My Horrific, Typical Experience at a Kosher Restaurant - Only Jews Would Put Up With Such Shtus

Picture it: Sunday night. Like the good sis that I am, I whoosh over to the island of Manhattan on a ferry from the remote wilds of New Jersey, rushing from a friend's event to get to my brother's birthday dinner. (Despite the fact that the actual day was a month ago - happy b-day bro!) Slightly disoriented by the preponderance of trees, grass and civilians in cars in the Garden State, I was glad to be back on my home turf.

That is, until I set food in the Restaurant Which Shall Remain Nameless.

Now, I know the masses were hungry, and no one gets between a Jew and their food. But there was no excuse for the absolute crush of humanity clamoring to get a table in this busy, dark and incredibly loud establishment. And did I mention that it was expensive?

The food was 'eh,' the atmosphere was 'Brooklynie' and there were chicken bones in my pot pie. The best part was dessert - molten chocolate cake can sit at my table (and later, on my butt if not exercised away - for shame!) any day. In short, when a bunch of tourists from Atlanta unknowingly stumbled on the place and asked if they should eat there (thinking it was a REAL dining establishment), I quickly interjected in a deadpan voice, "Do NOT go in there. It's overpriced and overcrowded."

Now, I hate to take away business from a fellow Jew, but I don't think they're hurting. And I'd like to think that I saved those nice ol' Southerners a headache and a hunk of change. In short, I think I'll be knocking at Bubby's door to satisfy my epicurian(ous?) needs from now on.