By Ben Holcomb

PETE WELLS, did you really eat at Guy Fieri’s new restaurant in Times Square four times over the last month? Did you consciously battle the hectic zoo that is the heart of the world, and walk through those massive doors to the American Kitchen & Bar, and add your name to the list? Is that something you did with the precious moments of your life? Is your life living up to your expectations?

Is it everything you imagined it to be, when you were in college dreaming about becoming the next Faulkner or Joyce?

When you perused a menu that contained a hypno-wheel, with items such as the “Ain’t No Thing Butta Chicken Wings”, did you ever once think This place is kind of in on its own joke, or were you too busy giggling your own ass off on account of your future column?

Don’t you know that writing a review in the New York Times about Guy Fieri’s new restaurant is akin to writing a dissertation on the mise-en-scene in Honey Boo Boo?

Did you not once think that critiquing anything with Guy Fieri’s name on it could be seen as trolling of the likes no one has ever seen before? That maybe attacking someone that’s been so far in the void for the past five years most forgot about him, that you might be diving headlong into the void yourself?

At any point, did you feel like the weird kid poking a stick at a dead pigeon on the playground asphalt as the rest of the world looked on at you in abject horror? Was there ever a doubt in your mind, or a moment of trepidation, that even commenting on the quality of a “deep fried boulder of ice cream” might in turn come off as the dumbest waste of written language ever? Like, worse than 50 Shades?

Who among us is actually outraged by a normal Caesar salad being called “Guy’s Famous Big Bite Caesar”? Who does that affect? Were there not just a bunch of obese tourists around you with fanny packs and giant maps, just happy to be a part of an establishment with so many people packed inside? Do you think, in the belly of your soul, that anyone actually gives a flying you know what about the food when they enter that place?

You think your review has brought good to this world, that you saved us all from the terror of that restaurant? Or do you think the more likely story is that we’ll all still go there because we have an hour to kill and we’d be sooner dead than caught inside of the Sbarro next door?

Don’t you find yourself just the least bit culpable? Don’t you think you were an accomplice in the same crime you claim to be a victim to? Who seriously orders a drink that’s blue and expects anything less than crap?

Don’t you know that writing a review in the New York Times about Guy Fieri’s new restaurant is akin to writing a dissertation on the mise-en-scene in Honey Boo Boo?

By the way, what’s the deal with all the questions? Couldn’t you have just written them in sentences and been less of a douche? Are you surprised or proud about the fact that you made us all empathize with a guy that has bleached, spiked hair and regularly wears wristbands even though he’s never seen the inside of a gym?

As you plucked away at your computer writing that review, were you just whispering to yourself nailed it, nailed it with every passing word? Did you think your children would be proud of you when it ran in the paper the next day? Or do you think they were disheartened by the fact that they went to bed one more night without the goodnight kiss of their father, who was too busy trying watermelon margaritas at Guy Fieri’s restaurant for the third time in one week?

When you have a second, Mr. Wells, can you give me my six minutes back?

Do you know that your description of the nuclear waste margarita implies that you know what a combination of radiator fluid and formaldehyde tastes like? That’s kind of weird and implicating, isn’t it?

Did you seriously go to a restaurant so big it serves maybe 7,000 people at once, and get uppity about the amount of plates on your table? Be honest, did you bite your tongue about the plates so you could add it to your column, even though the poor girl who’s just trying to get through grad school so she can pave a better life for her young, out-of-wedlock children was a little preoccupied?

When you described your party as “a couple of white guys”, did you expect the hostess – who’s dealing with fifty other people just as important as you – to drop everything she was doing and read your mind? Was the thirty seconds walking around in awkward purgatory too much for you?

Do you think your uncomfortably aggressive tangent into Guy Fieri’s TV career took a weird turn down AD HOMINEM lane and thus immediately killed the credibility of the rest of your piece, which was marketed as a review of one specific restaurant in New York City? Why do you even watch shows Guy Fieri’s on, anyways? Don’t you have anything better to do?

Why don’t you just tune Guy Fieri, and the Kardashians, and Lindsay Lohan out like the rest of us? Why are your panties in such a bunch over this guy?

How much shit did you end up eating at this restaurant, anyway?

When have you ever enjoyed nachos when you weren’t high, drunk, or incredibly depressed and in your underwear, alone at 3am in your apartment? Don’t you think there’s a bit of idiocracy in the fact that you – as a full-time food critic – are critiquing nachos?

Can you send me the link to your next article, about hot dogs that were cooked in a vat of murky water inside a subway station?

At which meal did you order Chai tea, because that doesn’t seem to go with anything else you ordered?

Were you disappointed when you found out Flavor Town was just a fun phrase and not a real place?

Are you still trying to figure out how people roll in Flavor Town? Do you want me to pull you aside, put my arm around you, and let you know that Flavor Town isn’t real?

Have you ever eaten at a place like Applebees, and gone in knowing its crap, but still ate there anyways because it was convenient and it helped prolong the depression that comes with staying inside by yourself on a Friday night? Do you realize that emotion accounts for about 60% of restaurant visits, especially a chain place like Guy Fieri’s?

Do you want us to sympathize with the fact that you didn’t like the Donkey Sauce? Why did you order Donkey Sauce?? Were you the little kid that put his hand on the stove after your mother told you not to?

If the entire restaurant was a very expensive piece of conceptual art, wouldn’t that be kind of badass? Would you like it more, or would you feel punked?

Not to be redundant, but what on earth were you doing eating toasted marshmallows?

Did you finish that blue drink?

Oh, and are you so fat that after 1,000 plus words of ripping a restaurant for being “inedible”, you still want to eat their French fries?

Though you managed to go viral and receive the approval of people happy to see Guy Fieri get “owned”, the rest of us who live life without ever thinking of the man are now all dumber for your review. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.


Pete Well’s Review of Guy Fieri’s New Restaurant: Inane

ATMOSPHERE  Kind of scream-y and aggressive, in the way where everyone else is staring and looking at each other like “what the hell is this?”

SOUND LEVEL Put his name in ALL CAPS for some reason at the beginning? I don’t know. Sounds like he broke off a few keys on his keyboard when writing.

RECOMMENDED Restaurants should probably not let this guy eat at their venue more than once a week, especially when he orders the Blue margarita, nachos, chicken tenders, Maine lobster, and calamari all at once. 

DRINKS AND WINE Gonna go out on a limb and say a lot of that was consumed during the making of that article.

PRICES Time spent away from doing something that could improve you in some capacity.

WHAT THE STARS MEAN Who knows, I didn’t really see any in the review but just got the vibe he probably intended to do some jerky -5 stars bit or maybe even research extensively into what the technical term for like a mini-star was, and then awarded it that, so we’d all have to wikipedia it just to know what the heck he was talking about, even though we were just bored in the first place and intrigued by the concept of some poor sap sitting in a chain Guy Fieri restaurant trying to review it.