Me:  I’m sick of these fucking hipster dives you keep taking me to.
She: Okay, grandpa, settle down.
Me: Oh fuck you.  I’m not old enough to be…look, I’m only a couple years older than your dad.  And you said it was hot.
She: It is hot.  But you need to quit complaining about everyplace we go.  
Me:  Then you need to start picking less shitty places for us to go.  That last place, your friend’s bar, with the fucking jungle of herbs and shit he insisted on draping over the sides of every cocktail?  And his insipid vest and old-timey mustache.
She: Relax.  Just eat your…what did you get?  Spaghetti and meatballs?
Me:  Nooooooo.  I would have ordered spaghetti and meatballs if they had spaghetti and meatballs on the menu.  But they couldn’t do that.  Because they’re fucking hipsters.  So the only option was “deconstructed spag bol.”  Which, by the way, what the fuck?
She:  I think it’s supposed to be spaghetti bolognese.
Me:  They just stuck the ingredients in jars and here they are? What the hell? Am I supposed to assemble this myself, or will that ruin the whole thing?  Will they throw me out here for constructing my dinner?  I hate this place so much.  Look at this…this is absurd.  $23 for this bullshit. 

How’s your $18 deconstructed avocado toast? 
She:  Okay, okay…this is pretty stupid.  Do you just want to go?
Me:  Maybe…But I’m really hungry…I kind of want desert.  Do we want to risk it?
She: Sure.  How badly can they fuck up desert?”
Me:  Well, come on…you have to really go out of your way to fuck up spaghetti, but ta-da! [clinks jars of deconstructed spaghetti with butter knife].
She: Touché.  Touché
Me: [looking at the menu]  Jesus.  
She: Is it bad?
Me: It’s worse.  “Bone marrow apple turnover.”  Yeah.  No shit.  Get this: “Bone marrow ice cream, bourbon smoked apples, spiced pork rinds…”
She:  No!
Me:  Yes!  “Spiced pork rinds, and cider gastric,” whatever the fuck that is.
She: How about this…”Ice Cream Experience.”  
Me:  Goddammit.  Why does it have to be an experience?  What can’t they just serve ice cream.  Ice cream is perfect.  It doesn’t need “an experience.”  And who the hell would pay $32 for an ice cream experience?
She: You’re about to.  I’m gonna order it. 
Me:  Oh hell.  Okay.  Shit.  Is it deconstructed?  
She:  Likely.  
Me:  This place blows.  I’m going to the bathroom.  

---

She:  How was the bathroom?  They mess that up too?
Me:  Of course they did.  No sink.  In lieu of a sink, there was a bucket.  
She: A bucket?
Me:  A motherfucking bucket.  Look:

She:  They’re taking the whole urban organic farm aesthetic a little far.  
Me:  I hate this place so much.  
KevintheServer:  Okay, we have the Ice Cream Experience…[places bowl with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on the table, then what looks like a flight of beers, but it’s not beers.]
Me:  What the hell is all this?
KtS:  This is the Ice Cream Experience…you’re going to love it.  
Me:  I’m sure.  Why is it an experience?   Why isn’t just ice cream?  Is this a deconstructed sundae?
KtS:  No, of course not.  So this [gesturing toward the bowl of ice cream] is a bowl of ice cream.  And this [gesturing to the flight of not-beer] is the accouterments.  So we have vanilla beans, coffee beans, a fine rum….
Me: [grabbing the rum] Rum!  [shoots the rum].
She:  Baby!  I don’t think…
KtS:  Um, yeah, so you’re not supposed to just drink it.
Me: Any ‘experience’ that involves booze being brought to the table that I’m not supposed to drink is not something I’m paying…how much am I paying for this, baby?
She: Thirty two dollars.
Me: That I’m paying thirty two dollars for.  In fact, for $32, I’m expecting a couple more shots of rum.
KtS: I’ll have more rum brought over, but please don’t drink it…it’s an important part of the experience.
Me:  I appreciate that, Kevin, but fair warning…I’m gonna drink it.
She:  [to KtS] That’s true.  He absolutely will drink it.  How about it we order you a shot of rum.  
Me:  I don’t want a shot of rum.
She:  But you just said you were going to drink the shot of rum he’s bringing over.  To replace the shot of rum you already drank!
Me: That’s just what he brought over and put on the table.  If he’d brought over a finger of gin, I would have dispatched that as well.  And I fucking hate gin.  I’m just trying to be cooperative here…working with what I’m being given.  
She:  What do you want a shot of so that you don’t drink the Ice Cream Experience rum?
Me: Whiskey.  
She: Can we get a shot of Jamie’s, please, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t drink the rum.  
KtS:  That will work. 
Me:  Fine.  So now that we have that figured out, what the hell is the rest of this nonsense?
KtS: Okay, so here’s what you do.  First, you inhale from one element of the bouquet….
Me:  The bouquet?  Is that all this shit here?  
KtS:  Yes, that’s the bouquet.  So here, just try a bit of the ice cream as is.  
Me:  Okay…vanilla ice cream.  It’s lovely.  
KtS:  Now take a big whiff of these vanilla beans and then take another bite.  
She:  Oooooooo.
Me:  Son of a bitch.  
KtS:  Amazing, right?  Here, now try the coffee beans.  
Me:  Jesus.
She:  Oh wow…that’s nice. 
KtS: And here is the rum and a shot of Jameson’s.  
Me: Wonderful, Kevin, thank you.  
She: No…don’t drink the rum!  Let me sniff it first.  
Me:  Oh lord.
She:  That’s amazing…here, try it.  
Me: [shoots the rum]
She: You suck.  
Me: I know.  
She: Just the worst.  Thanks for dinner.  
Me:  Mm. 

N.P.: “Wait for You” – Bonham