We had soup, we had salad, we wrote last week's article. Fortunately, we have even less to say about the Danson, this week's restaurant of (less than) rigorous reviewage, than we did about last week's Buffalo Inn. Worry not, for we do have plenty to say regarding other more important matters.
The soups were pretty darn good, ample, and cheap. The salad was nothing special -- except for the fact that it was really damn big. You're right, more competent food critics would have ordered something a bit more exotic, but Ryan was sick and Andy was cheap. Thus, two soups, one salad, and a few rolls of bread.
Anyway, gunning for damnation, we plunge right into this literary excursion, without concern for induced nausea and for no apparent reason.
We should have been a pair of lambskin prophylactics, scuttling across the fields of salient knees. Moo cow, moo.
Thank goodness we're not obligated to write about the Danson. Actually, if y'all could straighten something out for us, we and the entire community would benefit. Is it one restaurant or two? There's only one menu; there are two distinct cuisines; the physical division is more of an intellectual nuance than an architectural decree. To be clear, we are calling the restaurant (or one of them) the Danson because 1) we didn't order any Mexican food, 2) we sat outside, on the Danson side, and 3) we forgot the name of the other half. On the other hand, we did scarf a decent sized bowl of corn chips with a zingy side of salsa.
Certainly, we could look up the name in the nearest phone book, but so could you, so why should we bother? Responsible journalism, you protest? Right. If you don't get it by now, go read "On the Rocks." In fact, if all you like about BB is the damn Scary Boat, well...we love you. Please keep reading. We're not going to give up the one thing that seems to justify our existence.
Toward that end, here it is: At least we didn't have to drive by any frightening seafood restaurants on the way there. Har, har. By the way, did you know that BB is really just the combined efforts of an infinite number of monkeys frolicking upon an infinite number of word processors and two simple-minded editors with a grammar checker? It's true.
Apparently these monkeys -- or maybe the grammar checker, we're not sure which -- know nothing of Claremont cuisine and seem to have a morose fascination with a certain functionally ambivalent house of crustacean enterprise.
Of course, the contraceptive of choice for these frolicsome monkeys needn't be specified. You could probably guess their favorite cinematic trilogy, to boot. But, being the humane literary custodians we are, we keep all sharp objects and chainsaws well out of reach.
Danson, and its unnamed counterpart -- it starts with an E -- are located in the Village. As we said before, you could walk there, but that wouldn't really be in the spirit of Southern California, now would it?