Quotes About Restaurant

The Westway, the old strip club on Clarkson Street, is still there, but today it's owned by a hipster restaurant entrepreneur who caters to the ironic cultural lifestylers, more fashion world than art, people who are "cool" because they live in New York.

Right this way, ladies," the maître

But as far as Twitter, I'll be in a restaurant and I'll get home and somebody tweeted and they talked about what I ordered and what I was wearing. In some cases, that could be dangerous, because you don't want everybody to know where you are every second of every day.

The waiter roars it through the hall:"We don't give bread with one fish ball!"

The waitress looked a little awkward. "Is all that for both you and your sister?

The entire restaurant moved around the center core of the elevator shaft and what must have been the kitchen space.

the restaurant itself is weird especially because of a big raunch mad thicklipped sloppy young Fillipino woman sitting alone at the end of the restaurant gobbling up her food obscenely and looking at us insolently as tho to say Fuck you, I eat the way I like splashing gravy everywhere (p. 156)

My favorite restaurant in the Twin Cities is McDonalds. I order two cheeseburgers, two snack wraps with no sauce, two fish fillets with cheese and light tartar sauce, two large fries, two apple pies, and one large milkshake.

The diet is a twisted, noxious thing, all tortured abstinence and short-term fraud. I speak from bitter experience. As a restaurant critic, I eat to live and live to eat. And having a toxic aversion to exercise, there is little to prevent the inevitable bulging of my gut. Hence the need for the occasional diet.

There are people with otherwise chaotic and disorganized lives, a certain type of person that's always found a home in the restaurant business in much the same way that a lot of people find a home in the military.

My typical Saturday night is a great solo dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. I like to talk to the restaurant staff while I eat, then come home, finish up some work until midnight, and then play the keyboard until I'm ready to sleep.

I love The Cheesecake Factory, especially the chicken marsala. I almost always pick that dish; it tastes unbelievable.

Around the time when her school-bound classmates left for the boardinghouses of Sapporo and Otaru, Yasuko came to Otaru to work at the restaurant. She and her former classmates, however, were headed in completely different directions. Yasuko

However, I was a restaurant critic at Chicago magazine before I worked at Esquire, and I've been a really enthusiastic home cook for a long time. It's just something I'm passionate about.

In Spain you can't do anything. If you drive, everyone recognises you; at a restaurant you have paparazzi outside.

In one respect, it's easier to open a restaurant in New York because you get more media attention than anywhere else. Almost everyone will try a new place once, irrespective of the reviews, because it's a spectator sport.

I'm brilliant at working out numbers up to 180 but if you ask me to split a restaurant bill I'm rubbish.

Every single person I spoke with, when I said I might perhaps be moving to Modena, told me how great the food is, so much so that I had to say, 'I'm here to play football, not to open a restaurant!'

Marriage is not merely sharing the fettucini, but sharing the burden of finding the fettucini restaurant in the first place.

Eventually the visitors were treated to a thoroughly non-ironic dinner at an Applebee's.

Ordered it with whipped cream, of course. When it arrived at the table, I saw no trace of the stuff. After I told the waiter that my cocoa had no whipped cream, he asserted I couldn't see it because it sank to the bottom. But whipped cream has low density, and floats on all liquids that humans consume. So I offered the waiter two possible explanations: either somebody forgot to add the whipped cream to my hot cocoa or the universal laws of physics were different in his restaurant.

Heaven has no taste. Now- And not one single sushi restaurant. A look of pain crossed the angel's suddenly very serious face.

The restaurant was traditional Serbian fare, heavy on the red peppers and red meat. And the music was pure anarchy: Four brass bands wandered the rooms, blaring a cacophony of overlapping parade marches.

As Katie wound her way among the tables, a breeze from the Atlantic rippled through her hair.