I've never liked Paula Deen (I don't trust anyone who uses the word 'y'all' that many times in one sentence), but I'm also not the kind of asshole who takes joy in the downfall of others. I do, however, believe that racists should not have nice things. So, yes, I'm glad Paula Deen was exposed as a racist-joke spewing piece of human garbage; and I'm glad she was fired from her job on the Food Network; and I'm glad I don't have to see her butter-soaked visage on my television screen anymore, frying beer-battered pork rinds in her bedside fryer or mixing up a batch of chicken-fried, bacon-soaked, butter-poached banana pudding gravy. Good riddance, Paula Deen. Go drink mint juleps in your multi-million dollar home and reminisce about the old days when you were a secretly racist old lady beloved by millions of walking heart attacks. And while you're at it, go suck a stick of butter, you sicko.
Paula Deen is terrible, but can we take a minute to focus on the other thing that came out of this story. Apparently, somewhere in this great country of ours, there is a slavery-themed restaurant. What the hell?!?
“I mean, it was really impressive. That restaurant represented a certain era in America…after the Civil War, during the Civil War, before the Civil War…It was not only black men, it was black women…I would say they were slaves.”
You know the owners of this not-yet-named restaurant are shitting in there rebel flag embroidered underpants. "Oh no. People weren't supposed to know about this place. Well, non-white people at least." Hey, gang, let's find this place and get it shut down, all right? I mean, come on! You know, a good first step on your road to forgiveness, Paula, might be providing the name of this establishment so the American populace can swarm upon it World War Z-style and reduce it to hickory-smoked rubble.
Also, one more thing about this restaurant: talk about not having a clear theme. If I've learned anything from the countless hours of Restaurant: Impossible I've watched, it's that you've got to have a clear vision for your restaurant, otherwise Robert Irvine will descend upon you like an angry soccer hooligan and kick your restaurant's metaphorical arse. I mean, what are you, weird, unnamed racist restaurant? Are you a pre-Civil War restaurant, a post-Civil War restaurant or are patrons treated to an exciting (and racist, of course) battlefield-style dining experience? That might be fun, right? Instead of easy-listening Muzak playing as you shovel pork-soaked collard greens and johnnycakes into your fat mouth, you are treated to the sounds of bullets whizzing past your jowls and cannons booming in the distance. The waiters, dressed in either blue or gray, some of them wrapped in blood-soaked bandages or missing appendages, duck and dive their way to your table, and quickly describe the specials, their voices quivering with fear. Inevitably, a Rebel waiter will encounter a Union waiter in the dining room, and a bloody fight will take place right then and there. Who knows when you'll get that Diet Coke refill. And don't forget the slaves. They'll be there too.
Anyway, Paula, when you've finished your heartfelt apology to Matt Lauer and the producers of the Today Show, why don't you let us know how we can shut this slave restaurant down, all right? Thanks.
Addendum: There was a story in the paper this morning from the New York Times about the crowds that had shown up at Paul Deen's restaurant in Savannah to support their N-word spouting food hero. As you can see from the picture above, they look like an award-winning bunch, provided the award in question reads Prize Pig.
I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. After all, the same paper in which I read this charming story, had another story, directly above this one actually, that was all about how the AMA just declared obesity a disease. So, I'm not going to make fun of all the disease-ridden folks waiting to get into The Lady and Sons, because that's not the kind of guy I am. I'm not going to ridicule these poor souls suffering with fat sickness just because they desire unlimited trips to the gravy buffet. That gravy might just be what's keeping them alive, dammit!
The part of this story that makes me sick is, well, two things. First of all, when someone you admire, in this case Paula Deen, does something repugnant, in this case repeatedly make racist remarks, the first thing you don't, or shouldn't do, is immediately defend them, that is, unless you, I don't know, kind of agree with them a little...? I mean, that's what joining a line of sweaty, human buffalo hungry for salty butter and fried what-have-yous outside of a racist TV chef's all-you-care-to-cram-in-your-already-greasy-even-though-you-haven't-even-been-seated-yet-mouth buffet restaurant implies, doesn't it? That you don't think ethnic jokes are a big deal? That being a horrible racist doesn't mean you should be shunned from society if you know how to make really delicious cornbread? You might not feel that way, but when you defend an old white lady who clearly does feel that way, you can't be shocked when I assume the same thing about you.
And then there's this:
Most of the diners in line on Saturday morning were white and more than ready to defend one of their favorite cooking stars. But at the very front was Nicole T. Green, 36, an African-American who said she had made a detour from a vacation in New Orleans specifically to show up in support of Ms. Deen.
“I get it, believe me,” Ms. Green said. “But what’s hard for people to understand is that she didn’t mean it as racist. It sounds bad, but that’s not what’s in her heart. She’s just from another time.”
No, Ms. Green, you don't get it. Deen might be "from another time," but this time, right now, is the time in which we are all currently living, and this racist shit doesn't fly in this time.