The Sushi Burrito craze has died out, but where will white hipsters strike next?

I saw my grandmother in a dream last night, and she warned me of a bearded white devil in a pair of Doc Martens.

There’s something fascinating about Asian food, isn’t there? It may be the texture: how good it feels when sesame seeds brush against my tongue? Or maybe it’s in the ingredients: is that soy sauce I taste? How about the name? “Pho? Foe? F-uhh? Fuckin’ good mate, that’s what this is!” If it’s fun to say, it must be fun to eat! Selfie!!

No one asked for this.
How can you be mad at this? I can think of at least 2 reasons.

Now that’s cute (for the most part) but what’s not cute is when white pipo offer a hipster, bland rendition of a traditional Asian dish. And while it’s fun to experiment, which I, as an amateur chef encourage, some of these Frankenstein projects like the “Sushi Burrito” has a little bit too much “America” in them. As a Christian nation, shouldn’t you know that gluttony is a sin?

From sushiburritochicago.com and I’ve never been more angsty.

Only at Sushi Burrito Chicago can you get the fusion of Asian and Latin flavor combinations, like seaweed and Hot Cheetos. Oh, but the nonsense doesn’t stop there. Because of their “brave and outlandish” execution, they are going to hold some sort of merit to their product, and charge $15 for it. I have sleep paralysis and stress dreams because of this.

But it doesn’t stop there. Hipsters all over the world are tampering with grandma’s Chicken Tikka Masala recipe, Aunty’s BBQ Pork Bahn Mi, and even Momma’s Kim-Chi & Rice. They’re overcharging foodies because they’ve developed some lie about how their finesse is worth your extra coins. It isn’t. It’s pretentious, it’s problematic, and it’s downright disrespectful.

So please, stop supporting these businesses. They’ve capitalized on “exotic cuisines” for long enough, while small family-owned restaurants with heart struggle to keep their doors open. This weekend, I encourage you to dine in at a restaurant where the food comes from the soul, and on your way in, please don’t rub that Buddha statue on the belly. Everyone is watching.

I’ll admit: the two women in the middle are darlling.