La Cazzata, the first restaurant for fluffies
Hey there, my name’s Julian. Just don’t call me Jules. I’m the owner and lead cook of an Italian Bistro, La Cazzata. One of the finest places you could ever walk into.
Yeah, it’s a crap name granted, I’ll give you that.
I want to tell you about my place nearly folding. I was shit out of luck for months.
I’d been running a small bistro, didn’t get many to fill the place but enough to tick by.
My cooking is………adequate, you’d enjoy it if I put a plate in front of you.
How can you fuck up Chicken Cacciatore? Polenta? Mushroom Risotto? Carbonara?
You can’t!!! That’s how!!!
Well the fucking critics didn’t agree!!! Assholes!!!
“No two meals follow the same recipe”
So what if I change the recipes in between meals?! It’s fun and my diners don’t know what to expect.
“Who puts tomatoes in a carbonara?”
I do, so fuck you.
“The pesto tasted like it was from a jar”
It was, next.
“The chef leaves a lot to be desired. The guy was late into the place, farted on his way past the tables to the kitchen. All the food was coated in grease and had hairs and what looked like phlegm on top”
No comment.
“Inauthentic”
Never complain about authenticity, that’s just elitist bullshit. You enjoy Italian food? But you want it authentic? Then go to fucking Italy and chow on cold, square pizza then!!! Jesus does my blood boil.
Well, people paid attention to these “critics” and some hardly came to my bistro.
Bastards! All of them bastards.
My regulars became irregulars, and a few became ghosts. My restaurant some nights only served the dead. You just couldn’t see them as you ain’t psychic!!
Not-paying customers did the damage to me though. They just walked on by and gave me dirty looks.
I bet those pricks didn’t expect me to come out with my cleaver?!
And I was living at the bistro to keep it from going under!! It was only myself and my nephew and niece left (both of these weren’t the college kind I’ll put that kindly).
It took all of my strength to not burn the place down with me in it!!! Except I didn’t have insurance………
I looked at the place on the night I nearly closed the place down.
I had a tight feeling in my chest, I had to stop myself from crying.
I’m glad Rudy and Marie were out back smoking weed (I think). If someone had looked at me I’d have cried. I couldn’t take anyone looking at me like this.
But no one will come if there’s no food!!
Make some shithead! God damn.
I started to cook, got my giant pot boiler. Hobs on. Oil. Got my shit together.
Spaghetti sauce!! A classic who could deny, throw in the dried spaghetti too (would it matter if it was starchy?), tomato ketchup, sugar, tinned meatballs, get it all together.
Make a meal to serve as soon as they walk in. Serve that shit! Put it on a plate right there. Give them the parmesan shit, no skimping, sprinkle those dumb herbs on like it mattered.
A few hours went by.
No one.
A lot of people walked by. No one darkened that door step.
The kids I swung my cleaver at walked by and shit their pants. I could smell their fear.
I’d keep the place open longer!! Someone would have to come!!!
No one.
I sat down by the window, with a bowl of my own cooking, spaghetti and meatballs and a bottle of (the good) red wine (i might as well just swig it, who’s gonna stop me?)
No one was coming, it was 12am already.
That’s it, thems the breaks.
God knows where Rudy and Marie were now, I’d noticed a few bottles of wine had disappeared.
Figures. They’re young and they like a drink!! Go out and have a good time. Why spend time helping your Uncle Julian keep a roof over his head?
I began to drink the wine straight from the bottle. It was over. Drink some shit from the shelf. Fuck it, drink it all.
Why bother leaving it here? Just enjoy your work Julian.
And then I heard a tapping at the window.
Fuck was that?!
I spied something at the corner of my eye. Something green, something, red, purple, brown, black.
And it was tapping at my window.
Fluffies?!
These things were new but people in town were already getting bored of them.
I seen a few people walking them here there, a lot of them dumped in the alleys and on TV in those shelters that used to be offices and stores and nurseries.
