Ellen Maddox on Mezcal North: 3/5 stars:
Didn’t knock my socks off or anything, but it was alright.
Imani Griffin on The Modern Bistro: 1/5 stars:
Let me tell you about my night: my feet were sweating profusely at a recent date, and I could only imagine how bad they must have smelled. Really could have used a dish to knock my socks off, but no dice. She ended up inviting me back to her place, and when I took off my shoes, the stench was horrendous. She demanded I leave.
Stephen Wright on Mili’s Chili House: 4/5 stars:
Just can’t get me enough of their Ring o’ Fire Chili con Carne. Honestly, I need to bring an extra pair of socks every time I dine in. It’s that good!
Alia Nazari on Mili’s Chili House: 2/5 stars:
The gentleman at the table next to me, his socks ended up in my entree. Should have got what he ordered…
Merlinda Eaton on Uncle Jack’s Clam Shack: 0/5 stars:
Very disappointed with my experience. I honestly have too many socks and could afford to lose a pair or two. Alas, my journey continues.
Alan Walter on Tofu Palace: 5/5 stars:
I chose this restaurant solely because I didn’t see it listed on the new MAGA-friendly restaurant app, “63red Safe.” It was my intention to come here and troll some libtards by wearing my MAGA hat, but I unfortunately left it sitting on its marble pedestal. I’m sure you’re wondering, “How are you going to own these soyboys now, Alan?” Well, thankfully I remembered to wear my MAGA red, white and blue socks—which have a picture of Trump’s glowing, God-like face on them—with my jorts (jean-shorts) and grey New Balance 993 shoes. Before I exited my car, I took three Brain Force Plus capsules, preparing for the nimble trolling to come.
I was immediately upset upon entering, as not a single cuck—bearded employee or nose-ringed patron—commented on my socks. I ordered my food with disgust, hoping my vitriolic tone whilst ordering the spinach, tofu, and quinoa bowl would give me away, bringing deserved attention to my socks, but nothing was said! I couldn’t believe it.
I took my food to an empty table in the center of the restaurant, hoping that I would finally gain the ire of some hip liberal idiot who majors in gender studies or some other useless subject that isn’t engineering. I even slipped my shoes off and placed my feet up on the chair across from me, hoping people would catch a glance of my socks and become infuriated. After staring at different tables for 20 minutes, all with no response, I thought I should finally try my food—I did pay for it. It must have taken me another twenty minutes just to force a single piece of tofu in my mouth: I imagined my 45-year-old man tits would only inflate to a double-G cup upon ingesting this soy product, my hormones inverting wildly, my testosterone levels practically sinking into the negatives.
However, I couldn’t believe how good the tofu tasted. Sure, the texture was different, but my God, it was truly delicious. I took another bite, now adding in a spoonful of quinoa alongside my tofu. BAM! My socks were knocked clear off! It was as if Bernie Sanders had scurried under my table and stolen my socks from my feet, only to give them to some impoverished huckster—the socialist dream!
I couldn’t stop eating. I almost forgot about the socks, as I was nearly treating my tofu bowl as if it were a trough. That was until a young man covered in strange tattoos and piercings, wearing a loose-fitting beanie, tapped me on the shoulder, holding my wet, dripping socks out in front of me.
“Umm, Sir,” he said, “Your socks landed in my boyfriend’s curry dish.”
I couldn’t believe it. I still managed to own these soyboys. My attempts weren’t in vain.
I took my socks from the feeble, effeminate fool, tied them around my neck as if they were a damp scarf, finished my food and went on my way. I’ll have to get all of my Redditor friends to come along next time.
Connor Wyatt Maximilian IV on Hook & Co.: 1/5 stars:
Although I was told that this place would knock my socks off, I regret to admit that I wore boat shoes without socks. While I suppose I could have worn socks with my boat shoes, Mama and Papa simply would not allow it. They might have had an aneurysm if I stepped foot off our summer houseboat in such horrendous style. I am determined to return to this establishment, this time properly attired. (To be continued…)
Connor Wyatt Maximilian IV on Hook & Co.: 5/5 stars:
(Continued) I returned to this establishment following my first trip—sans socks—and prepared to dress accordingly this time around. After drowning out the sound of Mama and Papa scolding me for my attire, I took my seat at our oceanside table and began to prepare myself.
Upon receiving the first course of our nine-course dinner, a scrumptious Carrot Tart with a Ricotta and Slivered-Almond Filling and topped off with fresh thyme, I could feel my socks begin to fidget about my calves. I was excited. The second course was a rich, creamy Lobster Bisque that glided across the tongue with ease. I could feel my socks begin to shake violently about my ankles. I battled on.
When the third course arrived, a platter of Smoked Salmon Wrapped Prawns finished with a brilliant Avocado Salsa, I knew the time was finally here. I was lightheaded as I picked up the wrapped prawns. Everything went black after the first bite. I have no memory of what happened next. The following was relayed to me after the fact: my socks knocked off with such force that my shoes, launched under the table, crushed Papa’s abdomen and severely injured Mama’s left calf.
I buried Papa yesterday. Mama was unfortunately unable to attend, as she is still recovering in the ICU.