The Naked Cafe

Do you consider yourself to be a pompous, holier than thou, pretentious idiot? Do you spend excessive amounts of time at Starbucks and actually enjoy ordering a drink that's size "venti"? Do you read my misspellings and bad grammar, and say, "this guy's an idiot?" Well then, the Naked Cafe is for you.

The menu is printed on recycled paper, with ink that was cultivated from the excretion of free range squid. And the coffee comes from magical mountains in some third world country that segregates it's population into those that "pick coffee happily" and the others that "pick coffee miserably for some unnamed corporate scourge". Well if you want the happy coffee, then the Naked Cafe is your place. If you want a "regular" meal, made by "regular" people who just want to feed you something tasty, then go somewhere else.

Only the most special, chosen people can dine at Naked Cafe. In fact, I think Jesus used to get crepes there. But for me? I'd rather go somewhere that wasn't so over-the-top. I mean, coffee is coffee. And I don't care if the Dalai Lama pissed on my vegan croutons before they made it onto my salad.

I had the oatmeal because it seemed middle-of-the-road enough that I might not violate the principles of the ultra sensitive staff. It was oatmeal. It tasted like any other oatmeal that I'd ever eaten. It was made from oats. Holy oats? Maybe. My shaman wasn't sure. My companion had some green, burrito looking thing. Well, I made the mistake of calling it a burrito. It is actually a "wrap". And I'm going to yuppie hell now for my blatant heresy.

So I'll see you in hell. Holy oats.