Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Azul Restaurant

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I have two things in common with a 7-year-old girl. One is I like how JoJo sings, and the other is I like to play dress-up. Modern jeans society means the opportunities for dress-up are scant, so I grasp each one like Bobby Brown grasps for… well, you know where I was going with that.


My friend invited me on a mandate to Azul.

My friend invited me on a mandate to Azul. It’s a bit of a fancy restaurant, so one would assume “uh, sorry to break it to you, bro, but your friend expected to enter you that night.” Normally that’s a valid point, but the reason I came with him was that he had reservations for a nice, romantic night with his girlfriend but they got into a fight because he invariably did something stupid and wasn’t aware of it while she yelled at him and made absolutely no effort to reveal to him what it was she was pissed off about. You know, typical relationship shit.

We took a cab there because valet is like $8 and I live blocks away. Look at me, bitching about $8 when I’m about to eat food with a Roth IRA. We took the reservation and had a seat. Then I spent 10 minutes ogling one of the waitresses who sadly wasn’t to become ours. Someone once told me that servers always wear black pants because it makes it harder for people to stare at asses. I don’t know if that’s some kind of urban legend, but it sure as hell rings true. I must’ve detached my eyeballs from the nerves like 3 times that night trying to get a solid glimpse of her ass-curvature. Oh mighty elusive crescent, how you toyed with me. Anyway, my friend moped and explained to me the relationship issues. I told him to try to get his mind off of it by looking at that girl’s sweet badonk and let’s get trashed in a fine restaurant. We opted for some tasting thing that included wine and a bunch of shit. It was like $160 each? Something like that.

Then I spent 10 minutes ogling one of the waitresses…

The food itself is something you can understand the price tag on. When you look at a fighter jet and some general tells you “that there piece of military hardware costs us $27 million per unit” you’re thinking, “yeah, I can see that, it can murder all sorts of people who hate our freedoms and just happen to be from the Middle East.” You justify the cost. You would do the same with Azul’s food, because it’s fucking awesome, and it could probably violence a bunch of terrorists if given the chance. Keep in mind that I believe sushi and unidentified organic growths in London sewers are one and the same, and I was still able to tolerate Azul’s sushit.

I know you’re dying to hear about my friend’s relationship troubles. To shorten the story, they’re broken up now. What I gathered from his explanations were as follows. She was being a cunt, and he was tired of it. I admit that could be a little one-sided.

If you’ve got the disposable income and feel like treating someone special to a nice dinner, Azul is up there.

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