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Restaurant Outed For Using Popeyes Chicken


Well, this is a different take on 1-star Yelp reviews: this one may actually be justified! Last week, Tyler H. went to have breakfast at Sweet Dixie Kitchen in Long Beach, California. While waiting to be seated, he noticed two boxes of Popeyes chicken being brought into the restaurant and assumed it was a snack for the staff. Or was it? He quickly donned his Jessica Fletcher Halloween costume and ordered the chicken and waffles so he could ascertain if the chicken served was indeed from a fast-food place.

“Very familiar and very suspicious,” he said as he took his first bite. “I need to investigate thoroughly!”

Rather than snoop his way into the kitchen and risk getting his costume all dirty, Tyler simply asked the server how they make their fried chicken and the server spilled the red beans and rice.

“It comes from Popeyes,” he answered.

Well, Tyler went directly to Yelp to share this info with the world (and give them one star, of course) and the owner of the restaurant replied.

“We PROUDLY SERVE Popeyes spicy tenders- the best fried chicken anywhere and from New Orleans- which are delivered twice a day,” said Kimberly S.

She goes on to explain that plenty of their other food items are outsourced, like a gumbo she buys from a friend at a farmers market and some jams that are locally made. She gets a bit snippy saying that neither do they grow their on vegetables or mill their own flour and they “always get by with a little help from our friends.”

Ummm, Kimberly. Popeyes ain’t your friend, girl. Popeyes is a major fast food corporation that does about $222 million in sales a year. Buying their food and reselling it as your own isn’t quite the same thing as taking a stroll to the farmers market on Saturday morning and buying a few quarts of gumbo from an independent contractor. And, while Popeyes is fine for fast food, I don’t know many people who would claim it to be the “best fried chicken anywhere.” Like, anywhere? In the world? I dunno about that. And I get that your restaurant can’t accommodate a frier for you to make your own fried chicken, but then maybe your menu should reflect the capabilities of your kitchen. What you’re doing is not how it works! If you want to keep on selling Popeyes fried chicken, maybe your menu should tell your customers where the chicken is coming from. That way, if they don’t feel like spending too much money at your restaurant, they can swing on over to Popeyes and pick up a chicken tenders combo meal and pair it with some Eggo waffles from Costco. And I don’t even want to know how you warmed up that boxed fried chicken before putting it on a plate and selling it for way more than you bought it.

I gotta give it up to Kimberly though for standing behind her decision. If she’s smart, she can capitalize on this blip of publicity and embrace that she loves her chicken from Popeyes. Slap a Popeyes sticker on your menu and hope you don’t hear from their lawyers. I bet you can get someone to dress up in a Popeye costume and pass out free samples in front of your store. (I can do that for you. I have experience. I was Popeye at Elitch gardens amusement park in Denver during the summer of 1987. That story will be featured in my second book about all the jobs I have ever had. Popeye was job #8 out of 106. You can buy my first book here.)

What have I learned here, people? Well, I have learned that sometimes a 1-star review on Yelp can actually mean something. I have also learned that if you want to run a restaurant, you can just buy your pre-cooked food from wherever the hell you want and call it your own. The last thing I have learned is that there is a Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen too close to my job and I will probably be having it for lunch on Saturday or Sunday.

Read Tyler H.‘s review of Sweet Dixie Kitchen on Yelp

Woman Brings in Her Own Bacon to Restaurant; Becomes My Hero

Hot off of yesterday’s shit show blog post about veganism, today I’m going to write about the wonderment of bacon. I have known several vegetarians over the years who have fallen off the vegetable wagon because of the sweet temptation of meat’s candy and who can blame them? It’s sad that a pig has to sacrifice its life for carnivores like me, but their sacrifice does not go unnoticed. I once had a t-shirt proclaiming my love for bacon and I wore it until it was shreds. If anyone wants to hit me up with a new one, please do.

