Welcome To My Cool, Purposely Misspelled Restaurant
Hi, welcome to Kitch’n, formerly known as Spune, and from the restaurateurs who brought you Dyne? and Forc and Si&tle. We’re the most talked about misspelled restaurant in the Austin/Seattle/Boulder tri-state area, and while it may look like our sign is spelled wrong, believe me that’s no mistake. It’s a disruption.
Because we both know I know how to spell the word “kitchen,” but why be so obvious by spelling something correctly? If you see the word “kitchen” as a restaurant name, you might assume that place has a kitchen and makes food in it for people. But we don’t make food, we make experiences.
I mean, we do make food, but our restaurant is more of a statement, a communal bath through which the essence of food rises. Those other properly spelled restaurants probably serve typical American fare like bacon on a brick or something — I’ve never actually been to one — but when you see Kitch’n, that apostrophe is a goddamn flag of revolutionary cuisine.
“Where’s the E?” you think? “What year is this? Who am I?” I’ll tell you who you are: a customer, about to experience a misspelled restaurant for the first time like a child touching a butterfly. That split second between thinking it’s a generic name and realizing it’s creative destruction is what caused us to move from pop-up to food truck to brick and mortar to entity.
And if you think this zeitgeist-busting art ends at the sign, think again. Our menu spells every dish and type of food wrong, and all our waiters have been forced to legally change their name to misspelled versions. That’s why you’re currently eating a duuk filet that Jeph brought over.
Correctly spelled eateries just throw raw pieces of meat at chuds, but we offer divine bites. So the only way to represent that is to add superfluous punctuation and subtract letters from the proper spelling that’s been established for thousands of years.
Did they know how to make salmon tartare with broiled mangosteen spears over a bed of hovering quinoa in kitchens from the year 1300? No. Since we have nothing in common with the restaurants from that era, why use their suffocating correctly spelled words? Why call something Supper when you can call it Supure? Why name a joint Plate when you can call it Plaut?
Last week a copy editor came in and gave me an earful about the name, said it was spelled wrong, said I was mangling the English language and should have my food license revoked. I served him some White Alba Truffle duck cloacas over a bed of Yubari King Melons and he left resolving to never spell correctly again.
I don’t care how many red squiggly lines appear in my Word documents, or how many letters to the chef we get with suggestions for corrections. We had a seventh-grade schoolteacher circle every misspelled word on our menus before leaving a dictionary as a tip. I banned her from the place.
A pure creative force like our fuzion restaurant knows no boundaries or constraints. We don’t operate on this plane of reality and time, which is why if you order your food around 7, it could arrive on Thursday or seventeen years ago when you first made love. A wait? Maybe. But such is the price of immortality.
In fact, the only thing spelled correctly is that D health grade out front. But I wouldn’t have it, so I added an umlaut.
