Suburban life has been predictably boring, so last night I treated myself to the pinnacle of excitement: a steak and potato dinner at Firebirds. I’d scoped it out before – wall-to-wall collared-shirt douchebags trying way too hard at the bar. This time, I strutted in straight from golf, rocking a polo and slicked back hair. Maybe it was pushed back. My reward? A seat wedged next to some martini-sipping dweeb. The place looked exactly as generic as you’re picturing – my throne was a crappy barstool conveniently parked beside a completely pointless pineapple jar, the kind of décor some manager probably thinks “really sets the vibe.”

The bartender handed me a menu, and I gave it a quick scan. Most people were picking at happy hour share plates, which I naturally assumed meant they were broke. I, on the other hand, ordered the priciest thing I could find: a $37, 9oz filet with mashed potatoes. Twenty minutes later, my plate arrived – exactly as described: a steak and mashed potatoes. No frills, no surprises. Just that.

Underwhelming to say the least. I ate the meal and it tasted exactly like it looked, average. I considered writing a Google review, but honestly, mediocrity this committed almost deserves a slow clap, not a star rating. Firebirds isn’t a restaurant, it’s a corporate vending machine with waitstaff. I imagine the cook, not chef, in the background being told by his operations manager that this is “the way” to profitability. As a business owner who is attempting to learn how to delegate tasks, these type of operations kill me inside. Instead of a public Google review, I’ll roast them here for my loyal audience of 30 readers who will now approach Firebirds with expectations lower than their seasoning budget. My score: a limp 2.5 out of 5.

Would it be fair to give John Stortz & Son a low rating because a tool wasn’t up to expectations? Or if UPS failed to deliver on time? If we ever get a 1 star rating, I submit it to Google to be taken down. I live by the reality that no customer of ours will ever have a bad experience that we can’t fix. I know not all business owners think like this. I was talking to one who said that UPS delivered a package, the customer said they didn’t get it, and she said, “I did my job, what else can I do?” I’ve dealt with that hundreds of times over my career and you make it right even if it costs the company. When you do thousands of transactions, it’s a continuous flow of money and service, some will be good and others bad, but you live with the punches.

Which brings me back to Firebirds. I don’t know how they stay in business, let alone expand with more chains. My bill ended up being $67 dollars including tip. I compare this to the $50 I spend at Bourbon and Branch in the city for a Bourbon Burger and 2 Guinness and it’s night and day. I assumed fewer people in the suburbs would mean more bang for my buck apparently, I was wrong. Plus the people were horrific and moronic. Case in point: as my steak landed on the table, a 65-year-old woman next to me chirped, “I thought that was mine – it looked so good!” Excuse me? Did you just time-travel from 1957 and forget how restaurants work?

Anyway, consider this your public service announcement. This is only the beginning. As I continue my exploration of Newtown – a town still run by the same five families who built it in 1700 – I’ll keep documenting these culinary crimes. Stay tuned, the suburbs are serving comedy whether they mean to or not.

I’d appreciate any comments if the use of ChatGPT is any better than the last one where Sam said it didn’t sound like me. I’m trying to be more aware as I read myself if it still is me