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?



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.



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.


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: , , , , , | 1 Comment

Heartbreak Hotel

I always wondered what bored billionaires do. Because if you think about it, they’ve probably done it all, right? Jumped out of airplanes (morons), rode elephants, sailed around the world in a boat (morons), bought tropical islands, rubbed elbows with the stars (morons) and collected every vehicle they dreamt about since they were little… just to name a few things. Well, I found out what one of ‘em does when I went to his hotel to have lunch the other day at the Four Seasons Westlake Village.

Now before I go on, just take that in for a moment…

…Four Seasons Westlake Village.

To me, that’s another moron… an oxymoron.  

There’s the Four Seasons London, the Four Season Tokyo, the Four Seasons Milan, the Four Seasons St. Petersburg, the Four Seasons Paris, the Four Seasons Hong Kong (just to name a few), and the Four Seasons… Westlake Village. Do you hear that slow, steady, high-pitched squeaking? That’s hot air seeping out of a deflating balloon. Or the taco I ate yesterday… one of the two.

If you were to utter “How disappointing” right at this moment, it would be a major understatement.

My point is, who the hell in their right mind goes to vacation in Westlake friggin’ Village?! This “Dole” guy, the one who owns the hotel, thinks there are a lot of people who would. The Dole to which I’m referring is… yep, the pineapple guy! I can’t make this shit up, people. A canned pineapple guy wants world-traveling jet-setters to come to Westlake Village to vacation. And apparently, to hold onto their youth too, because the hotel is a “Longevity Center and Spa” as well as a hotel managed by a world-class company.

*snicker*      *snort*       *guffaw*

Okay, okay I have to admit, WLV (Westlake Village) competes with BH (Beverly Hills) for the most nips, tucks and sucks for both men and women, and the only natural breasts you’re gonna find there are the ones on the fresh roasted turkey at Gelson’s supermarket, so I get the “longevity” thing. But there’s nothing world-class about WLV. Unless you consider The Housewives’ franchise compelling television, then it’s world-class.

So this bored billionaire has a hotel, and let me just say this: He has zero taste; the place is hideous. As you enter, it almost takes your breath away… and not in a good way either. You initially have hope that it’s going to be spectacular, then you see a giant, ornate crystal chandelier juxtaposed with what can only be described as “stuffy lawyer’s office” decor. It’s like a cross between Bette Midler, Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.

Like I said, hideous.

I went there to luncheon with… Jesus Christ, I just said “luncheon”… this kooky doctor who practices Functional Medicine, whatever the hell that means! I guess it’s some new-age, hocus-pocus healing practice where they align your chakras, stick needles in your face, and then try to sell you Amway. 


Amway… I mean, anyway, forget why I was there with a kooky, new-age doctor, let’s talk about the food. 

I ordered a sandwich.

Now if I thought 10 bucks was a lot of dough *snicker* for a shitty sandwich, like the one in my last post, this one was astronomical. It was double the price, which nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack! Luckily I was luncheon…ing with a doctor, even if she was kooky.

I ordered their vegetarian sandwich on account of I was still trying to eat healthily. Well forget that shit because as soon as they brought out some bread and butter, I was in it to win it! That was a mistake. As soon as I bit into a piece I almost chipped a tooth on the stuff; it was like hard leather! They happen to offer dentistry services there at the “Longevity” center, so I guess they start out your stay by breaking some of your goddamn teeth. What lacked in tenderness though was made up for with absolutely nothing because the flavor was awful too. 

My sandwich was composed of grilled eggplant and portabella with fennel slaw, swiss cheese, sprouts, arugula pesto and a spicy harrissa vinaigrette served on tomato foccaccia. Sounds delicious, right? Well it shoulda been, but somehow Dole managed to make it completely tasteless, and really, it makes complete sense because we’re talking about someone who makes canned pineapple for a living. Plus his decor is tasteless, so there you go. The eggplant and portabella were dry and rubbery, so when I bit into it with my now fragile teeth, it was like biting into a bicycle tire. I couldn’t discern any fennel slaw or arugula pesto flavor either, and harrissa, which is normally a gorgeous, fruity, spicy pepper relish with tons of flavor, was dumbed down with mayonnaise; hardly a “vinaigrette” as they called it. The greens that were served on the side were delicious, but there were dry because the dressing was pooled at the bottom of the plate, and I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t want to toss my salad.

The only thing that saved this dish was the view overlooking the waterfall made from the gigantic boulders that the Dole guy had supposedly transported from Thailand. That was nice. I guess. 

So that answers my question about what bored billionaires do after they’ve done it all. They open hotels and serve bland food.

How boring.

Four Seasons Hotel, Lobby Lounge restaurant

Two Dole Drive

Westlake Village, CA


Categories: Best food blog, Food, Funny, Humor, Sandwiches, Sarcasm, Satire | Tags: , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: