home - hollywood , ca

the place is called ' home ' , but not for any particular reason that i can discern .

growin up , i never had a large fountain with little orange koi fish in the pond .
i never ate breakfast under the great september eighty degree hollywood skies .
and home never had a great big green neon sign to tell me where i was . that wasnt til i was much older , when it was spelled p - u - b .

ahh , its true , ya never forget the good times . which is why it took so long to write this review . home is lame .

i dragged jerryco
(tm) along with me for a lil down home eatin . cause he's east coast , and wouldn't know chicken fried goodness if they it was slipped into his galoshes and left to sit all summer in the humid hole that is everything east of pasadena .

but , i digress .

we sat right next to the fountain , remarking aloud how great the place looked and how great it would be to fatten up here , bask in the sun like a dead cat on a window sill , then go see some art .

after the ordering and a round of coffee served in a paper cup , we sat back and awaited the impending breakfast onslaught .

and awaited .

and awaited .

and awaited .

when this thing finally made it to me , i thought i had made it to the top of somebody's shit list for wanting to grab the rubber ducky from the fountain to do a rousing rendition of the ever popular burt and ernie song . larger than half the plate , thicker than a hot stripper's wad of dollar bills and more brown than a dark hershey bar , this chicken fried steak was the chicken fried steak that the cooks must have called ' generalisimo ' .

gravy came in a lil cup , which woulda been nice if there wasnt so much skin on it . potatoes were done appropriately well , upon request . but were certainly no blue ribbon winners at the potato cookoff .

its not that you ' cant go home again ' ,
its just not worth going back to .