In the future no one eats in restaurants. Restaurants still exist, and the poor and middle class still dine there. But no one eats at the fine restaurants anymore. The food is served only to be mocked and humiliated. It’s a high art that’s evolved into a serious religion. A kind of anti-communion where the more complicated and breathtakingly rare the dish, the more cruel and dismissive the commentary.
The horror of what we’ve become will annihilate you. And you will cry and weep until you laugh and laugh. Only to cry and laugh some more. It’s such a release.
One evening I was in one of the best restaurants in Miami Beach called Nanoo Nanoo. One of the specialties was an ancient tortoise’s head where the top of the skull was removed, revealing a golden glistening brain. It was surrounded by a color wheel of bluebird eyes on a bed of red, rare, edible orchids.
“What the fuck is this stupid pile of shit.” hissed Tad, our priest.
Tad is the best, with his wild David Lynchian hair and his uniform that looked like a reverse white on black Han Solo outfit.
“OMG!” Tad continued. “That turtle was 150 years old and still married?! What a fucking dipshit! And those orchids are specially crossbred to treat baby cancer. But they’re way too expensive and hard to grow. And no one gives a shit about birds,” he laughed, snapping his finger above his head. “Only fucking psychos like birds.”
He threw the whole platter on the floor and yelled at an old man to clean it up. “Pronto!”
I wanted to fucking stab Tad’s eyes out. He truly is one of the best. The first time I went to Nanoo Nanoo I almost killed him. I had to be physically restrained. I know enough now to let it all run through me. Soon the sobs will rack my entire body. We all end up sobbing at how terrible we’ve become. Then we all just look at each other, blubbering like babies, and we laugh and laugh. It’s all sooo incredibly freeing.
You’re gonna hate the future at first. But don’t worry, you’ll grow to love it.