A photo showed up on Ye Olde Facebook of Awkward Family Photos this week of a woman who brings her own bacon to restaurants because she doesn’t think the BLT’s she orders has enough of it. God bless her because nothing ever has enough bacon on it. Not Cobb salads, omelets, pasta carbonara, or donuts. Bring on the bacon.

What I also love about this woman is she knows that if she asks for extra bacon, we are going to charge her for it and she don’t play that. She’s all, “Nope, I got some bacon in my purse, I’m good.” She is prepared. Look at that photo! That bacon is wrapped up in a paper towel and inside a Ziplock baggie and ready to be added to whatever dish she orders. She is a true inspiration to us all.

Of course there is always the issue of people bringing in their own food and how that’s against health code regulations and all that, but it’s bacon! I give this woman an eternal Get Out of Jail Free card for her foresight, planning and ingenuity.

The only real question I have about this situation is this: isn’t bacon a pain in the ass to cook? It splatters all over the place and it’s not a quick and easy cleanup. If you can spend all the effort to make bacon at home, why not just make a BLT too? Isn’t the best part of going to a restaurant not having to cook and clean up after yourself? Nevermind, I know the answer: they don’t give you enough bacon in the restaurant so it’s all worth it. Besides, this woman probably has makin’ bacon down to a science and can do it in her sleep. When she wakes up each morning, she looks inside her purse to find a new stash of it ready to be used in whatever restaurant she chooses. She’s like her own bacon fairy.

God bless her.

Vegans: Your Lifestyle Choice is Not My Responsibility

Let me start off by saying I don’t hate vegans. In order to hate something, you have to care about that something and I don’t give a shit about vegans so therefore it is impossible for me to hate them. We all make choices in our lives. Vegans have decided to not eat any animal by-products and I have decided to count Velveeta cheese as a food group.


That being said, someone sent me a photo that was shared on a popular Instagram account called veganmemesofficial. The image left a funny taste in mouth and it didn’t taste like chicken. It tasted more like some tofurkey bullshit covered in lentils and sprinkled with kale that had been soaked in soy milk for five days.


Look, vegans, I’m sorry you feel it’s a “struggle” to explain your diet to a server, but that’s the life you chose. You made your bed, now lie in it and cover yourself up with a blanket made of organic hemp and rest your head on a pillow of nut butter and deal with it. It’s not my job as server to study up on the ins and outs of every diet known to mankind. My job is to take your order based on what you have chosen after looking at the menu of the food we offer. Don’t waltz into my section and announce to the world that you’re vegan and then ask me what you can have. (And by the way, I can pretty much guarantee that all of your friends are sick of hearing you tell servers that you are vegan.) The same thing goes for anyone on the South Beach Diet, Atkins, Paleo or Weight Watchers, because I don’t know how many fucking points you’re gonna use up by ordering the fried calamari and the baked potato soup, but my guess is all of them. Stop acting like it’s the restaurant’s responsibility to deal with your food limitations. It’s 2017 and there is this thing called the Internet. Google your ass a restaurant that will cater to your needs and at the very least, look at the menu before you get there so you’re not shocked when the only thing for you at Outback is an iceberg salad with oil and vinegar.

When I went to The Official Vegan Meme Instagram page, I came across another image that crawled right up my ass and made itself at home:


No. Just no, no, no! If you lie to your server and say you’re allergic to something just because you don’t want to eat it, you’re as nasty as a kale smoothie. You might think it makes you look less crazy, but what it really does is make you look like a piece of shit. And I know that vegans are obsessed with shit because they always want to talk about how great their most recent stool was. Every time you lie about being allergic to something, it belittles the situation for someone who is actually allergic to something. If every vegan lies about about being allergic to dairy, how do you think that makes someone feel who is deathly allergic to peanuts? You make it sound like it’s life threatening when all it is you trying to make yourself look better.

