With the world economy on the rocks, you'd think that that would be a good focus point for our first editorial, but frankly, I'm sick of reading pages and pages of doom accompanied by the stock photo of a man in charcoal suit staring at a plummeting graph with a furrowed brow. The far more eye catching story, is that Pizza Hut has been taken over in a 100 million pound deal and has been rebranded Pasta Hut. Pasta Hut! If there was one word in that name I would have changed, it sure as hell wouldn't have been 'pizza'. Who eats in a hut? IU can just imagine the selection of side dishes, cholera, typhoid, tuberculosis. Utterly ridiculous. Having made that point, and I still feel it a valid one despite what I am about to divulge, I was actually at Pizza Hut fairly recently. Sometimes, you just want to eat until you're sick, you know? I was reading an interview with one of the Master Chef judges, who advised readers that when taking a woman to a restaurant, the man should seat her so that she is facing in to it so as not to distract her from the man (but what does he know? Fat, single, balding man who eats things and talks about them for a living, that just about cover it?). I don't know why I decided to try this; a) We were at Pizza/Pasta Hut, and b) This was my girlfriend of over a year, and frankly, this seemed like a wasted effort. Anyway, this seating arrangement left me with a pretty good view of the kitchen. It was, what Gordon Ramsay would call, the chef's table. But instead of watching skilled chefs cooking the finest food with the finest ingredients, I got a front row seat to see an acne covered teenager spray pizzas with an aerosol labelled 'garlic and butter spray'. Garlic and butter spray! In a can! How fundamentally wrong does that sound? For the record, the takeover plan is also to launch 12 new pasta dishes and 'reduce salt content'. Forget salt content! You're spraying my food with a fucking aerosol! Call it Pizza Hut, Pasta Hut, Italian Land, whatever, it won't change the fact that when I partake in checking whether there are couples there on Valentines Day evening, a little part of me will die in the same way that it always has. 
Monday, 6 October 2008
Editorial Vol.1
With the world economy on the rocks, you'd think that that would be a good focus point for our first editorial, but frankly, I'm sick of reading pages and pages of doom accompanied by the stock photo of a man in charcoal suit staring at a plummeting graph with a furrowed brow. The far more eye catching story, is that Pizza Hut has been taken over in a 100 million pound deal and has been rebranded Pasta Hut. Pasta Hut! If there was one word in that name I would have changed, it sure as hell wouldn't have been 'pizza'. Who eats in a hut? IU can just imagine the selection of side dishes, cholera, typhoid, tuberculosis. Utterly ridiculous. Having made that point, and I still feel it a valid one despite what I am about to divulge, I was actually at Pizza Hut fairly recently. Sometimes, you just want to eat until you're sick, you know? I was reading an interview with one of the Master Chef judges, who advised readers that when taking a woman to a restaurant, the man should seat her so that she is facing in to it so as not to distract her from the man (but what does he know? Fat, single, balding man who eats things and talks about them for a living, that just about cover it?). I don't know why I decided to try this; a) We were at Pizza/Pasta Hut, and b) This was my girlfriend of over a year, and frankly, this seemed like a wasted effort. Anyway, this seating arrangement left me with a pretty good view of the kitchen. It was, what Gordon Ramsay would call, the chef's table. But instead of watching skilled chefs cooking the finest food with the finest ingredients, I got a front row seat to see an acne covered teenager spray pizzas with an aerosol labelled 'garlic and butter spray'. Garlic and butter spray! In a can! How fundamentally wrong does that sound? For the record, the takeover plan is also to launch 12 new pasta dishes and 'reduce salt content'. Forget salt content! You're spraying my food with a fucking aerosol! Call it Pizza Hut, Pasta Hut, Italian Land, whatever, it won't change the fact that when I partake in checking whether there are couples there on Valentines Day evening, a little part of me will die in the same way that it always has. 
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