The precious need your help

In these extraordinary times, it’s important for the less troubled to help those in danger of falling victim to their circumstances, regardless of what we might feel about them. So, please, try to put your prejudices aside and help foodies recover their perspective.

Some observers have suggested selective euthanasia as a more humane way of helping the self-anointed dining elite. Many who eat dinner before 10 p.m. insist that idea has merit, though it’d be disastrous for merchants who specialize in black clothing and torturous shoes.

Far better would be a drive to show sport diners that the restaurant industry has more important issues to address—staying afloat, for instance—than the two topics currently preoccupying the Urban Spoon set.

Readers of a blog this cool would of course be familiar with the topics, but maybe your connection to Eater was a little balky this week. If so, you missed all the guffaws-in-type about Issue One: Did the celebrated Alan Richman really pat a server’s ass? And what was he thinking when he brought up the accusation, and a spirited defense, in a GQ review of the place where the transgression allegedly occurred?

I have trouble believing that Richman, the Derek Jeter of the reviewing game, would do such a thing. It’s very pertinent that the accusation came from M. Wells, a soon-to-close New York hotspot, after Richman cited some disappointments in his review (he entitled the piece, “Diner for Schmucks.”)

Even harder to believe is that he mounted a defense in print. But that’s just the start of the weirdness. You have to see it to believe it. Not since Michael Jackson got a pet chimp have we seen something this bizarre.

Then again, Lady Gaga’s outfits have nothing over Issue II, which uncomfortably plumbs how far a foodie will go to secure bragging rights about where he or she ate.

To reserve a seat at Washington, D.C.’s new quasi-pop-up, Rogue24, a dining room situated in an alley, you have to sign a two-page agreement. The contract stipulates that you can’t use your cell phone, or even its camera function, and cancellations have to be made at least 72 hours ahead of time. Otherwise, you’re charged a penalty fee.

Great. Formerly, you had to see a loan officer before dining in some of the nation’s hotspot. Now you have to consult your lawyer, too.

Next they’ll be selling tickets to restaurants, instead of giving you a bill.

Wait—did we mention the menu change at Grant Achatz’s Next?