And here is one more meme from their page that is about as lame as vegan lasagna:

This is why vegans have such an awful reputation. If you are so inclined, swing over to veganmemesofficial and check out the ridiculousness. Tell them I said hello and to choke on a vegan dick. And by the way, I corrected that last meme for them:

If You Saw Me on the Today Show, This Post is For You

Yes, this is a blog post specifically for the millions of people who may have seen me on the Today Show with Megyn Kelly this morning and more specifically for the dozens of you who cared enough to find me. This is my blog and if you couldn’t tell by the name of it, it’s kinda bitchy sometimes. But in a good way! Fun! This blog is about the restaurant industry and I try to be the voice of servers around the world who want to say things about their customers and jobs, but aren’t allowed to. I say it all.

Since I may or not have been able to plug the name of my book on the show, you can click here to buy it. It’s called The Bitchy Waiter: Tales, Tips & Trials from a Life in Food Service. It’s pretty cheap so even if you buy it and don’t like it, it’s perfect for lining a bird cage or starting a fire. However, if you have ever worked in a restaurant, I think you’ll quite enjoy it. You should also know that I have a potty mouth and there’s a bit of profanity in the book. And when I say “a bit,” I mean “a lot.”


You can also click here to follow me on Facebook, because that page is full of drama all the damn time.

Or click here to find me on Twitter.

Or click here to follow me on Instagram.

And just so you can get an idea of who I truly am, below are a few videos that pretty much sum me up. Thanks for checking me out and thank you to Megyn Kelly for lowering her standards and asking me to be a part of the show.



The 22 Ways Table 28 Annoyed Me During Restaurant Week

It’s Restaurant Week in my Queens neighborhood and I just had my ass handed to me on a tray. Unsurprisingly, the tray hadn’t been wiped down in two weeks and it’s sticky on both sides. For those of you not in the know, Restaurant Week is when a group of restaurants offer special deals to entice customers to come out to eat. Usually, it’s a prix fixe menu and it brings out the dregs of humanity who are looking for a good deal. This night, every single table in the place is full and since global warming is a thing, the patio is full too even though it’s October on the east coast. I am in the weeds for about two hours straight. A group of women come in and I instantly know I will be writing a blog post about them.


The 22 Ways They Annoyed Me

  1. Four of them show up claiming to be a 9-top and want to be seated immediately even though the restaurant is bursting at the seamsjust like a Kardashian in a pair of leather pants.
  2. They take five minutes deciding whether to sit inside or outside. Either way means I will be moving tables together.
  3. After I get the table ready, they decide to wait at the bar until the rest of the group gets here, so now I have four tables that are as useless as the Spanx one of them is wearing.
  4. After a few minutes, they decide to go ahead and be seated, two of them already having drinks from the bar and two of them deciding to order their drinks at two different times making me walk back and forth far too often. And of course one of them wants to taste the wine before ordering it.
  5. They can’t comprehend the Restaurant Week menu and have me explain it to them. Two times.
  6. The four decide to order since they don’t know when the rest of the group will get here.
  7. Another shows up and is ready for a drink but not food.
  8. Another shows up ten minutes later and orders a drink but doesn’t want to order dinner so that half of them can eat together, guaranteeing they will be here twice as long as they should be.
  9. Now she does want to order some fries since four out of the six are already eating.
  10. One of them tells me their friend has called and is almost there and wants to order a tequila and Sprite with lime so it’s there waiting for her. “But she’s not here yet. You want it now?” I ask. She does so I decide to rush it and I have it at the table within 90 seconds knowing that the humidity and warm air will cause the drink to be watered down and nasty by the time the friend arrives. The friend gets there eight minutes later and I notice the drink is sufficiently crappy.
  11. The first four women are on the entree course. The one who wanted to taste the wine is unhappy with her medium steak because it has pink in it. She sends it back. It is re-fired. It’s still too pink, even though it is now medium well. She sends it back again. “Just burn the mother fucker,” I tell the cook. “Bitch doesn’t know what medium means.” When i give it to her the third time she looks at it and says, “It’ll do.” I hate her.
  12. The “9-top” is still only a 7-top and I could really use that extra table, but they are spread out all over it like mayonnaise on white bread.
  13. The one with the steak wants me to wrap it up now. They are all ordering drinks one at a time instead of as a group forcing me to give them more attention and time than any of my other tables.
  14. It starts to drizzle so they ask to move inside. Luckily, there are tables available that I hastily pull together and let them know they can move inside, but the rain has now stopped. “Can’t you just open the umbrellas if it starts again?” one asks. “No, they provide shade during the day, but they’re not big enough to cover all the tables from rain.” With that, she looks as sad and dejected as her friend’s ass does in the Spanx.
  15. It starts to rain again, so they waddle inside.
  16. It’s official: it’s only going to be the seven of them. They have been here for two hours already.
  17. More drinks, all at different times. One wants decaf because of course she does.
  18. They are getting louder and more obnoxious, irritating other customers.
  19. They continue to drink and finish their dessert, the latecomers deciding to not order any food at all.
  20. The one who sent her steak back, gets my attention and hands me a credit card. “This is for just me,” she says. No, that’s not how it works. “You’re all on one check,” I say. “I’ll get it and you can tell me how much to put on your card.”
  21. They spend an insane amount of time figuring out the check. I feel certain I will get screwed.
  22. They give me three credit cards. “Both of these will be for $60 and this one will take the balance.” I know how this is going to work: the two cards with $60 had already factored in their tip, but the one with the balance is going to only tip on what goes onto the card. It always happens that way. I run the cards and hope for the best.

