Other things are not so lucky, and were they to have their names changed, their image would suffer accordingly. Imagine, for instance, that during a moment of intimacy with your lady, you glance downward and ask if she wants to meet “The Ringing Disappointment”, or “Fester”. Will her answer be a breathy “Oh yes”, or would your bed empty faster than a church pew when Father Flynn passes the plate? If you named your restaurant “The Village Idiot”, would anyone take it seriously?
In recent years Revelstoke has seen an economic and population boom because of the Mt. McKenzie ski hill development so it is to absolutely no one’s surprise that the Village Idiot has a theme aimed at drawing athletically-inclined Australians wearing Helly Hansen coats. The restaurant has built a solid reputation for itself and long-time locals seem to enjoy it alongside their newly-arrived counterparts. It was here, during my most recent visit to Revelstoke, that I arranged to meet up Andy, my former high-school English teacher and a regular reader of this site.
|Pretty sure that railway bulls used|
something like this to torture hobos
once upon a time.
My thoughts on novelty menus have been expressed in previous reviews, so I won’t bother repeating why having to say, “I Found Nemo!” to order a damned fish sandwich makes my blood pressure spike. Through gritted teeth I ordered the special, a pizza-wrap that someone, after a few bong hits, decided to name Roachzilla ($10.27), and a side Caesar.
|Smaller than you'd expect from|
a member of the Zilla family.
Even though Roachzilla failed to live up to its name and was brought down by the Japanese army before any real damage could be done, this won’t be my last visit to The Idiot. Sure, I don’t like the clientele and the furniture gives me cold sweats and flashbacks, but the atmosphere is relaxed and the service always good. That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, that which we call The Village Idiot by any other name would still be a wise choice to grab dinner.