Herwig’s Austrian Bistro
I’m not dead yet-- I’m hungry
I wake up and immediately feel sick to my stomach with that dreaded feeling that all the zombies in America are slowly driving me towards insanity. This isn’t because I’ve just awakened from a lucid nightmare, but because I am standing in line listening to the mumbling assholes behind the counter at the local grocery store, McLanahan’s. I wonder why anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to such shitty service and poor attitudes, but then I remember: there isn’t anywhere else open at 8 in the morning that’s any better.
Every morning they greet me with a shallow puss-faced “How may I help you?” Oh, did you learn that in zombie training? Anyway, I play along for a little bit. I should mention that I’ve been going to the same zombies for two years now and they all should know my face and my usual breakfast order by now: Deli special on white with Italian dressing on the bun and pepper relish and caeser in the middle. It’s a pretty damn eccentric order; why the hell do they ask me every morning, “Uh, mustard or mayo?” Do they want me to bring a gun into the store and go apeshit? No sympathy; I don’t care if it’s procedure or protocol (in the corporate world)—I am a human being and I want you to know who the hell I am when I see your ugly, diseased frown every morning for two years. 8:15, day ruined.
I do my usual string of classes and by 3 o’clock I’m ready to punch one of my zombie classmates in the kisser for asking a stupid question in class, but then I remember; Herwig’s is open, and it’s half price soup time! I find my way down College Avenue to where the old Mio Zeo’s was shut down for defecating in the marinara sauce. I walk in the door and am immediately greeted by Bernd, Gundi, or Eric, and asked what I would like today. That’s right—I know their names and they know mine. I’ve been going their restaurant regularly for only two months and they treat me like a close friend. I get to sit at the regular’s table and meet new and interesting people, but I’m jumping ahead of myself.
The menu is sweet. The food is fresh. So fresh, that they have a different menu each day and when they run out of something, it gets crossed off the menu. There are no substitutions either. There’s no zombie voice asking you “mayo or mustard?” “Debit or credit?” In fact, they don’t accept plastic money. They don’t serve plastic food. The food is exquisite; and each dish you get, no matter how often you attend, is prepared eloquently and cooked especially to perfection. It’s very dainty, and right as you take your first taste, you feel like’s it been especially made—just for you.
One of my many favorite qualities of Herwig’s is that they don’t take special order, or special portions. You eat what you get served—and you better eat all of it. I’m tired of businesses trying to please the customer with special orders (hold the lettuce, extra mayo, no cheese.) Businesses like these are cowards, because they don’t take pride in their own meals. They know their food is processed shit (zombie food), and that if they can make an order especially for YOU, than maybe YOU will feel more welcomed. I don’t feel welcomed at McLanahan’s when they ask me their stupid zombie questions; they’re hackneyed and protocol.
Zombies are intimidated when they enter Herwig’s—I can’t tell you how many of them I’ve seen walk right out without even saying hello to anyone. Herwig’s always goes out of its way to meet the customer. Either the zombie was turned off by the price, or they’re afraid to try something new. The prices are good, once you’ve tried the food. The meals range from 7-14 dollars. Keep in mind that this is freshly prepared (a term now rendered meaningless by businessman-America). This is real fresh—I can’t describe how fresh it because not too many people truly grasp that adjective anymore. The menu is different everyday, not only because it’s FRESH, but because they want the zombie culture to try new things. My favorite plate is the grostl. I am on the college budget diet but I suck it up and pay the $7.50 for it at least twice a week. I need it—I need real food.
Other dishes include the marinated huhn, wienerschnitzel, and Rosmarin schweinsbraten. If you would like to know what any of these dishes are, ask them! They love to talk about their dishes. They are not zombies hired by other zombies to read information off a teletext screen so you can process it and draw a conclusion. They always have something new to try and it’s a wonderful experience just to have the menu explained to you. The soup is different everyday, and is half-priced after 3 (don’t ask, don’t tell!) It’s a sweet deal, and these aren’t your everyday Italian wedding soups you find at McLahanans either, these are ethnic.
One time I bought soup from McLahanan’s, but I paid for it in advance so I could go back and pour it in the cup after I got my bag. Right after I paid I found out that Karen spoiled the clam chowder (I know her name she doesn’t know mine.) I ask the woman behind the counter if I can just take a bagel (dollar and a half cheaper than soup) and we call it even? To my surprise she said “No.” But not a, “No, I don’t think you can.” More like, “No, why the hell would you think something like that?” Her reasoning was that bread and soup come from different departments and it would mess up the figures in the register. It’s a dollar bagel; I am the one compromising here! Go to hell McLanahan’s. This wasn’t the end of the soup story. For the next two and a half weeks they only served Italian wedding, to make up for the money lost by the spoiled clam chowder. Urgh.
This wouldn’t happen at Herwig’s. Herwig’s is not a slave to the computer machine. They’re a very old-fashioned business that cares about people, and not some corporate notion of statistical food rationing. They know exactly how much to buy each day, not because some slime working in a cubical told them, but because they have business experience, and customer relationships. They’re experts at what they do and are very ethical.
Remember back when buffalo wings were served with blue cheese? Me too, before the zombies started requesting ranch as a substitute. I went into Mclanahans today and tried ordering a buffalo chicken sandwich. Right after the pimply-faced prick asked me “mustard or mayo?” I said, “No blue cheese.” He followed up with “We don’t have blue cheese, we only have ranch” I ran over to the buffalo wings by the freezers, all of them came with ranch. I run out of the store screaming in terror because the zombies started requesting ranch as a substitute for bleu cheese. What if Herwig’s took requests for BBQ sauce instead garlic butter, or honey mustard instead of black horse dressing? We wouldn’t have huhn anymore, it would be BBQ chicken. This is why I love Herwig’s. They don’t want substitutions because they don’t want anorexic cheerleaders fondling their family recipe.
The honorable food, service, and ethics of Herwig’s make it one of the last places on Earth where non-zombies can go to eat. America has an attitude problem; I see it everywhere I go and it brings out the hostility in me—the only place I can go to get away from the zombies is Herwig’s Austrian Bistro. I’ve lost a lot of my favorite restaurants to corporate America, and one of the few places left that still has soul is Herwig’s. |