The One Way They Did Not Annoy Me

  1. They tipped me 22%!

This Week in Stupid 1-Star Reviews


The folks who work at Trattoria Amici in Glendale, CA are, no doubt, trying to pull themselves out of a deep depression after learning that Chef H. and his wife are never going back to the restaurant. Be strong, Trattoria Amici staff, because when one door closes another one opens. Well, in this case, when one entitled asshole customer leaves, another one will certainly show up in its place, just like a weed in a garden or a grey hair that is plucked daily.

It seems that Chef’s wife went to the restaurant 39 minutes before it was open in order to buy a gift card. His wife, having a brain the size of a scuppernong seed, didn’t see anything wrong with showing up before the official opening hours and proceeded to knock on the glass door to get the attention of the hostess. The hostess was basically all, “Umm, we’re closed” and probably went right back to eating her bacon, egg and cheese on a roll while drawing out the seating chart for the day. Undeterred, Chef’s wife started waving her wallet and money around as if that would make the hostess decide to open the restaurant early. It didn’t, so Chef’s wife had to go to another restaurant to buy the $100 gift card that must have been the most important gift in the history of gift giving.

Chef is angry. Chef is displeased. Chef leaves a 1-star review on Yelp.

Okay, look, Chef. Your wife needed to pull out her smart phone and Google the restaurant to see what the hours were before she showed up all willy nilly expecting them to cater to her needs. The restaurant was closed. It’s not like your wife got there a couple of minutes before opening time; it was thirty fucking nine minutes early. No one would show up to the bank 39 minutes before it was open and expect a teller to run over to unlock the door just so they could deposit a check, but it’s okay to think a restaurant will do that? No, that’s not how it works.

Trattoria Amici is open every day from 11:30 AM to 10:00 PM. That means they are open 73 1/2 hours a week. Are you trying to tell me that your wife couldn’t find time in those 73+ hours to run her errand? She had to go there when they were closed and then you have the gall to leave a bad review because your wife has poor time management skills? That’s not a lack of customer service on their part, it’s a lack of respect on yours. How about give the restaurant some credit for respecting their employees enough by not expecting them to deal with customers until their advertised opening hours? The hostess wasn’t being disrespectful to your wife. Quite the contrary, your wife was being disrespectful to the hostess by ignoring the posted hours and expecting preferential treatment.

You say the whole thing is “pretty sad” and I tend to agree with you: it is “pretty sad” that some customers think they are more important than anyone else and even sadder to leave a 1-star review when it’s clearly not the restaurant’s issue. Wake up, Chef and get your wife a smart phone.

Read Chef H.‘s review of Trattoria Amici on Yelp