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| - I'm going to be honest here, I'm not sure if I'm giving FEZ a four-star rating or just Thomas. I figure since at least half of all the reviews for this place mention Thomas, and that it is practically impossible to say the word "FEZ" without mentioning him, by the transitive property, Thomas IS FEZ.
It's math. Don't try to argue with me on this. I did science on it.
Like most of my reviews, this one requires a little backstory.
Misty S and I had misread the the last UYE event and found that it was already in full swing by the time we started getting dressed for it. Figuring we'd just hit them up at the FEZ "after party" we figured it was just best to forgo the elaborate ritual of putting myself together and just try to make it to FEZ on time.
This meant that I had to go out "en homme" the first time I had ever done so with the Yelp crowd. I figured at first it wouldn't bother me. I wasn't thrilled by it, but I thought I would handle it well.
But I was wrong.
On the way to FEZ I started crying. And not "Bridges of Madison County" crying. Full-blown "clawing my face using my shirt as a kleenex" hysteria. I begged Misty to just let me sit in the car. I didn't anyone to see me like this. I wanted to be invisible. Like Sue Storm but without the distant, emotionally unresponsive Stretch Armstrong husband.
I eventually walked in, thinking that a few drinks and some good company would change the way I felt. But it didn't. I just sat, huddled into a ball of neuroses, my heart pounding out of my chest and my skin shaking off of my bones.
Misty and I just ordered some soft drinks. A Dolce & Gabana for her and a Shirley Temple for me. We figured it was best not to order any food, so that if I started Nancy Kerrigan-ing at the table we could just go.
Thomas, in between doing that thing they pay him to do and trying to keep the yelpers entertained, noticed Misty and I sitting at the table, sipping disinterestedly at our grenadine cocktails, Misty making chit-chat with Amy D and someone who apparently forgot to leave a name, and I doing my best to make myself invisible with my mind.
This displeased Thomas. So he set out to make it better.
"You sure you don't want anything?"
We politely shook our heads. He cocked his head.
"Not even some bread?"
Again we shook our heads, waving him off politely. I broke my gaze, a simple and non-confrontational way of saying "LEAVE ME ALONE I FEEL UGLY!"
I looked back up and there he was, still looking at me. Head cocked. Attentive.
His words were "Can I help you?" But his face was "Bitch please. Don't make me wipe that frown off your face."
It was then that I knew, that I realized. This was no mere restaurant. This was a jungle. A frontier town. A wild and untamed saloon, and Thomas its fabulous sheriff slash owner slash entertainment.
Misty S and I, now knowing our place in this lawless outpost, pointed to the cinnamon sweet potato fry things someone else was eating.
"We'll try those."
And this brought Thomas great joy to hear. He smiled as he walked away. He had laid down the law upon us.
The fries? Fucking amazing. Cinnamonny sweetness invited crispy potato flavor and tangy apricot mayonnaise over for a threesome in my mouth. It got pretty wild. I couldn't stop eating them.
"I feel so ugly. Kill me now" Fry* "I just want to be invisible." *Fry* "The moment Matthew gets up to piss I am going to make a run for it." *Fry* "You think we could get the recipe for this?" *Fry*
Thomas came by later to check up on us. He smiled, pleased to see his plan unfolded. Then he went back to seating other guests, bringing out food to other tables and picking up the slack from the scattered, overwhelmed and possibly disinterested wait staff.
Goddamit, FEZ, you had best be paying him a good wage.
With my belly full of cinnamon fries and a little sedated from all the grenadine, I was actually able to appreciate the decor and the atmosphere of FEZ.
I was reminded of that oft-told story where some guy approaches Bill Gates and says "Hey, I'm about to meet up with some clients at this exact spot. It'd really help me out if you could just, I don't know, wave at me and say hi. It'd really impress my clients." And Bill, being the nice guy he is, agrees, and at the appropriate time walks up to the guy with clients in tow and waves and says "hi, (insert name here)" and the guy just waves him off and says "Fuck you, Bill."
If I was ever going to pull that stunt, it would be here. I don't know why. I just would.
I was really glad I came. I mean, afterwards I went home and cried and promised myself I would never let myself be seen "en homme" in such a public setting again, but when I think of FEZ I'll think of deep-fried cinnamon and Thomas' hospitality, and not how awful I look without a layer of makeup.
Thomas, if I wasn't a Strange Sister I'd be your hag.
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