immediately wanna go for a hot dog or sausage or something, but I don’t eat those, which I know makes me sound like a hypocrite, but they’re just not my thing. Is that wrong? Maybe eating hot dogs is strictly an American pastime and not something practiced in other countries. Maybe the men in those other countries wouldn’t care whether I ate hot dogs or not. Well if so, sign me up! No, I decided to get scallops and ahi tuna instead (gosh, that almost makes me sound like a lesbian).

Where's the beef?

I’ll take a hot dog please.

Anyway, I almost never go to this place since it’s really never been my favorite. I can’t put my finger on why though… maybe the atmosphere? No… maybe the food? No… the food’s not bad… hmm, I just can’t figure it out. Huh, it doesn’t matter, I’m certain it’s not anything huge.

So I went back for some of their food after a long absence, and you know what? I’m glad I did! I had forgotten that they make an excellent ahi tuna appetizer and it’s a great deal at happy hour, which is my favorite hour of the day… after cocktail hour. I ordered that along with their bacon-wrapped scallop appetizer, minus the bacon since the only pork I would eat is Oscar Meyer, even though I’m not really into Jews.

The scallop was tender, sweet and cooked perfectly, with a nice crust on the outside, and soft on the inside. It came on a bed of spinach with a creamy beurre blanc and was perfect in it’s simplicity. The ahi tuna was excellent, really fresh, and it wasn’t the neon pink kind of ahi tuna either; this was pure sushi grade ahi, coated with black and white sesame seeds and served with hot wasabi on the side. Perfect! 

You know, I just realized something: maybe I should re-think the whole not eating hot dogs thing, I could be missing out on something…

…naw, I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

The Grill On The Alley

120 E. Promenade Way

Westlake Village, CA

805.418.1760

 

Categories: Food, Happy Hour, Humor, Satire, Seafood | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

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