3:44 p.m. Friday, June 12, 2015
If you have read my previous journal that I proudly finished, you would know that a lot of queer things have happened to me. I probably shouldn’t use queer; it might sound strange because I am queer… I think strange is better. Yes, very, very unfortunate things. My name is Sinclair Foote, and I am more distinguished than most people. Of course, that’s a euphemism. It’s pretty evident that I’m better than everyone.
So I just came back from Paris two weeks ago. I actually had a great time. The only flaw is that the people are all European, so they think peeing on the streets and letting their babies go naked is fine.
I think the best restaurant I went to was this place called Le Cinq at the George Cinq Hotel. The meal cost $1055 — the most expensive and exquisite dinner I have ever had and paid for. It was completely and utterly worth it.
The help began me with some wonderful warm French Bread — though I think the waiters tried too hard; they were far too nice and positive. For my appetizer I had a perfectly seared Foie Gras roasted with pistils of flower, pear, and petals of sweet and sour radish. It was $70 and almost as good as mine. For my second course I had Coquilles St. Jacques. The sauce wasn’t thick enough. For my entree, I had pithiviers of Grouse, Duck Mallard and Young Partridge with chestnut honey, autumn fruits, and squeezed juice with armagnac. I was a bit of a “grouse” myself after the meal because it was a little greasy. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m a more exquisite cook than the whole staff put together.
When I went to a market, there were sections for all the nations’ foods. In the Japanese section, there was ramen and a freezer for the terribly put-together sushi. In the Indian section, there were bags of dried curry that looked like they would give a person a day and night’s worth of diarrhea.
Finally, I reached the American section and was curious to see what they thought of us Americans. I walked down the aisle, hearing every creak my feet made. People rushed past me with their carts as I stood frozen, staring in horror at the rows of vile pleasure before me: Oreos, peanut butter, cake mix, candy cereal with the midget leprechaun, potato chips with so much salt it’s very likely they came from the Dead Sea, and Hersheys, the most vulgar chocolate ever made. If a Hershey kiss kissed me, I’d rather lock myself in a closet with Tom Cruise. The list goes on. SO many unhealthy foods!
This was the most insulting incident I had ever encountered! America has so many great restaurants, like that restaurant Providence in L.A. It has four Michelin stars! Although when I had their smoked trout, I had to send it back because it was a little too fishy. I only went back there once, but they no longer have the foie gras ravioli, because those imbecilic Sacramentans outlawed it! Everybody from Sacramento is an idiot!
But let’s get back to the point. America has some of the most delicious food — definitely not on the planet, though. But it’s definitely better than Hungary! No wonder they go hungry all the time!
My new life goal is to replace the vile filth in the American section of that French market with high-quality cuisine that better represents my country and home that I’m probably going to move away from.
Then I realized that I said all of that out loud and I was very embarrassed. At least no one was in that aisle, because it’s the American section and no one would be caught dead there.
I walked out of the store so enraged. What I thought at that very frustrating, confusing moment was: I cannot believe this! This is terrible! Only the disgusting, greasy-haired, wannabees that eat only at Tito’s Tacos eat those disgraceful foods!
So I have decided that after seeing so much awful American food, I will stop this from happening!
I will get a flight to Paris in three weeks. I don’t think I will ever be able to stomach American food again.