A Gourmet Meal with a Gourmet Douche

I recently made a pilgrimage to New York City to see some old friends but, more importantly, to take in a few meals in the American capital of fine dining. It’s a well-known fact that a Quizno’s chicken carbonara is about a thousand times better in New York than LA, and I wanted to taste that fact in the flesh.

HA! Lies. Anyone who eats at a chain restaurant while traveling isn’t worth the paper used to print their boarding pass and you know it. I started my culinary sojourn at a joint called DB Bistro Moderne, the slightly less expensive but still delicious restaurant of the multi-starred Daniel Boulud. The Bistro, despite its marketing as a classy but casual type of joint, is pretentious as shit. I mean, my waiter asked me if I wanted an “aperitif,” and I knew that he knew I didn’t know what the balls he was talking about and only asked so that I would be forced to ask him. What a douche.


Even douchier than the waiter was the legendary $32 DB Burger I ordered. It’s stuffed with all kinds of tastiness and was one of the first in the battle of “premium” burgers that culminated with a $150 truffle-and-solid-gold burger at the same place. But the element destined to walk away with King Douche at this lunch was at the table next to me . You see, I ate alone, so instead of engaging in conversation with my customary Ukrainian hooker I had to eavesdrop on the tables next to me. Problem was, the act of actually eating my burger was an exercise in futility; Jaws himself could not wrap his maw around that baseball of meat. Clearly ol’ DB was more interested in taking photos of his burger than people eating it. So I struggled with knife, fork, and crushing the shit out of the burger as I attempted to catch snippets from the table to my right.

And therein lies the real meat of the story (GET IT? GET IT??? GET IT!!!!). There was a kid, about twelve years old, sitting there with his father and a couple clearly unrelated women. I thought to myself “What a waste of fine food, bringing a kid here. He can’t appreciate what he’s eating!” but then I corrected myself when the child spoke of the toasted walnuts, the risotto, the je ne sais quoi, and at about the same time I realized the kid was a real appreciator of food, I also realized he was CHEF JOEY!

I know I know I know! Joey Yarwick, the kid chef from the Today Show a year ago! He was there with a pair of producers who were prepping him for his next-day anniversary appearance on the show. Clearly they are booked right up these days. They went over what he was going to prepare (a “Thanksgiving Leftovers Burger” that sounded both lame and inventive, if that makes any sense) and what other questions he would be asked. After I decided I liked the kid because he and I share a passion, I quickly realized that he’s a total douche. He first gained fame when he won a children’s hamburger contest put on by the quality restaurant chain Red Robin. That way, you know it’s got credibility. But now that his eight minutes are nearly over, he expressed a fair amount of hatred for the other kids whose faces are now on the wall of his local Red Robin where his used to be, seeing as how the contest is held annually. Grow a pair, kid. He continued to make lame jokes about his Thanksgiving burger until the producers asked him what his “cooking philosophy” is. Following is a precise transcription of what was said.

JOEY: Use fresh ingredients, be creative, and have passion. Just like Red Robin.
ME (in brain): Yeah, and everyone else in the world. What the fuck kind of philosophy is this? Does he even know that Red Robin is where food and people go to die?
JOEY: I think I am the coolest piece of shit in this restaurant.
ME (still in brain): More like shittiest piece of shit. What a fuck.
JOEY: Where’s dinner tonight?
PRODUCERS: Why don’t you shut the fuck up, boy, and let us do our jobs? Now make with the cute “Ru-roh” shrug!
ME (to busser): Excuse me, how is this burger eaten? With hands or the fork?
BUSSER: Yes, it’s delicious.
ME: No doubt. But how do people usually eat it?
BUSSER: You want another one?
ME: No, that would be ridiculous. I’m wondering if people use their hands (miming eating a burger, which looks stupid).
BUSSER: Either way. We want you to feel like this is your home.
ME: Very well. Can you get this fucking kid out of my house?

And so on. It has occurred to me that Chef Joey is probably reading this right now since he, like me, doubtless googles himself multiple times a day. That gets me pretty hot, since he is more famous than I am. So in the old tradition of settling shit like this, I challenge him to a burger-off. Two guys, one food. Beef must be the main ingredient, no goddamn leftovers. Think you got what it takes, Joe? Bring it, bitch. I’ll send your twelve-year old culinary sensibilities back to grade school where they belong. Red Robin style.