Emboldened Freedonians Chase Obnoxious Customers From Restaurants

BOSTON.  It’s nearing lunchtime, and the pungent aroma of zlagnistki, a rich soup made from radishes, cardamom seeds and dried shoelace aglets, begins to waft out onto the sidewalks of Pope’s Triangle, a neighborhood that is home to a majority of Boston’s Freedonian-Americans.  “It smells like the mother land,” says Enil Glozsnukki, who emigrated to America with his family when Freedonia was annexed by the Six Flags amusement park chain in the 1980s.  “All moist and sweaty, like the bosom of a buxom female parent,” he says, inhaling deeply.

Shoelace aglets:  Yum!

Freedonian-American cooking is “hot” right now in more ways than two, as “foodies” have discovered the complex dishes featuring often conflicting, sometimes warring flavors that make previous favorites such as tapas and Chinese-Cuban cuisine seem bland by comparison.  “Their goat pancreas churmingorkos are to die for,” says Alison Dorch, who has traveled by Uber to this out-of-the-way corner of Boston to grab a bite at Donzo’s, a diner named for its proprietor, Donzophrlgm Ozkeiwl.  “I wish I had more seats,” the owner says as he tells a party of two there is a twenty-minute wait for a table.  “We are stacking yuppies on each other’s laps as it is.”

Ozkeiwl:  “We don’t want no Anarcho-Syndicalists in here!”

But the new popularity of his restaurant has emboldened Ozkeiwl to make discriminating choices among diners, taking his cue from the owner of the Red Hen Restaurant in Lexington, Virginia, who ejected White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders and her party when staff members said they would feel uncomfortable serving patrons whose political views they disagreed with.  “This is America, my adopted homeland,” he says, a look of defiance clouding his visage.  “I say no whenever I want, just like my wife.”

Delivery wagon, heading back to Freedonia for a new load.

The owner wields his truculence in a pro-active fashion, closely examining those standing in line before allowing them to advance to his vestibule and waiting area.  “My country, she is like a piñata at a birthday party, and other nations are the 9-year-olds taking a whack at her with a broomstick,” he says as he looks through the reading matter and handbags that prospective patrons have brought with them for signs of deviant sympathies.  “Whadda you–a Yankees fan?” Ozkiewl says with mock-menace to a young man wearing a blue cap with the white letters “NY” on the crown, before relenting with a smile to show Michael Webstein, a student at Boston University, he’s only kidding.

But his expression turns dark quickly when he sees Con Chapman, a writer who “blogs” frequently about Freedonian arts and culture on the World Wide Web.  “It is him,” he says with an air of menace, and he whistles over his shoulder to Reeiznia Flekcnorz, the restaurant’s hostess, who indicates by the upward curl of her left eyelid that there is trouble brewing.

“Throw the bum out!”

The signal is seen by the restaurant’s sous-chef, and dishwasher Kjakl Maiwl is deputized as the “muscle” needed to escort the unwanted guest from the premises.  Chapman is hustled off with more force than appears absolutely necessary, his pride and his blue polyester blazer looking the worse for wear.

What, this reporter asks the dishwasher, is the offense for which he has decided to bar the bespectacled and inoffensive-looking man from his premises.

“Thinks he’s funny, always joke about Freedonia,” Maiwl says, expectorating on the sidewalk with contempt.  “Also, doesn’t know how to count higher than 18% tip.”