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They’re not restaurants anymore. They’re Gastropubs and Creameries with thirty dollar burgers (with “housemade aioli”) and six bucks for a scoop of (“organically-churned grass fed”) ice cream, it’s the worst food you’ve ever had, the cracker couple sitting next to you is bitching and moaning about the blacks stealing from Walgreens underneath the BLM sign, the crackers on the other side are discussing their VC ghoul fake money bullshit, conspicuously noted 10% “mandate surcharge” to try and turn you against laws forcing small business tyrants to pay a semblance of a fair wage, those obnoxious fucking plastic stools, gluten-free Frankenstein disgusting dish, five dollar juice served in a decapitated jar that’s impossible to drink out of and spiked with alcohol because fuck you that’s why, “farm to table” (as opposed to food that materialized out of thin air), “locally grown” (it’s imported from Africa after paying the locals half-cents on the dollar), “this is not a dish, it’s an EXPERIENCE”, local craft artisan IPA (they just fired the workers for striking), “vegetables greens meat flesh dessert Apre-meal”, bottomless mimosas, servers treat delivery technician, everything is slathered in disgusting “truffle” oil, mashed potatoes potato pureéééé, here’s your bill better take out a loan to pay it, don’t forget the parking is $30 every 15 minutes.

Thank you for dining at Chrysanthemum & Millefuckelwanker located in the thriving SoCaGoMaGooGooGaGa district.

Those places tend to be like a temple to whatever rich jackoff owns it, with pompous slogans and insincere epiphanies scribbled over the wallpaper, on the tables, even in the fucking restrooms.

I hate that shit so much.