The development I live in is fairly new. It was being constructed when I first moved into my current house, back in June 2010. It used to be a golf course, so naturally, my dog would always dig up golf balls in my backyard. That is, of course, until I built a deck, and now he can't dig up anything! That'll show him!
The two shopping centers near my house are new too. I'll discuss one of them another time, but I want to focus on the one that has the Bottom Dollar in it. When they had originally completed the Bottom Dollar, they had space for three stores. All of this is within walking distance from my home, so I was eager to see what they would put in there.
The possibilities were endless. Perhaps they'd have a pizza place. Or maybe a cheesesteak joint. Or how about somewhere to get ice cream? What about a Gamestop or a comic book store? Or, how about a Blockbuster? I could rent movies, and stuff, and it would be so cool.
My heart sank when they initially posted signs for two of the three tenants. One would be a nail salon. I can now walk over and get their mani-pedi special for just $24.99. Then again, I can just whip out my trusty nail clippers and cut my nails. For free. What a terrible scam. Nail salons are up there with the prince who e-mails you from Somalia, telling you that his royal parents have been assassinated, and that he needs YOU to smuggle $50 million U.S. into your country. Come to think of it, the owners of nail salons are probably the ones sending out these e-mails - as if stealing money for cutting nails wasn't enough of a con job.
The other tenant was even worse - a restaurant named Kyoto bought the place. Kyoto, if you couldn't tell, is "Tokyo" with the letters rearranged. I figured this out myself. And thank God that I did - otherwise, I would've gone in, thinking it was some normal restaurant, and then I would've died of disappointment once I saw what type of food they were serving me.
I hate Asian food, and Japanese food - mainly sushi - is like the Rosie O'Donnell of fat chicks. It's even disgusting than all the others. I don't get why anyone would want to eat raw fish. It sounds like another con job to me. I can only imagine the conversation the Japanese had prior to bringing sushi over to America�
Japanese President: Attention arr! Attention arr! I hate America for bombing us after we attack Pearr Harbor! We need a revenge!
Japanese Advisor: How about we get some a raw fish, terr Americans this is a dericious Japanese cuisine, and then we raugh when American eat disgusting a raw fish!?
Japanese President: What a stupid idea! No individuar in their right mind would eat a disgusting raw fish!
Japanese Advisor: Trust me, Mr. President, American riberar wourd try anything! They want to try everything so they think they worrdry and curturred!
Japanese President: So it a settred. We make American eat disgusting raw fish and then we make a foor out of them and raugh at them so hard.
As you can see, if you eat sushi, you've been foored - I mean fooled - by the evil Japanese president. While we're here, eating disgusting Japanese food, the Japanese people are living the life, eating McDonald's, KFC and Taco Bell each night in their home country. And instead of watching normal TV shows like we do, they have footage captured by hidden cameras of Americans eating disgusting raw fish. They raugh all night until it's time for bed.
The Japanese president's plan worked brilliantly, as Americans are ceaselessly devouring disgusting raw fish. I know this because Kyoto has been very successful; they had to expand, so they took the third, empty building right near Bottom Dollar, so they were able to double the size of their establishment.
I was highly disappointed by this until they built the second shopping center, but that's a story for another time. I want to focus on Kyoto in this entry because my sister decided that she wanted to have her birthday dinner there. Here was my reaction to it�
Mom: We have to go out for your sister's birthday on Thursday.
Me: OK, I guess I'll DVR the Thursday night game. Where are we going?
Mom: That Japanese place right by your house. I think it's called Kyoto.
Me: KYOTO!?!?!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!! I'LL DO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!! NOT KYOTO!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
I then proceeded to vomit all of the floor.
Unfortunately, my sister's birthday arrived before I knew it. I made sure to DVR the game, and then my girlfriend and I walked over to Kyoto. "I'm not going to like anything there, so can we go to Wawa afterward?" I asked.
I was not in a happy mood when we entered the restaurant. We found my parents, my sister and her boyfriend Rich sitting by the hibachi bar, or whatever you call it. Rich instantly offered me some red wine.
Me: Nah, no thanks, I hate wine.
Mom: We have some white wine. Don't you like that better?
Me: I hate all wine, but I guess white is less offensive.
Rich laughed when I said white wine was less offensive because I was being a dick, but like I said, I was in a grumpy mood. And yes, wine does suck. It just doesn't taste good. It's all warm, and it feels like you're drinking urine. And trust me, I know what urine tastes like. It's almost exactly like wine. I'd rather have a cold, refreshing drink; not a urine facsimile. I'd get into how the evil French conned us into drinking wine, but that's for another entry.
Perhaps I'd have more luck with the food? I flipped open the menu and scanned the first two pages.
Me: This is bulls***, where are the cheeseburgers!?
Girlfriend: They don't serve them here.
Me: Why not!? The Japanese are smart; they should've invented cheeseburgers by now.
Girlfriend: Oh, don't look at those two pages. Or those two. Or those two. You won't like anything on them.
She was right. These pages contained nothing but sushi options. They had four freaking pages of sushi. That just seemed crazy to me. How many ways can you serve raw fish? The Japanese president really did a number on the American people. I checked the ceiling for hidden cameras, but couldn't locate them.
