"New Local Eatery Astounds Critic"
"A Little Taste of Michigan" Column by L. B. J. Cool Dawg
The Daily Flyleaf, September 5th, 2013 [From the Files of the Jeremy Kellerman Advice Hour Archive]
So I been writin this colum for a long-a-- time, and most of the foods I eat taste all plain and sh--. So when I first heard about "Laverne's Discount Oatmeal" in Ann Arbor, I was all like "HE-- NAW! Not another bullsh-- place run by some dumba-- who don't even know how to flip a flapjack." But I couldn't have been more wrong.
When I sat down in Laverne's restaurant, the first thing I noticed was how f---ing cool the menus were. They had this big-a-- picture on the cover of a old barn, you know like red with white stripes and sh--, reminded me of like a White Stripes album cover except the music didn't sound shi--y, and instead of music there was food inside, like music for eating, he-- yes.
Inside the menu, like the average food consumerist is gonna be freaked the f--- out by just HOW DA-- MUCH FU--ING OATMEAL IS IN THERE. When I saw it I was all like "WHAT THE HE--, ALL YOU SERVE IS DA-- OATMEAL? WHO THE FU-- DOES THAT SH--?"
Now at that point I might'a just walked right the fu-- out and flipped Laverne's Discount Oatmeal the big old finger-di--, but I was hungry as sh-- and luckily Laverne herself stepped out of the kitchen at that point. She was all like "Hello there, sonny! In the mood for some oatmeal?" And I'm like "Well I guess I'm hungry enough, I'd prolly eat dogsh-- right now," and she laughed and said "Oh, you youngins'!" you know like a old-a-- grandma says. Then she starts tellin' me about the daily specials (which included free orange juice) and how the deluxe bowl of oatmeal (64 fluid oz., hot fu--ing da--) is on sale for like $4.99 or some sh--. So I says "Hurry yo a-- up, grandma, and pour me a big steamin' pile!"
About 3 minutes and 27.42 seconds later, Laverne comes walkin' through the kitchen door carrying the most BIG-A-- FU--IN' BOWL OF FU--ING OATMEAL I HAVE EVER FU--IN' SEEN. She slams that bad boy down on the table, using all her elderly arm strength, and then she smiles at me like the sweetest old grandma that ever gave her grandkids ice-cold popsicles on a hot-a-- day in the summer, and she says "Now, you tell me if it's too much for you, and I'll get you a to-go bowl."
And I'm all like "FU-- THAT, LAVERNE, FOR ALL I KNOW THIS MIGHT SUCK SERIOUS A--!!!" but she politely assures me that it does not.
So then I hesitantly dip my spoon into this beige mess and, lifting up a heaping spoonful of what very well might've been the most bland, disgusting, shi--y crap I ever ate, I felt like a daddy tryin' to get his dumb-a-- little brat to eat some disgusting Baloney Hut monstrosity by doing that stupid "here comes the choo-choo airplane" bullsh--. But I ain't a stupid kid so I forced myself to shove that drippy pile of melted goblin a-- right in my mouth.
That was the BEST FU--ING SH- I HAVE EVER FU--ING EATEN!!!
I mean FU--ING DAM- IT, THAT WAS SOME DA-- GOOD FU--ING OATMEAL! HOLY SH--!!!
Serious, there ain't absolutely no FU--IN' WAY I can accurately convey to you the sheer level of mind-fu--ing deliciousness that was Laverne's oatmeal. That sh-- was like eatin' a 3-course meal prepared by a team of celebrity chefs, consisting of Emeril Lagasse, Mario Batalli, Anthony Bourdaine, every single Iron Chef, and the immortal soul of Julia Child. It tasted like every good meal I've ever eaten, multiplied by a thousand taste points and somehow blended in a way that actually tastes better than the individual meals that it consists of. It was like being a baby bird and being fed by yo momma when she pukes up worms, except the worms were delicious oatmeal, the baby bird is yourself transfigured into Tom Selleck, and yo momma is God. I mean how in the everloving FU-- do you even give oatmeal that much flavor...he--, how do you give oatmeal ANY flavor?! Laverne is like some crazy-a-- wizard-god that took the form of this old grandma lady to throw us all off, fu--ing sh--.
I loved that oatmeal so da-- much I didn't even need a to-go bowl. I ate the whole fu--ing thing. I cried with every bite. I mean just wailed, like I just got told I won the lottery and my giant check would be personally hand-delivered by the Pope. Laverne was crying too, happy to see me enjoying her food so much, and we both were just screaming while I gobbled that godly elixir. About halfway through she told me to hang on a minute, then she ran into the kitchen and came back with a little container of cinnamon.
Just when I thought the oatmeal couldn't get any better, she sprinkled on some of that cinnamon and it felt like getting into Heaven only to find out you got upgraded to the Honeymoon Suite and you'd get a personal massage from a bunch of enslaved demons that God didn't know what else to do with. I wanted to kiss Laverne's wrinkly old-a-- lady face but I didn't want to give her heart the boom-booms. After all she was born in the Year of Our Lord 18 hundred and 93 and my motto is, everything goes but never get stanky with a bi--h who shared time on this earth with Guy de Maupassant, even if she makes the fu--in' best oatmeal you ever ate.
Whenever I got done slurpin' down the last of that sh-- like it was the final cup of Folger's before they file for Chapter 11 during the Apocalypse, I told Laverne "You are one stone-cold, humongous mega bi--h!"" and that she made the best fu--in' meal I had ever had and that I had BETTER get some more for the road or I was gonna go absolutely super monkey balls ape sh--palooza on her fu--in' quaint establishment.
So after a lot of excited yelling back and forth eventually I got outta there with three industrial-size oil drums (had to go to the factory next door to get them, long story) full of the sweetest nectar this side of Greek mythology.
Then I motored my way over to the nearest medical supply store and started demanding their most accommodating oxygen tank available. I told them I was gonna use it as a never-ending oatmeal funnel, and they said "But sir, it doesn't work that way" and I said HEY, FU-- YOU, YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FU--IN' IDEA WHAT SH-- I'M TALKIN' ABOUT.
So as I sit here writing this review I am slurping down my second a---load of oatmeal this afternoon and dreaming of when I can go back to Laverne's, re-stock, and get ever closer to infinity beyond the stars. I touch the full spectrum when I eat this sh-- and you just have no idea if you've never done it. Get your dumb unenlightened a-- to Laverne's Discount Oatmeal as soon as your sh---y little legs will carry you and imbibe a fu---ton of oatmeal before I clean out that old bi--h's pantry for real next time. Serious.
Summary: Laverne's Discount Oatmeal is an excellent, small, family-style restaurant with an emphasis on traditional American breakfast fare. The limited seating may be off-putting to those looking for the accommodations offered by larger chain restaurants, but for those willing to put in a little patience, the reward of having breakfast in an authentic country-style diner will be worth the wait. Though the menu is very limited, patrons will find the level of creativity and flavors offered in the different oatmeal dishes to be more than a match for any other bistro in the area. As the name implies, the prices are better than fair as well, making this particular restaurant a perfect place for family breakfast on a budget.
- Friendly service
- Cozy, intimate atmosphere
- Affordable prices
- Limited hours of operation
- Limited menu
- Limited seating
- The orange juice kinda tasted like rat piss