Apple’s Corporate Food Court O’ Plenty: Reviewed!
Posted 08/26/2008 at 1:26pm
| by Jon Phillips
Jump to the section of your choice below:
Atmosphere/First Impressions
The Steve Descends
Food Review: The Raw Edition
Disposition: All Good Trays Go to Heaven
The Steve Descends

Click to embiggen
I had barely sat down in the Caffe Mac patio, when who should stroll by but The Steve himself. My sushi and salad samplers would have to wait, as sighting The Steve in his indigenous habitat (as opposed to, say, on the stage at Moscone) is a rare event. If you’re absolutely intent on reading about food in this “food review,” you can jump to the next section (Food Review: The Raw Edition). But for now, let me provide some details on my brush with Steveness.
First, let me report The Steve was still looking exceedingly trim; probably still recuperating from the health problems (surgery- and bug-related) that plagued him just prior to the iPhone 3G launch. Now, I’ve said this before within the confines of the Mac|Life office, but now I’ll make this declaration publically: I’m not comfortable with Steve at this weight. I think he’s taken this whole vegan/macrobiotic/breatharian thing too far. It’s time for Steve to go middle America. Pork rinds. Bags and bags of them. That’s what The Steve needs.
I wanted to reach out and grab him, and ply him with high-calorie sushi rice and mozzarella balls (both of which were on my Caffe Mac dining tray!), or even the stuff they feed sumo wrestlers to bulk up, because surely Caffe Mac offers that too.
But I resisted the impulse to reach out and touch The Steve. I resisted the impulse, because (a) The Steve knows his dietary needs better than I, and he doesn't need some wise-ass "blogger" giving him any advice, and (b) it’s almost certain that armed security men, robust and full of burl, would have sprang from surrounding foliage and gang-tackled me—ending my meal short, and thus kaiboshing the review you’re reading now.
If it’s not a part of the Apple Employee Handbook, it should be: No one touches The Steve. Let’s repeat: No one touches The Steve. No one removes lint from The Steve’s sweater, no one play-punches The Steve’s arm, and no one gives The Steve one of those brief, awkward two-handed shoulder pinches that say, “Hey, if I knew you better, I’d give you a proper back rub, but I don’t, so the warmth stops here.”
No, I did not touch The Steve. But if I had touched him, it would have been perfectly reasonable for my lunch partner -- the individual who sponsored my entrée into Caffe Mac -- to pull a knife and slit my throat before the foliage-dwelling security guards ever made their move.
Indeed, one would have to surmise – nay, hope -- that all Apple employees are issued a special quick-kill knife, and have a binding responsibility to immediately dispatch all attackers in the event The Steve is ever threatened in their vicinity. (First Law of Apple Employees: An Apple employee may not injure The Steve or, through inaction, allow The Steve to come to harm.)
At any rate, by the time I got my iPhone out and began snapping photos, The Steve was already some 40-50 feet away. He was on a walk-talk with someone I didn’t recognize. I can only hope they were discussing complete and enduring world domination.