america needs a root canal. a restaurant review.

The year is 2020. Our country as we know it has morphed into a bizarre dystopian fever dream. Instagram has become our most important form of ID (unless you’re an immigrant). Masks are armor (unless you believe the fight is “fake news”). The fact of inequality is a kaleidoscope sharpening into broad view (unless you’re an appointed member of our government that doesn’t believe systemic racism exists). And a two-way conversation is a rare gem (for reasons other than self-isolation). 

 

Qualifications reign supreme! 

 

“Take us back to 2019” we all say. Well, I know a place where our carefree country is frozen in time. Beyond these glossy restaurant doors, holds a hidden cultural time capsule.

 

A diorama of the American Dream.

 

Come on in, let me show you around. Meet the Sugar People. 

 

Upon entering, a photo of American royalty greets you with a sweet smile. A grin one could only assume a substantial appearance fee creates. I can just imagine those lips scoff at this restaurant that her image has helped float since its inception. Can’t see that new billionaire gettin outta bed for less than the price of a luxury sedan these days. She’s a reality legend, American-made. Famous for being famous. We all made it that way. And dammit, good for her. She and her mother figured out the equation. Or invented it. Either way, I wish I had. Or else I wouldn’t be in the position to write this damn thing in the first place.

 

Let’s dive into the sugar. 

 

Bright eyed little girls, mostly tourists from middle America (remember tourism?), eagerly sit at the table and excitedly ask “has anyone famous sat here?! Have you seen anyone famous?!”. These young girls have already done their research, meticulously choosing the most Instagrammable milkshake that cost as much as a meal at any other decent restaurant. Their mothers are seated next to them, starry eyed and hanging on the server’s every word. Hoping the server’s reply justifies what they’re about to spend, as their vacation fund runs dangerously thin. Thank God for credit. Swiping with borrowed money. Plastic. The American way.  

 

The mothers, too, are here to live out a fantasy. To have the experience of living like the celebrities they’ve consumed hours reading about in US magazines. “‘Stars, they’re just like us’, but now I’m like them!” Not understanding the stars most likely get paid thousands of dollars to eat the less than average food they’re about to foolishly over-pay for like sugar suckers. 

 

Nothing but profit matters here. A dream full of empty calories. A tale for this millenium that’s as American as apple pie. 

 

This place isn’t just a restaurant, it’s an experience. Not a culinary experience, but a candy-covered fun house. Once you walk in, your lack of self worth is closer than it may appear. Entering expecting to be treated like the celebrities on the walls, but instead find a plastic water cup served to you by your frazzled waiter who just spent the last 10 minutes searching for a clean water glass. Now the waiter is falling behind on the 8 diabetes-inducing kiddie pool drinks they grace with gummies and treats for you. Kiddie pools full of calories that amount to nearly half the recommended intake for an adult, let alone a child. 

 

Screw what they recommend. I mean, who trusts the FDA anyway? Must. Have. Sugar.

 

Addiction.

 

This place is full of distractions. Literally full of smoke from gluttoness goblets and mirrors so you can see your reflection next to the face of your favorite celebrity. The “world-class chefs” touted on their website are closer to Boyardee than Bourdain. 

 

As long as food looks good, it doesn’t matter how it tastes. Welcome to the new culinary landscape. Selfie! 

 

The music is blaring with Top 40 hits as the lyrics of a jazzed-up happy birthday bounce off the walls, echoing with the sound of the tired waiter’s shrill voice, feigning interest in your child’s special day. The 15th special day today. But it’s 2020. Everyone’s special now. And certainly everyone’s special in the house that worships celebrity. 

 

Feeling special equals dollar signs. 

 

Happy Birthday To You. You Go Girl!

 

Full from a cocktail of purchased admiration and bloat, you notice a pop star’s photo hanging crooked on the wall in a cheap frame at the entrance, a foreboding sign. Part of you feels sorry for your waiter who is just trying to keep their head above the fructose filled waters, all the while wondering what string of unfortunate life events caused them to end up here. 

 

Locations world-wide. Making money off of borrowed concepts, borrowed faces. But apparently not enough to let their employees enjoy a cup of joe on the house? Yes, you heard that right. This small gesture should be a requirement for the amount of energy needed to entertain guests while keeping all the plates in the air at this nightly circus. Very few work in the service industry because they want to be there. 

 

Coffee should be a restaurant industry right. If the state of the union wasn’t so dire, I’d start a protest.

 

We’ve collectively decided communication is best in tweets, photos. Must not exceed our word count. Condensing our thoughts. To the lowest common denominator. Everything is a headline. A quick attention grab. Has a brand. Is a brand. Have to keep up appearances. Substance has #nofilter so we’d rather not consume it.

 

The Sugar People understand this. The brand. Even in the aftermath of a kitchen fire, a snapshot in the local news showed their toy mascot placed neatly in the corner. Perfectly posed amidst the ruin. Just like a Kardashian in our social lexicon.  Or the president in our country.

 

Marketing geniuses making money off of the rich and famous. I guess they figured out the equation too. 

 

Sugar being fed as opulence tips the scale. It’s borderline highway robbery to sell this overpriced, nutritionless menu to people, some of whom can barely even afford a night out to celebrate their child’s birthday. The celebrity-filled walls of this place mockingly remind you that you are a “have-not”. That for one night you can pretend and then go back to live in the ever-widening wealth gap that plagues our country. Another disease permeating our bloodstream more by the day.

 

The Sugar People have created a cavity in the culinary world. And in our culture. 

 

And it goes deep. 

 

A “restaurant” more focused on Instagram than ingredients, feeding the sugar-obsessed world where everyone just wants to be Kylie. What we really need is a root canal. 

 

In the meantime, while the staff are drowning in goblets with gummy sharks circling their heads, all I ask is...

 

Let them drink coffee!