My girlfriend told me to keep flipping through pages in this menu, which was long enough to be the sixth book in the Game of Thrones series. I think I saw a character die in one of the pages.
As for the actual food items, nothing made sense to me. It was all gibberish. I could've sworn I saw "sacrificed cat" on the menu, but there was no way in hell I was going to try that.
It seemed like hours, but we finally reached the back of the menu. "You'll like these," my girlfriend said, pointing to the hibachi. I saw options for steak and shrimp, chicken and shrimp, chicken and vegetables, etc. I normally would've been relieved, but the whole hibachi thing is a scam too. The last time I had hibachi, they gave me vegetables with my chicken and shrimp hibachi, which was disastrous.
Fortunately, my girlfriend offered to eat the vegetables I didn't want off my plate and give some of her chicken to me, so I told the waiter I wanted the chicken and shrimp hibachi. He took the menu from me, looking rather displeased that I didn't order any of the sushi. I would've told him to tell the Japanese president to go f*** himself, but then they'd know that I had discovered their dirty secret about sushi.
Our meals came with soup and salad. I enjoy soup and salad prior to dinner, but most definitely not Japanese soup and salad. Well, the former wasn't too bad. The broth itself was decent, but there were these weird white cubes floating around in it. I avoided them at all cost, knowing full well that it could be one of three things:
1. Poison - It is a Japanese restaurant, after all, and they want revenge for Hiroshima.
2. Sacrificed Cat Hairballs - Mashed into cubes, of course, so no one would suspect that they're eating sacrificed cat hair.
3. Sushi Bits - I bet their live studio audience would get a big raugh if I swallowed them!
The salad, on the other hand, was something I didn't touch. I just handed it to my girlfriend. That's because it came with some weird salad dressing that was apparently ginger. I asked if they had Ranch or Caesar dressing, but people looked at me like I was an idiot. What? Any restaurant that doesn't carry Ranch or Caesar should lose its license to sell food.
It was eventually time for the hibachi guy to start doing his thing. He twirled his knives, forks and meat cleavers in the air like some magician. Everyone was amazed, but I was more focused on what he had in his tray. He had two red and two yellow squeeze bottles. That meant one thing - he had ketchup and mustard available as condiments!
Now, I actually hate mustard, so I was more excited about the prospect of having ketchup with my dinner. I love ketchup, and I'll eat it with anything. When I was a little kid, I had ketchup sandwiches. I just took two pieces of bread, smeared ketchup onto both of them and stuffed the sandwich into my mouth. It was delicious.
Ketchup would totally work with both shrimp and chicken. Granted, I'd prefer cocktail sauce for the former, but ketchup would suffice. I was happy for the first time all night, so you can imagine my disappointment when he squeezed the red and yellow bottles, and clear liquid came out.
I wanted to scream again. How could they do this to me? You can't have red and yellow bottles and not fill them with ketchup and mustard, respectively. That's sacrilegious. Why not put the clear liquid into a clear bottle? Why torture me like this? Why!?
The hibachi guy finished cooking the food in front of us soon enough. I was one of two people to order shrimp, so he put a sizeable portion of it onto my plate and then another one onto the other person's plate. And then he did something I'll never forget - he gave the remaining shrimp to everyone else.
OK� this just meant everyone would get small portions of everything, right? That's what I thought when he divvied up the chicken and vegetables similarly. It had me wondering what the point of ordering "chicken and shrimp hibachi" was - until I saw what he did with the steak. My dad was the only one who ordered steak with his hibachi, but instead of offering the steak to everyone, the hibachi guy dumped every single piece of steak onto my dad's plate.
What the f***!? How is that remotely fair? If everyone gets some of my shrimp, then I should get some of everyone's steak. It's f***ing bulls***!
I ate my dinner is misery. It helped that my girlfriend and I exchanged the vegetables and meat, as we agreed to earlier, but I still didn't feel as though I had enough shrimp. I eyed my dad's steak enviously.
The hibachi douche returned later and offered to squirt some Sake into everyone's mouth. I declined because I had to work after dinner, and I didn't trust him anyway. I suspected that this was just sacrificed cat urine, and I became more confident in my prediction once he started peer pressuring me into having some Sake. He asked me like five times and even called me a sissy for not having anyway. I wanted to tell him to go f*** himself, but he would've likely stripped off his cooking outfit and revealed his ninja gear and beat me up. So, I just kept saying that I had to go to work later.
Before we left, the staff gave my sister some ice cream because it was her birthday. It was basically just vanilla ice cream with whipped cream and sprinkles. I was so angry that I didn't get any - I even thought about shouting out that it was my birthday too - until my sister announced that she didn't want it because her stomach wasn't feeling right. I grabbed it before she could offer it to anyone else, and I stuffed the ice cream into my mouth.
NOM NOM NOM, ICE CREAM, NOM NOM NOM.
By the time I was more than halfway done, I realized that I was no longer hungry. The ice cream did the trick, so I didn't have to go to Wawa anymore. And to top it off, I would escape Kyoto without eating any sacrificed cat parts or, more importantly, raw fish.
As I stuffed a spoonful of delicious ice cream into my mouth, I looked up at the ceiling and at the hidden cameras. I smiled because I knew that I had the rast raugh.