Have You Got What It Takes to Replace the Surly Gourmand for a Month? Here's Your Chance!

Surly Gourmand.jpg
Brad Trent
Writing about food is as simple as roasting a pig!
Have you ever wanted to write for the Seattle Weekly? Do you constantly fight the illegal urge to molest a leprechaun*? Got a grudge against a restaurant, and want to rudely complain about it with no accountability? Then you'll love my job!

I'm tired and I need some time off. I'll be gone the entire month of September on an erotic extended vacation with your mom. Also, I'm trying to finish my screenplay about the world's most rustic sandwich. I'll be back in October, but I need people to fill in for me, so my columns are up for grabs. This is a contest, and you're all invited to enter.

The rules are easy: Post a comment below, describing in 100 words or less a recent dining experience at a Seattle restaurant. It doesn't have to be one I've ever been to, but you DO have to try to imitate me. I'll pick three winners. The prize is that your very own words will appear in the glowing pixels of the intrawebs, right here on Voracious, for the whole world to bitch about.

To get you started I've included an easy reference guide which explains how to make a perfect carbon copy of my literary bullshit:

Before you begin, you must do some your homework. Read the entire oeuvre of Stephen King , even his lame latter-day works where a magical retard always seems to save the day. Forbidden words include: "delectable," which is what the word "delicious" would sound like if it were said out loud by a dude wearing one of those gigantic obnoxious red and white striped "Cat in the Hat" hats. "Gooey" is also out. Everyone knows that there's only one thing in the world that's actually gooey, and that's if somebody somehow blended up Gumby and made him into a flourless cake. So if you go to Spur Gastropub, and they serve you a gummy green conical puck with two googly eyes staring up at you, THEN you can describe that as being "gooey."

You also have to pretend to read the Norton Anthology of English Literature. Once you hit Virginia Woolfe, stop reading. The world stopped caring after that, and you should too. Then listen to Acid Bath's "When the Kite String Pops" 100 times in a row. This could take awhile, so don't drink too much before you start.

Once you're done all of that, you're ready to write!

Step One: Eat at a restaurant. It doesn't have to be good, although that helps. If the food sucks, it's easier to write about in some ways, because being a total asshole is super easy. Yet life is so much more pleasant when the food is good. In fact, the best restaurants in Seattle are like an idyllic stroll down a country lane. There's a babbling creek along the road, and a frog sitting on the riverbank. The frog is smoking a pipe! That's how magical it is when the food is good. But when the food sucks, it's as tragic as the Ford Festiva that just ran over the pipe-smoking frog. Oh my, that's so sad! So expect the worst, but pray for the best. By "pray," I mean "pray to Satan." Or you could pray to a guy named Stan. Close enough.

Step Two: figure out your angle. Everything I write has an angle to it. It doesn't have to make very much sense, as long as you liberally salt and pepper your prose with obscene references to mythical creatures. Also, be sure to use plenty of colons and semicolons. It doesn't matter if you do it right; the important thing is that you tried.

Step three: Come up with a dumb rating system. The rating system is actually more like the pH scale than anything else: if a place does exactly what you expected of it, it gets a 7. This means that if it EXCEEDS your expectations, give it a higher score. This is why I gave Blue C Sushi an 8: It tasted better that day than it ever had. But no one seemed to get that, and instead, everybody bitched at me.

Don't worry if people bitch, though. It's unavoidable. But if your confidence falters in the face of a wave of huffy gasbags with nothing better to do than complain about something they read on the fucking internet, just remember this: Herb Farm proprietor Ron Zimmerman once offered to trade a $150 bottle of Leonetti Cabernet for a photograph of me. If the anonymous bitchy commentators have such better judgment and refined palettes, then I'd like to know which world-famous restaurateur tried to get THEIR fucking picture.

That's about it. This shouldn't be too difficult. If you get stuck and experience writer's block, just get super stoned and watch a couple episodes of Saved by the Bell. You'll be up and running in no time! I'll announce the winners on Thursday, August 26th, so get cracking. You don't have to use your real name, but be sure to enter a valid email address in the comments section so we can contact you (no one but us will be able to see it). Also, there's no prize other than bragging rights. Which means you don't get paid. Too fucking bad.

Rating: 10.1 ways for me to slack off out of 10

*Now legal in Canada.

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