Shit when I go, this place is gonna be a fluffy shelter.
They shit and breed and eat, sort of like kids and rats. Well not like kids but close.
I’d heard someone call them shitrats!!! Sounds about right. I’ve seen how much they pump out. The door leading to the alleyway smells like someone took a shit. I don’t know how I passed health inspections (I never had any, I’d be fucked.)
What the fuck did these pests want?
They’re clearly unwanted back where they were from where they’re from, why would I want them here?!
I grabbed my broom, I was going to shoo them away. Hit them and beat them from my window. I knew these things were dirty, I needed someone to walk in!!
Who would walk in if all these things did was just take a shit outside my fucking door??!!
I took one angry step out, broom was clenched hard in my hand.
“Beat it Assholes!!! Beat it!! Bea-“
And then I looked down on them.
Their sad eyes looked up at mine and I could feel my grip on the broom become less tense.
“Daddeh……cn hewd hab nummies pwee……su hungwy…….”
They really did look sad.
All of them were looking up at me, they hadn’t even beat it. I think they’d have let me beat the shit out of them.
I’d heard these things were always happy and cheering and singing! What was wrong with these?
“Pwee mistah do Daddeh hab nummies fo hewd? Hewd is hungwy, nee nummies fo tummie hewties an miwkies fo babbehs”
It kept on speaking at me. I was just struck how sad these shits were.
The brown one was speaking. Such an ugly colour, I thought these things were meant to be brightly coloured and hurt your eyes!
There was about 12 of them, 5 of them grown, the rest were tiny foals.
Even the babies had such heavy eyes. They all looked thin too, like tiny baby rats that was pretty colours.
They’d hit rock bottom. They were begging. They were the ones probably taking huge shits outside the alleyway.
These things were desperate for food.
I could feel my grip on the broom become less tense and less and I had lowered it down already.
“Pwee daddeh Pwee hewp hewd”
“…come inside you guys, I’ve got some food for you”
I opened the door for them and let them in. They puppy dog eyed me I know it but they looked desperate and I had given up expecting people to actually come this late.
I probably was drunk too.
They’d been shivering outside and it was a bit warmer here, certainly less exposed.
“Nice pwacies, smeww pwetty, smeww nummies, wub pwacies an nummies”
“Is…………Sketties?!”
I was quite happy that they liked the place. I think it was my first compliment I received about the place that wasn’t my own.
I grabbed the bottle of wine I’d opened and took another swig. Finish the bottle.
I didn’t want to keep them waiting for their food. Give them a few plates and let out.
“Now I need you to wait here for me and I’ll bring you some spaghetti.”
“Weawwy!!! Sketties!!! Yaaaaayyyy wub sketties!!! Wub warmsies and pwacies. Wub wub wub!!!”
Well, that impressed them. A lot. The magic word was “Sketties” huh?
I had no idea they loved spaghetti that much at first until it dawned on me in the kitchen.
I’d seen these things advertised eating the tinned crap and then getting washed and their asses shaved.
Late night TV is weird as fuck.
This place must be heaven to these guys!!!
I took a further few swigs of the red, they’d started singing something about Sketties in the dining area.
The wine would make it a bit more bearable to put up with.
I plated up the sketties and took the food out to them.
You should have seen the look in their eyes.
They were so happy to see me and the food.
I’d never had that before, even after I’d opened up.
I placed the food down and the adults took their bites.
They ate it sloppily, messed up the carpet but I didn’t care. From the looks on their faces, they were enjoying my food.
For real, they were really enjoying my food.
I don’t think anyone had ever enjoyed anything I served in this joint (bar me).
I don’t know what took me, I wanted to create some ambience, give them a little something to enjoy the place more. I turned on the music and kept it low, more for my good, I hate violin music.
They looked like they enjoyed it too. I gave them more spaghetti, I brought the whole thing in and scooped it onto their plates.
They’d ate it all.
“Wub dis skettie daddeh”
they really loved it
What did these fucking critics know?
