There is someone going around town pretending to be me. Again. Crazy, right? I know this only because some unsuspecting restaurateur emailed me asking when a story about a place I’d never visited would run. (I promised him I’d swing by soon.) This has happened in the past, and I don’t think I ever addressed it. So, here is a handy guide to knowing whether or not the fake Chow, Baby is up in your grill. Your first and only clue is this: I would never announce myself under any circumstance. I’m supposed to remain secret for reasons I’ve elaborated on in the past and won’t get into now.
If you’re working your shift and someone claims they’re me, they’re not. Feel free to call out that person and make up an up-charge for adding ice to his (it’s a guy, btw) water.
And to the poor schlub pretending to be a B-grade, meandering, narcissistic food critic for god knows what reason (free food? better service? nice mints?), I should just warn you that I’ve torched a lot of eateries in this town, and there are a ton of kitchen types who wouldn’t mind seeing me choke on my leg of lamb moments before the cyanide kicks in. But please, by all means, enjoy having your worthless ass kissed for pretending to do a job that Yelp has all but replaced.
