If Wes’ Ribhouse is the best BBQ the state of Rhode Island can offer then we live in very dire straights. I will not speak ill of the wait staff the Wednesday I ate there, they were the best part of the meal, but to the so-called ‘cooks’ hiding in the kitchen, I say “FOR SHAME” in big capital letters. The restaurant may have opened for the day at 11:30, but that’s no excuse for the quality of food I was served that day. It also doesn’t make the almost freezing temperature in the dining area or the broken cup they filled with water and let spill all over the table. I wouldn’t feed the BBQ chop to my worst enemy’s dog, as resulting diarrhea would probably look and taste better. The ham was drenched in more grease that the floor of a clumsy mechanic. The ribs, the titular star of the rib house, were grisly. And this all for twelve bucks off the lunch menu. It’s almost not worth it to mention the tiny sides of baked beans and out of the bottle coleslaw that they dared to call sides or the…
I'm not really the blogging type but after my first short story being published in a real magazine, I have to say that my confidence has been boosted.
Hi, I'm Jim Burdick.
I'm really not that kind of person to ramble on and on but here I am making a blog.
I'm just going to use this blog to as a space to update people on my life that won't be filled with dozens of obscure relatives trying to get to know me on facebook. At the very least I can put in blurbs and food here, maybe even something funny once in a while.
I recently had a good talk with a friend of mine, she’s going through the MFA program at Salve Regina and moving into a new house so the fact I was able to get any of her time is astonishing, where we drank anything that wasn’t coffee in a coffee bar. She sipped from the lip of a hot mug filled with hotter cider, while I chugged back a few Arnold Palmers in the back of the shop as we listened to the clatter coming out of the kitchen. I also had a bagel but it was nothing to write about.
As we talked about friends of friends, what we were doing with our lives and the inevitable approach of death, I told her I started a blog. She asked me what the name of the website was, and I replied “Jim Burdick isn’t funny.com” which left her in hysterics. She said, “I have never heard of a better blog name before, it fits you too well.” Incredulously, I asked really? “Yeah, because when you tell people what the name of your website is, it’s going to stick in people’s heads.”