Food is to be eaten, not analysed. Finally!! An appreciative bunch at last!!
I wanted to give them more.
“Now if you fluffies be good and wait nicely I’m going to make you more Sketties”
“Weawwy daddeh?! Was due hungwy and now hab aww de nummies and Sketties!!! Wub dis pwace!!!”
All of the fluffies hummed in approval and murmured, Sketties, wub, warmsies etc etc
The little ones began to hug each other and play and the big ones too.
They looked pretty content. Happy. Like completely different fluffies to the sad eyed ones I seen outside.
These were like the fluffies you’d expect to see.
One of the mares had got settled and the foals took turns to suckle. Weird seeing a pair of tits on a thing like that!!
They’re meant to be toys but have Babbehs and a pair o’ fuckin’ melons between their legs?!
A sex toy surely?
I took that as my cue to make them more spaghetti.
I put more love into it. Chopped tomatoes, sugar, olive oil, onions, garlic, more and more meatballs, more spaghetti, parmesan.
The works!!!
I fed it to them again and they loved that too!!!
They could’ve kept eating and eating and eating.
A few of them took a shit right there but I just didn’t care. Not one bit. I was drunk and my cooking was finally appreciated!!
I couldn’t keep them, I’m not a fluffy person at all. What would I do with them? Plus they’d took more shits all over my carpet.
I called up a shelter, it must have been 2am I guess.
I’m surprised someone answered. They arranged a pick up, said they’d keep the herd together.
Try and find them a new home for them whenever. Whatever.
The guy tried to persuade me to keep the adults, the foals are guaranteed a good home, but not the adults. I just mentioned I had a restaurant and couldn’t keep them and hung up on him.
I was sad to see them go, the only crowd who enjoyed my food. A grateful crowd.
The brown one was picked up by the guy. She looked sad to go, really sad. Before she left, she thanked me for the nummies.
She cried that she didn’t want to leave this place.
Food was so good they didn’t want to leave!!! All of the herd began to cry at the thought of leaving. They wailed when they got picked up and put in the van.
I promised them more spaghetti if they went away nicely. I gave the guy the last of the pot, they could eat it at the shelter.
They left very satisfied.
It was an eventful night for me. I’d finally had something (as opposed to someone) actually enjoy my food.
I sat and began to wonder what the fuck I’d do getting rid of the shitstains from the floor too.
I began to look up fluffies more, they’d left a pretty good impression on me. Why did they like spaghetti so much anyway?
Then it hit me.
If humans don’t want to eat at La Cazzata, then I’d make this a restaurant for fluffies.
And only for fluffies to eat.
They can be brought here to eat, owners pay, job done! I make cash.
The next morning I made signs.
La Cazzata!!! The only fluffy food restaurant in town!!! Spaghetti for your fluffy.
And that was all I needed.
And a lot of fluffy owners became patrons with their fluffies dining on the finest Sketties they would ever get.
The reviews came in for my new venture after a while, I was finally making money.
“Food only a fluffy can love”
“At least it’s not for human consumption”
“Food is awful and problems with grease persist but fluffies seem to like it so whatever”
“Place smells of fluffy shit so bad, at least the spaghetti smell partly covers it. Only for fluffy lovers”
“Actual fucking slop”
“That guy knows what La Cazzata means right?”
“Take earplugs to avoid headaches and nausea from a lot, and I mean a lot, of dumbass happy fluffies”
“Owner tried to kill my son.”
“Basically food is the same standard as what he was serving before. Even hospitals would pass this shit up but at least the food is being given to someone who wants it”
“There’s shitstains everywhere you walk”
“The feds would have closed this dump on hygiene grounds but seeing as it’s only for fluffies, no harm done. Take them over for treats only”
…………well I’m happy that the fluffies enjoy my food, I don’t make food for critics.
No I couldn’t get rid of the shitstains but who cares?
And that’s how the first fluffy restaurant was opened.
Still the best one too!!! (My opinion of course but I did it first!)