Quipped my husband as I put my head in my hands and slowly shook it, not believing the ridiculousness around me. This is it, friends. This is the ultimate symbol of why Austin is bullshit and Pittsburgh is not. I snapped this BlackBerry shot while we ate at an Italian place yesterday:
Note the handpainted-looking signage, the shaped ceiling, the exposed brick, and the delectable array of hanging meats and cheeses.
It’s all fake. Fake fake fake fake.
The ceiling is green molded composite, that map looks like a placemat, and the meats and cheeses are plastic. PLASTIC.
That place has been open for probably two years. It’s in one of the ubiquitous mixed-use properties in Austin, built to look old and urban, with shabby-chic overpriced pseudocasual restaurants and boutiques on the first floor and faux vintage brick veneer condos on top.
It’s part of this stupid place.
This is running dangerously close to not being funny anymore. Stop treating me like I’m an idiot, Austin. I know The Triangle isn’t vintage urban loft space, and I know those prosciutti are plastic.