The supposed different “generations” i.e. millennials/Gen X/boomers etc is just liberalism’s attempt to replace class analysis by framing the different generations as coherent classes with different interests. It conveniently fails to mention that there are working class & ruling class people in all generations.
By making all ppl of a certain age responsible for inflation & higher cost of living or w/e, the responsibility of the ruling class is obscured, to the detriment of the working class & to the benefit of the ruling class.
Poke is a fucking dream come true for the health conscious economic elite of Australia. It’s paleo, raw, organic, gluten free and all the other ones, probably, whatever, ticks the bullshit boxes, and the hawaiian-japanese hybrid nature hits all the cultural sweet spots as well - look! Hawaii! That’s America, it’s not proper cultural appropriation, it’s easier to pronounce than pho plus it’s like Hiroshima and Pearl Harbour are good mates now! Minimum white guilt.
Kingfish Poke is a new “Hip Hop” themed poke restaurant in Bondi Junction, a suburb between Bondi and Sydney that has the vibe of a hospital mixed with a domestic airport terminal except there’s no red rooster and less places to have a smoke and there’s also an Apple store so it’s basically awful. Upon entering you’re presented with the “Kingfish Stylee” which makes no sense but whatever:
No real need for satire here, I’m going to quote straight from Broadsheet [this is word for word]:
“If you choose from one of the signature bowls, there is the kingfish-based Eight Mile (a white fish for Eminem), the tofu-based Jay Z (apparently, Jay Z is a sometimes vegan) and the Kendrick (a chicken-based poke that nods to Kendrick’s father’s work in a chicken shop).”
Yes, that’s right. This is reality, this is a real thing. I’m sure Kendrick’s father is honoured some Bondi Junction casual-dining establishment is giving him a nod by way of a dish vaguely referencing his years slaving away at some shithouse hot chook joint. It’s not even fucking Kendrick, it’s his dad, the link is as tenuous as it is pathetic. The Jay-Z-vego thing is also idiotic - what the fuck does “apparently…a sometimes vegan” mean? That’s just every person on earth isn’t it? Every single person is a sometimes vegan.
You can also make your own bowl, or as they say be a “Mix Master”. You choose a “bassline” (which is the rice), then the “beat” (the ‘protein’ ugh) and the “flayva” (topping). Heh. This is the kind of idea you think up after doing countless bags of cocaine with some stranger and then you wake up and think “fuck, aren’t I a dipshit, probably shouldn’t do that again” except in the Eastern Suburbs the last bit doesn’t happen and a few months later the idea become reality. I hate myself but not that much so I order the “Eight Mile”:
“How would you like it? Biggie or Smalls sir?”
You could tell the girl behind the counter fucking HATED saying that:
“.. i’m sorry what was that again?”
“…. biggie… or smalls..”
So much sadness. She doesn’t want to be here, neither of us do.
“Large thanks mate!”
Outside I hear what I can only describe as an extremely shirtless bondi voice, you know the one, it’s sorta Californian with more dickhead: “Yo this place is the G O A T! Haha!” . Fuck people around here are the pits. I look up:
Again from broadsheet:
“The idea’s clearest incarnation is a mural that presides over the glass poke bar’s ingredients: it’s a portrait of Tupac with his famous “thug life” tattoo swapped out for one that reads “fish life”.”
A big whitewashed mural of Tupac advertising raw fish via hilarious tattoo puns, fucking hell, can’t they just leave the poor cunt alone? Why does there always have to be some stupid fucking theme at these places? Can’t it just be a poke restaurant? The whole place feels like Milhouse’s Dad’s race car bed - I feel like a fucking child, like when parents feed their children and pretend the spoon is an aeroplane because they’re too fucking stupid to understand they need to eat to stay alive. Children who have to eat mushed up food so they don’t choke and die, children who defecate in their own pants, except here we have employed adults handing over $26 for the privilege of being treated like morons. Congratulations, I am now an IDIOT, I’m at the very bottom rung of some casual-dining ponzi scheme for IDIOTS.
The food itself was fine I guess. This google review sums it up:
