Belated Happy Holidays to you, my Followers of Feast. I hope your dinners at Chili’s/Applebee’s/TGI Friday’s with the family were wholly awkward and full of extra sides of honey mustard and ranch. As much as I am a full 12 months overdue for an Awesome Blossom myself, I decided to neglect my family duty and opted for an Assistant Appreciation Day. I spent a whole week in advance trying to find the best restaurant to take my Assistant for her special day. There were many excellent contenders:

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Tasty Bite Corporation

The Tasty Bite Corporation sounded like it had good food, but I wanted more than a little bite, I wanted a fat plate. Plus, corporations tend to suffer from a lack of atmosphere. If it’s just one on one with your assistant or date or whatever, corporate offices are way more cozy of a place to engorge yourselves. And then there was this:

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Fulfillment System Inc.

This place looked like it probably served up a proper portion of food, however, I felt like the same qualms I had with Tasty Bite Corporation might also hold true for this place; I wanted a more intimate setting and this place’s use of ‘systems’ to fill its customers just didn’t really appeal to the private one-on-one interaction I sought. It’s like, “Uhhh, waiter, sorry, but I’m not a fucking conveyor belt.” So I narrowed my search to somewhere where there was definitely a chance of being able to be a little more up close and personal:

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No Secrets

This place definitely looked intimate, and filling! Just look at the one review:

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‘Very filling.’ Fuck yeah dude. I was ready to seal the deal and go out to Vallejo, but I used Google Streetz Zoom and looked at the storefront to make sure it was cute and inviting enough, and what I saw was not reassuring:

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At this point I just gave up, and in utter frustration I told my assistant thusly:

“Assistant, pack your bags, we are going to the food capital of California.”

“Fresno?”

“Fuck yeah.”

We braved some some harsh shit:

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And after braving said harsh shit, it was time to rip ourselves a new feast hole. After being in the cold so long, we weren’t craving stew or soup or steaming dumplings covered with gravy, we were craving sushi baby:

Wassabi Outside

‘Jiz the season for eating at restaurants in shopping centers. 

Yes, for all you neandertards living under/on your parent’s rock, the destination was Wassabi-Off The Hook. And since for some reason they have been exempted from the U.S. Government’s mandate of being on the hook, they serve the most no frills/all thrills sushi a person could want. Just check out the zero bullshit tolerance menu (pictures of which are taken with my prototype Cave Vision Camera):

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This guy next to me was on a date and he ordered the ‘Smells Like My Ex’. Pretty bold move. 

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*Picture not in Cave Vision unfortunately

Yes, as you can see, no fucking frills here. Just pure uncut authentic off the hook sushi. I felt like a samurai in feudal Japan! But before ordering it was time for an aperitif!

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I was really getting my britches in a bundle trying to choose between the Porsche Margarita and the Pink Tini, but due to the Pink Tini’s claims of tickling one pink and already suffering from a scranus that was quite raw, the Porsche Margarita it was:

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Perfect drink for zooming through country roads at 120mph in your Porsche. 

Aperitif juices starting working their magic, and it was time to feast, so we ordered the Booty Booty, the Harley Davidson, the Yummy Yummy, and the 1st Climax. My assistant wanted the 2nd Climax too, but those fuckers are $14 a pop and although I try to ball hard, I’m not that baller. Plus, I’m not trying to blow two loads in one sitting. My sack is gonna look like shit:

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2nd Climax=empty bag of balls

 We took the time between ordering and food arrival to gather in the intimate atmosphere:

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I thought for a second I was in some sort of strip club/retro diner and suddenly craved a root beer float and a lap dance. But then my food arrived:

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Yummy Yummy

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1st Climax

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Booty Booty

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Harley Davidson 

I gotta say, I just love the delicate flavors of sushi. The nuance, the delicate balance! Especially when you take that delicate balance and cover it with flavored goo. Yep, I was living large, cracking Porsche Margaritas, straddling my Harley, taking my pick of the booty.

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Me in restaurant 

For real though, the sushi was good, but god damn that’s a lot of money to pay someone to dump mayonnaise goo on perfectly good fish. Granted, I did pick the dumbest things on the menu, but inside a place that obviously is trying to garner a nightclub atmosphere, that’s kinda the shit you are supposed to order. Check out these girls who are ready to eat sushi and perhaps engage in sexual activity in an urban environment:

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‘Sex in the city!!!!’ You can practically hear the haunting sounds of woo-hoos from the sanctity of your home. 

Luckily I came during mid-afternoon, the day after Christmas no less, so the ‘hip’ ‘trendy’ club atmosphere was down to a minimum. Even so, if Dreamy Jiro rolled up here he’d be cracking skulls and taking names. So yeah, maybe it’s just me but if I’m gonna drop $70 on a meal I’d rather get a bunch of beers and like two burritos and a coctel de camarones at some taqueria full of ugly people like myself. Fuck nightclub restaurants.

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