The Cat Restaurant

When we lived in Portland, there was this restaurant**. I don't remember name or cuisine, but I do remember it well. Isaac and I call it the cat restaurant.

So I asked some people for breakfast restaurant suggestions the other day and had two people start talking about two different places. Both of which are, according to them, "bring your own utensils" kind of places. Which, I know I'm a bit of a germ freak, but, um..."bring your own utensils"? Really? I know there ARE such places, I guess I just didn't really understand that people ATE there. Maybe self preservation tactics, maybe not.

The first time we ate at the cat restaurant, I don't remember it being terrible. It was not, in any way, great. But it was doable. A little hole in the wall-y and dated, but doable. And cheap. But there were other options, our favorite just right down the road, so we didn't go back for a long while. And then we did. And we sat in a booth and looked at eat other and noticed the cats (yes, catS). And then we realized that the smell wasn't something off with the cooking, it was cat pee. Everywhere. We escaped and went somewhere else, gagging and laughing the entire way.

So when someone says a "bring your own utensil" kind of place, I immediately think of the cat restaurant. And, yeah. I guess bringing your utensils is one way to go about it, but what about the utensils they use to cook with? Serve you with? Dishes they cook in, serve on? At that point aren't you just better eating elsewhere? Or, since you have dishes to do that you had to bring, just cooking at home? Ew.

**Cheryl - do you remember that restaurant? It was just as the road split into one ways, on the way to Safeway from Pacific. Kind of slopey roof? Older? I cannot remember the name!


(the lovecats, the cure)