No matter how hard you try, no matter what your friends might tell you about how perfectly you “match,” no matter how much hype there is about how amazing/cool/funny/awesome/charming he is, if you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it.
Did I say “he?” *blush*
I meant “it.” Er.
What I really meant is “Famima.”
I tried to like Famima. Everyone else in the civilized world where Famima has leased space and built out its pea-green and matte brushed silver decor loves it. My friends tell me it’s perfect for fashionable foodish me-on-the-go.
I don’t feel it for Famima.
In fact, the only thing I feel for Famima is a tiny bit of contempt for its marketing department because I am envious that they have been able to create so much hype out of nothing. That’s talent. Famima is a convenience store. It sells chips. It sells bottled drinks. It sells hot food. It sells cold food that the pimple-faced, frosted tips, half-Japanese anime rocker grunge wannabe boy behind the register will heat up in a microwave for you.
I believe the Engrish translation of “Famima” is “7-11.” Oh, my bad.I didn’t take Japanese 1A at Cal because it was impacted. It’s “Circle K.” And Famima doesn’t even have taquitos.
The problem is, I really want to like Famima expressly because it is convenient. The Promenade location is closer than a touchdown pass from my office. I like to run into a place, grab food, and run out without having to wait in line, take a number, and pour myself 11 miniature cups of salsa to distract myself from watching the clock. On a pure product-to-product comparison, Famima is more expensive, but when you’re only buying a single Chicken Curry Bread for $2.50, it’s “cheap.”
Close. Convenient. Cheap. Famima has the 3Cs of marketing. (Clearly, I learned nothing in business school.)
Unfortunately, Famima also suffers from a fourth C that describe the quality of its hot foods — cavernous. (Hey, I don’t use the word “crap” when talking about food, no matter how bad it is.) The Chicken Curry Bread is only $2.50 because there is about 16 cents worth of chicken curry inside. Behind the counter, the steam filled case with condensation running down in long, clarifying lines along the glass panels got my attention. The gorgeous dome of deep-fried gold flirted with my visual sense. It was hot, baby. Hot. I fell foolishly for the damned thing based on superficial qualities alone.
But when I cracked the chicken curry bread open and got a true look and taste of what was inside, I was beyond disappointed. The bread was virtually empty. Hollow. Cavernous. What little there was inside was sticky and bland. I wanted to like it because it’s curry and fried and cheap. Unfortunately, no matter how much I tell myself that I can be happy with a pretty face, I know I can’t. I need substance.
Famima. It just isn’t there.
1348 3rd Street Promenade (just north of Santa Monica Blvd)
Santa Monica, CA 90401