Diego and Jackson have been contracted to rescue the Casa Montana, a small inn and restaurant in the mountains of Appalachia. Arriving early and unannounced to see how things really are, the duo first try the Casa’s allegedly homemade food prepared by head chef Eric…
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Little did Diego know what he stepped into when he, blogger food critic without formal training, accepted ‘easy money’ to thoroughly ‘assess and arse-caress’ with Jacob, the (alas clueless, save for wok-cooking) winner of a foodie magazine contest, the staff of a splendidly-located, abominably ailing Appalachian restaurant, named Casa (‘house, [like] (at) home’) by its Italian chef-founder Carlo, who took his culinary secrets to the grave, so gastronomy seems to have been entombed with him as there was no heir or disciple to take over. It survived as an inn, but(t) guests never stayed long, the food in the area’s former gastronomic place-to-be now being generally regarded inedible ‘or worse’.
Carlo left no recipes but(t) a ‘protocol’ combining all kinds of general rules, which the stupid squirts-only staff clings to desperately, clueless about the logic and bigger picture, unaware it’s from his own learning period and largely outdated, seeing no need to update as his competent original staff used their culinary brains to adapt and improvise. Since Sir slid into sub-standard and senior-home, staff systematically defected, being offered better jobs elsewhere or going solo, so solely squirts still stay without superior sway to see they study, simmer, serve and swipe, standards sinking from superb to silly/stupid. Thus they stick to making all sauces and relishes instead of buying, only Carlo’s family recipes were key to quality, their own whipped-up wares are worthless, way worse than cheap industrial produce. Zealous Asian Eric was brought up to revere tradition unconditionally, but(t) lacks imagination, IQ or common sense, so couldn’t come up with a better idea than extrapolating that principle to home-cooking everything without proper recipe (or cook book), regularly resulting in revolting rubbish.
Even Eric’s home-made pizza is evidently-dubious, even as goat feed, a single bite evoking vile vomit- and shit-cramps in inspector Diego, who stumbles into the kitchen and finds the Stygian stench worse than in the loo after puking his guts out, obviously on account of over-date ingredients, alas not the first or last customer having headed to the head in that sorry state. Wittily pointing out an actual rotten tomato symbolizes what this concoction-cooking clearly deserves, disgusted Diego starts spontaneously to strip the sordid scoundrel’s seat swiftly for some sound scullery-spanking, soon showing the same sorry shade of scarlet as the stinking salade-sickener; the startled spankee suffers soundingly, screaming, squealing, sobbing subdued.
As always at his Asian home after any attribute-to-‘asinine’-arse-application, the absolutely-abject arse-agonized adolescent addresses his attitude-adjuster appropriately, after the abundantly awful-arse-ache-assured ayayayayaaaas abjectly assuring absolute appreciation for any ‘awesome’, apt and ample attitude-adjustment by abundant arse-ache. Actually already anger-appeased, the ad-rem assessor ad-once appreciates the abject adjustment-appreciation about abundant arse-agony, astutely aware it’s about adjustable ability, not attitude, in abhorrent absence of any able adjuster, and after assessing the abominable absence of any actual adult staff, sees the sorry squirts suffer silently sine success or sense. It dawns therefore on dapper Diego, these despondent devilkins deserve due disciplining, drilling do’s and don’ts daily with a decent defrocked-derriere-discipliner dolefully dealing with due deserts dermis-dooming as deserved didactics day by day.
So instead of just rating the restaurant rotten right-on, he reckons reading-up on restaurant-related reality and re-contacting restauration-related relations is right to relatively-rapidly work-out if it’s feasible to whip the wanton whippersnapper wretches into some shape and suitably service swiftly before blunt bankruptcy beats the business beyond being. Diego finds it surprisingly fascinating, as fine foodie finding-out all about food-processing, and as formerly-frequently-frat-fellow-fanny-flailed and -flailing frat-alumnus fortunately finding a fine forum for transferring the terrific thrills of trouserless-trembling-teen-tail-tender-tanning from fairly-frivolous frat-fun to fucking-for-real fateful foreman-feature to further firm-finances and fully-flailable fledglings’ fate fantastically. Could he and college-kid-comrades-counseling craftily condition the crumbled Casa and clueless klutzes-crew to a competent catering company and correct corps?