Look for the union label

I don’t know what was funnier, the cafeteria in the House of Hubris shutting down after an outbreak of food poisoning or the fact that a three-graf blog post about it needed two bylines. (Hey, buyout guys: You missed some!) I’m just surprised the old Cafe Regret escaped a similar fate — I can still hear the moaning after anyone ate the smoked tuna there, and I know the one day of work I ever missed because of physical illness was due to a wrap I stupidly ingested on a deadline day when I could not escape for lunch. Mostly it all made me remember the shitstorm after we let now-Mme Friend write a little piece about the onetime-House of Ruth’s shiny new cafeteria in which she referred to something like a “sad little cookie” on our 11th floor. The publisher was not amused: Next day the section editor had the equivalent of a horse’s head on her desk, a couple of, yes, wraps from the CR and a snide note from the GWB of newspapers on how they were proof positive of the quality fare on offer just a few flights away. How the mighty have tripped. So here’s a stylish hat tip to the Crocodile for his new corporate slogan: If the work won’t kill you, the food will.