Introducing the Surly Gourmand, Voracious' Newest & Nastiest Contributor"/>
Greetings. Many of you already know me. However, I'm aware that not everyone is acquainted with my particular brand of depravity, so I suppose an introduction is in order. I'm the Surly Gourmand. I like to drink, fuck, and swear. I also like to eat, and I like to write about what I've eaten. You're going to love me. This is my opium fever dream, and you're all part of it.
You're unlikely to catch the Surly Gourmand dead or alive inside Ballard's Bastille. Okay, maybe dead.
You can trust me to give you advice about what sucks and what doesn't, unless of course you really like Perche' No, in which case you're a hopeless case and should get lost. The weird bread you get at Ethopian restaurants: that sucks too. (Because you know there's nothing better than cold, soggy, gray bread.) I also hate hate powdered parmesan cheese, with its shitty bouquet of vomit and aluminum cans, although I admit it's an easy target. I'm also less than enamored with Sarah Palin. And molecular gastronomy, but we'll talk about that later.
Tuscany sucks too. Actually let's just go ahead and say that ALL of Italy sucks--its best days were 500 years ago. Now it's an entire nation populated by goofy buttholes on scooters. Bastille, the most overrated restaurant in recent memory, is also pretty lame. That place is the very DEFINITION of mediocrity, en croute , of course, since it's French--a boring present in a shiny package. Dining at Bastille is like having a phone book gift-wrapped.Which brings me to the French. I don't hate EVERYTHING, you know. All of existence, of course, pales in comparison to France. Everything in, of, and about France rules the ever-living fuck over everything else in the known universe. Not even a monster truck equipped with lasers is better than France. Not even the Cotton Candy Blowjob Mobile, which was widely considered the most awesome thing in the world until Hugh Capet was crowned the King of the Franks in 987. French food rules. To all of you who have ever uttered the phrase "Freedom Fries" unironically: fuck the fuck off. And since I love the French so much, what would I consider Seattle's best purveyor of French cuisine? Le Pichet, the most perfect restaurant in town. From the zinc bar to the icy waitresses, it's elegantly understated and an absolute pitch-perfect simulacrum of a Parisian cafe.
I'm also quite partial to General Tso's Chicken, Black Metal, and tiny dogs in sweaters. I can tell you about all of the best things in the world because I'm the Awesome Supreme Arbiter of Good Taste. That's a little about me. Actually, this post is really just the text from my Craigslist personal ad I took out last week, which is how I met your mom! I hope you enjoy the show.