Hello to all my future fan club members! This will be the first of many hard hitting, no nonsense blog entries by me, Meatball Valentine. So sit tight, fasten your chin strap and slip on that protective cup cuz I’m about to let it fly like a monkey at a shit fight. RELOAD!!!
Reading this blog you should expect to get the straight dope, no nonsense calls, just like I see ’em. This is that uncut, unadulterated shit you can only get from a remote village in south America, and for any kids out there, please only do half my blog at a time. This shit is potent.
Welcome to the NO SHIT ZONE.
First up, The Khyber Pub. I don’t want to hear any comments about how the Khyber sold out, or about yuppies, meatheads or hipsters. None of those people would accept me into their facebook groups and Im still holding that grudge way down deep in my front pocket. (If I could only figure out how to get my mouth on it…) But all those shits are just waters under my grundle-bridge, and I’m just here to talk food, and of course throw my recycling off the bridge cuz that Al Gore is full of shit man.
Overall the Khyber experience can be summed up in one word: Meh.
Firstly, the Khyber is no cleaner than it has ever been. So everyone rest easy there. Essentially it appears that the powers that be decided to just keep on some of the old roadies from back when it was a music venue, and use them as servers. Which is fine in theory, people reinvent themselves all the time and who I am to say who can do what and how. However, do take issue with a couple things. Firstly, from their appearance they came directly from the last concert with no sleep and nobody thought they needed to change their clothes either, which is odd cuz our sever was dressed in Steven Tyler paint on pants from 1991. Which is fine, I’m not one of those pantywaist dandies who take their fashion so seriously. It’s just that if this is how the servers are presenting themselves, I don’t want to see who/what they are hiding in the kitchen.
On to the food: I ordered a salad with a side plate of cheese fries and debris gravy. And after waiting for 30 minutes, my salad decided to show up. The salad was...well...a salad. I don’t write home, and I won’t start after eating that thing. The cheese fries, however, are another story. It’s a story of romance, love and clogged arteries. Smoked cheddar cheese and dark thick beef gravy with beef chunks covered a medium sized plate of fries. These little shits could only be described as decadent. Even though my lunch was small, these fries were so filling I could not finish them. Though the desire in me was great to see this lunch to completion, I could not, and was beaten by this unassuming, and oozy, aggregation of death.
I would like to also note that the bar has several events that it is currently marketing, one of which is a hand pump of a small keg of Pliny the Younger. For $15 you can buy a ticket in advance and get one beer served in a tulip glass. Yes, one $15 beer. As we were informed by our server, Slash, "It’s like, one of the most famous beers, maybe, in the world, I think." Or something, to profound effect.
But prices are reasonable and the food was decent (I haven’t become sick, and didn’t 'make a move' immediately after, both are excellent signs) so I will probably be back there...Maybe.
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