Burbank: home to movie studios, wheeling and dealing, and .... fat people? Holy shit, if I knew you were allowed to eat in Burbank I wouldn't be hiding in my apartment stuffing my face with Domino's and Milky ways on the other side of the hill. I'd be hiding in Burbank and stuffing my face in public.

I am so moving.

Tonight's Nightmare comes courtesy of Sebastian's Pizzeria, named after it's nightmare owner, Sebastian. Before he even opens his mouth, we know Sebastian's the real deal because he sits in front of a wall of his own framed headshots in his office. All actors have flattering versions of themselves on display in the pictures they audition with, but Sebastian is a downright liar. Or he's a creative visualist. Or just really, really crazy.

Hard to tell.

Sebastian breaks it down for us: he's the shit. He can cook anything. Put a bolt of fabric in front of him and he'll turn it into a 10,000 calorie meal. If he isn't sent to the hospital after tasting his brilliant concoction, he'll serve it to you. My friends and I used to joke about opening a stoner restaurant that only served Fruity Pebbles and peanut butter stirred into vanilla ice cream and other nasty things pot heads like to binge on. In a way, Sebastian is living our dream. French fries with chili beans heaped on top, French fries with something that looks like old gravy heaped on top, and French fries with something else brown and runny heaped on top. This guy understands the basic rule of food: French fries are good. He learned to slop brown chunky liquids onto plates of fries from his mother when he was just seven years old. I motion the sign of the crucifix and kiss my fingers. Rest in peace, Sebastian's mom. He didn't actually tell us she's dead, but you know that woman's heart had to have exploded by now.

Sebastian is not only a culinary mastermind, he's also got sensitivity. He tells us that he's polite to and understanding of his staff, but they paint a different picture. His waitresses are only putting in their time at this dump until Hollywood realizes that there's a huge cultural demand for homely quirky "character actresses", so they don't take Sebastian too seriously. They just watch him pace around mumbling crazy talk to himself and absorb it like little actor sponges. You never know when you're gonna be asked to play a doughy, middle aged semi-abino with crazy eyes. And if anyone's gonna get that call from their agent, it's one of these girls.

The kitchen staff, however, is a bit more afraid. As Lou-Bertha, the most awesome employee ever featured on any show ever, puts it:

"When he's get upset, you better duck."

To show us what a tight ship he runs, Sebastian walks into the fridge and starts yelling bout a plastic container of ricotta not being clean enough, and then he skulks behind a meek cook growling and throwing his hands up in the air. He's a nice guy, but he has no problem firing a stupid person. He's fired forty nine of them this year alone. There are either a lot of stupid people in Burbank, his expectations are way too high, or Sebastian's really, really crazy.

Jury's still out.

His kitchen staff, actually, doesn't seem stupid at all. Just lost, like little kids left on the side of the road, positive their mom's gonna turn back around and pick them back up after they've had time to think about what they've done. Who wouldn't be lost? The menu is three full pages long, featuring pizzas with twenty something flavor combinations that the cooks have to remember. I say twenty something because no one in either the front or the back of the house seems to be able to pinpoint the exact number. You start by picking a meat, and you can have chicken, beef, portabello mushrooms, or steak. No wait. Shrimp. Steak?

Line!

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Posted in Kitchen Nightmares by Flipit at 6:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)
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