After New York Times food critic Peter Wells published a scathing yet pretty hilarious review of Guy Fieri’s new Times Square restaurant, Guy’s American Bar and Grill, this week, we at the The Gabbler thought that it was only fair to allow Mr. Fieri to respond in an open letter to Mr. Wells that is published below. Mr. Fieri also asked The Gabbler to promote his new book, “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives: TWO,” TV series, “Tailgate Warriors,” and “kewl new Knuckle Sandwich Wristbands.” We politely declined.
‘Sup people, Guy here. I’ve heard that there’s been some hatin’ on my new Times Square digs, Guy’s American Bar and Grill. I just wanted to swing in and put in my two cents, because frankly, my place is off da hook.
So it looks like this New York Times dude, Peter Wells, didn’t enjoy his experience at my very own Guy’s American Bar and Grill. That’s too bad. It really is. I want everyone who comes in to Guy’s American Bar and Grill to have an awesomely killer time. That’s all I’m sayin.’ Am I right?
I debated about whether or not to call this dude out for harshin’ everyone’s mellow, but I quickly remembered that I’m a pretty lucky brotha, because I’m not what you’d call a classy dude. So I’d like to take this opportunity to answer a few of Pete’s questions – in the words of stuffy New Yorker literati types: the rhetorical be damned.
I’m sorry I’m a killer reality TV star, man. I’m sorry I talk loud, and usually chew with my mouth open. I’m sorry I use paper napkins – if I haven’t already wiped the back of my shorts. I’m sorry I pronounce the x in prix fixe – both of ‘em. I’m sorry that I’m still not 100 percent sure what organic means – but I’m learnin’. I’m sorry that I’ve had the same kick ass bleached spiked hairstyle since I was 10. And I still rock it. Killer.
I’m sorry that I was never a “professionally trained” chef. I’m sorry that I started my kick ass career at Stouffer’s, most famous for their day glow-yellow mac and cheese. I’m sorry that they stuff their killer products with more preservatives than I wrap a chili dog with bacon. I’m sorry that not all Americans can afford to dine on $29 lobster mac and cheese with bechamel and truffle oil, you pretentious fuck.
I’m sorry that my menu isn’t in French, and that I don’t have “Small Plates” “Craft Beers,” or “Classic Cocktails.” Sorry, brosef. My bad. I’m sorry if you feel like you already don’t have enough “Contemporary American” bistros in New York City. I’m sorry if I’m really missing out on a killer niche market, dude.
No, I didn’t incorporate a raw quail egg into my menu to be “edgy.”I think it sounds terrible, and I’m afraid of salmonella. What does a quail even look like, anyway? And no, I didn’t hire some stuck up sommalier to pick our wines, because I’m a man, and I drink beer. I think white wine is for pussies, and red wine just dries out my mouth. I don’t know what frisson is, and I doubt my guests are missing it. And I’d just like to say: I don’t care how “trendy” they are, brussel sprouts are still gross.
You know, maybe it is a bit pricey for an app or two at Guy’s American Bar and Grill, but at least my plates come with more than a lone chicken wing and a pile of lettuce. At least my guests don’t need to order four rounds of bread to keep from starving. And I don’t care how successful I become: there will always be free soda refills in my restaurants. Long live America!
So yeah, my food at Guy Fieri’s American Bar and Grill apparently isn’t up to your standards, pal. My fun, lighthearted titles offend you. The delightful whimsy of my glow-in-the-dark margarita was lost on you. But don’t you dare shit on The Donkey Sauce, man. It’s just garlic mayo with a killer name, and it’s elegant simplicity is clearly lost on you.
Love, Peace and Taco Grease,
Guy Fieri
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