The Backyard Deli
Formerly owned and operated by the voluptuous and chummy Cynthia Blake (until she lost her lease), The Backyard Deli - enlarged and remodeled - persists in its original location. The bill of fare is much the same as it always was - sandwiches, soups, a few entree-like hot plates, and homebaked desserts (not as many as when "Original Cyn" was at the helm). The new owner is a sturdy woman with yellow hair and an apron. The food is mostly okay, near as we can tell. But Cynthia used to come and sit at our table, tell us dirty jokes, gossip about the other girls who worked at the place. That's just not gonna happen anymore.
This was once a favorite spot for a light organic lunchie-snack but it too has changed hands. It is now owned and operated by a madwoman and a troll. The madwoman has a yellow dog who menaces customers out on the patio dining area - tripping over his 18 foot leash is a favorite sport of the regulars. The curry-breathed troll serves up great heaping platters of bad food with an attitude to match. The turkey sandwich (turkey roll, actually) comes on some sort of strange New Testament bread which is tasteless, usually stale, and way too salty. The salad platters, drenched in rancid olive oil, are deeply weird and to be avoided. Let the cranky owner catch you slipping Old Yeller a slice of the bible bread and that's when the real trouble starts. Said one unhappy New Yorker, "I think they're antisemitic". Watch out.
We come in the door and right away we know what we want: we want to be waited on by "Piglet". Instead, we are served our Formosan Chicken Salad and Cajun Crab Cakes (very good in their own right) by a bleached out Valery Perrine-alike who's far too old for us. The Cranberry Lemonades are fine, and so is the dessert, and tomorrow is another day and now we know where "P"'s section is.
The Backyard Deli
Much as we last reported, except: now there are two young things behind the counter, one with some potential. And: a party of tourists at the next table have taken it upon themselves to provide us with our luncheon entertainment. Regarding the promising miss, two theories are advanced: one, that she should take off her glasses and let down her hair, and two, that she should cover her head with a pillowcase and let down everything else. The tourists are cast by us into a TV pilot to be called "Stormin' Norman and The DeeJay" - and in the first episode, The DeeJay and his sister Lisa sneak off for a tryst in a glass bottom boat, not realizing that stodgy Norman, who thinks fiancee Lisa is a natural blonde, is taking his first scuba lesson at the very same time and location - and the usual hilarity results. The Cranberry Mayonnaise is as good as it ever was. Recommended.
A brilliant idea: let the woefully underutilized "Upstairs Room" of the splendid Wanapunani Inn be turned into a "house of pleasure". Visitors and natives alike come from far and near. However, it is important that the staff of the new establishment not, for the most part, with possibly one spectacular exception, I say NOT be recruited from the current Callipygian crew attending the customers in the eaterie proper. Possible name: "Upside Downside". Brunch is fine.
Ah, lunch at the Wanapunani. Ye Olde Wanapunani. There's a new brunette rushing about today. The question is posed, is this new girl the equal or perhaps even superior to the superb P.? That depends.
- depends on what?And now our waitress Sheila comes to our table with the new brunette in tow. She says: "I want you to meet my trainee. This is Shanon."
- depends on whether Piglet is coming or going.
- because it is an undeniable fact of lunchtime lore that P., when viewed in full retreat, is incomparable.
- cannot be equalled.
- much less topped.
- much less.
- trainee?Excellent. Can't remember what we had for lunch, it was probably all right.