THE JOHN DORY OYSTER BAR
Yutzi here! Is this thing on? What? Someone just called me a blogger. That sounds dirty. Hey, sweetcheeks, you like my picture of Merle with an oatmeal cookie bomb? I found it on this thing called Goooogle, you heard of it? Now that I’m a fancy internet scribe, please stop clogging my email arteries with photos of your recently widowed great Aunt. And to the congressman who sent me a picture of what the Kid terms “his junk,” I’m not a doctor and have no idea what the crust on your vendekemp fishstick is- go see a proctocologist or something, jeez. Who voted that degenerate into office? What’s that, I did? Damn straight democratic ticket!
So, speaking of fishstickes, my son, Robbie, dragged me to some mid-town, yuppie-fish shack for a lunch of oysters and beer. I’m often accused of burying the lead, so here it goes: they do not accept AARP discounts – rat bastards.
They also don’t take a joke. The first thing I saw when I sat down was a giant spherical fish tank above the front door. I have expected to see fake snow blowing around in it, but instead it was filled with colorful tropical fish. Anyway, the waitress came by to take our order and I pointed up and said “I’ll have the blue one.”
After that bombed, Robbie and I decided on oysters. Now, back in my day, oysters were used as bait. Now they’re used to bait money out of yuppies’ wallets. $3 a pop for an excuse to eat cocktail sauce. But I do love me an oyster, so I cashed in my war bonds and bought myself a dozen. After I slurped those sandy suckers down my gullet, I ordered the grilled octopus with aioli and parker house bread rolls ($4.50 charging for bread, jeez, I thought we won the war) to mop up the octo-juice, which I washed down with a Sixpoint Pilsner from a local brewery in Red Hook (I’m sensing a nautical theme here).
The bill was pricey for lunch, especially on my fixed income. Did I mention they charge for bread rolls? When I asked the waitress for the veteran’s discount she just stared at me blankly, then laughed as if it were a joke. Hey, toots, my friends died for your freedom so you could overcharge pensioners for fancy bread rolls and bait.
The John Dory Oyster Bar, 1196 Broadway, New York, NY