I really tried, but after two excruciating hours I had had enough. I am open to new experiences, but there is an implicit expectation that it doesn't turn into sheer torture.

The new restaurant, named EFFETE, had opened to a grandiose hullabaloo. The "in" crowd immediately took a liking to it and made it their new haunt. I took great pains to steer clear of the place.

When the email with a dinner reservation to EFFETE arrived I knew my time had come. Yes, I know. I am the food critic for the online rag "Good Eats" and it is my job to critique. I resigned myself to my fate, but I wasn't going in unprepared. I grabbed my Colt 45 and strapped it to my waist. The overcoat I wore did a wonderful job concealing it.

I arrived at the EFFETE at the appointed hour and the evening progressed exactly as I suspected it would. There was banal, contrived laughter and bizarre presentations of comically small substances that were passed off as food. I use the word food generously as my stomach was convinced I was under attack from a gastric suicide bomber.

I has made it halfway through my meal when it became obvious that I was now the center of attention. Apparently my clothing lacked the the necessary sophistication for this eatery. I normally take no heed, but a small crowd was forming, blocking my egress.

I continued my valiant effort to complete my meal to no avail. I could no longer convince myself the plates contained anything edible. The only escape plan I had was carried on my waist, with 'Colt' printed on the side. I decided that "popping a cap" was the only sane way out of the situation.

Once the bill had been settled I decided to act. I pulled out my 45, popped the cap, which went flying into the shocked onlookers and took a long well deserved swig. The looks of utter shock and horror were everything I had hoped for.

I thought nothing could make this moment any better. I was so very mistaken ...