Say Cheese

Sadly this place was short lived.
A particularly savage DYL was the end of an otherwise promising business.

Best kept secret in Seattle. I can’t believe we’re lucky enough for it to exist! When I came here the following things happened:
1) I won the lottery!
2) Marijuana was legalized.
3) I won a lifetime supply of free pizza!
4) I got a pet monkey. Haven’t you always wanted a mon-​KEY?!
5) I met Eva Green, who was in town vacationing and we’re going on a hot date on Wednesday.
6) I won a free house!
7) I met Quentin Tarrantino and he told me what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Ask me about it and I’ll tell you.
8) I brought about world peace just by eating the feta cheese cup they offer here.
Fantastic! Once again, I simply can’t believe it exists.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you soft-​minded, West coast swine. This place sucks more than a Catholic boys choir. You’d think a fancy new place like this would have a fancy new sign. Nope. It’s so fucking Capitol Hill, über-​hipster cool that it doesn’t need a sign. And, what’s more, the door’s locked. You actually have to go around to the Neumos side and pay a cover just to get into the place for the shear goddamned privilege of eating left over cheese rinds and globby, yellow-​stadium-​wall-​spackle. Oh, but would I were I even given the privilege. Shyster fucking douchebags left me sitting there for 1.5hrs. I didn’t get a menu, not even a glass of water. I asked some floppy-​locked, badly-​tattooed asshat if I could have a PBR and a menu and he just looked at me as if I were asking for the keys to his Vespa and walked away. Really?! It’s like that is it? He came by again later and, politely though fed-​up, I asked him if he could pull his head out of his ass long enough to get me some fucking cheese and a fucking beer or would that mess up his pretty little hairdo too much. He asked me what the fuck my problem was. I couldn’t believe this shit. I sit there for over an hour, pay a fucking cover to eat at your elitist slophole and you want to know what my problem is? My problem, motherfucker?! My problem is that I want my motherfucking cheese motherfucker. Look here you collar-​chewing, whiny, poser fuckstick, get your man-​tits in the motherfucking kitchen and fetch me some motherfucking cheese. I don’t care what kind. And a beer. He seemed stunned. Some bouncers came over. What kind of lameass, trendy, vault-​toilet of a restaurant employs fucking bouncers? Things deteriorated…
Anyway, I got asked to leave. Bottom line… I never got served, the waitstaff sucked and by the looks of things the food was probably utter shit anyway.
Oh yeah… and the music sucked.

mmmm… cheese…
yummy in my tummy…
mmmm… cheese…
makes me feel chummy
mmmm… cheese…
when i eat it i never feel crummy
thanks say cheese for making me smile!

Great little hole in the wall. perfect for late night ‘cheese in a cone’ drunk drinking binges.
I prefer the Goat Cheese and Stilton Blue Swirl in a sugar cone.

OH. MY GOD.
Out of the ashes of Frites comes a worthy successor — CHEESE!!!
I got the brie/​wheat cracker plate to go and a cup of nacho cheese to dip it in. Holy. Hell. Cheese dipped in cheese. I have reached nirvana.
This is going to be the go-​to, drunken, late night place on Cap Hill. I lost count at 15 varieties of cheeses — soft, hard, cave-​aged, etc…
Oh, and they have a HH from 2−4pm where all their imported cheeses are only $ 2.50 a pop.
**UPDATE
Say Cheese: