(Frat) Boy Dinner

Buzzy new campus restaurant Alpha Pies by Alpha Guys was born out of sweat, tears, Axe body spray and freshman James Jared Jacobson Jr.’s childhood trauma.

Used to “pulling left and right,” Jacobson Jr. was in for an extreme shock when he arrived at university. After a short break from our interview to chug five egg yolks, he revealed a raw truth.

“I came to uni, and I got no girls. Zero. Not one. L in chat.”

So Jacobson Jr. decided to rush Pie Gamma Deltoid and build his own community from the ground up.

“That’s when I found my brotherhood, when Alpha Pies was born — out of a situation where I was unwanted, marginalized, even. I really needed to bring more fraternity representation into mainstream society, and I knew how to make a sick Craft dinner.”

The first time he stepped through the doors of his beloved house, he knew what would make it feel like home: home cooking.

“I knew I could bring something special here, for the boys. It’s my way of repaying the community.”

Alpha Pies by Alpha Guys is a first-of-its-kind restaurant, subverting stereotypes by embedding real food in a fraternity house. It’s left the local culinary community struggling to catch up.

“Just let me cook,” said Jacobson Jr.

Stepping into the incredibly sweaty space, I see what the hubbub is about. Occupying the main floor of the Pie Gamma Deltoid fraternity house, Alpha Pies has a unique charm, a certain freshness and je ne sais quoi that I haven’t seen in ages.

Maybe it’s the way my shoes stick to the floor with every step, or the grime that instantly settled into every pore as I stepped through the entryway — whatever it is, Alpha Pies brings an authentic grit (dirt) to the city’s culinary scene.

The dining room is similarly eclectic, with grey plastic fold out tables and a hodgepodge of different chairs.

As dining nowadays has become more and more expensive, with lah-dee-da decor and frivolous attention to detail and aesthetics, Alpha Pies is a breath of fresh air. Well, everything except the air, which is incredibly stale.

Jacobson Jr. pulls out a chair for me, before whispering “I’m a feminist” in my ear.

Perched atop my 1980-something couch with stains on top of the stains, a flock of almost-shaven men in suits begin a curated culinary experience.

When I ask for a menu, I am once again delighted to be fully immersed in this niche culture, as Jacobson Jr. informs me that at Alpha Pies, women don’t order, because “all dinners go more smoothly if the man just orders, since he’s paying anyways.”

In this case, Jacobson Jr. is not wrong. I’m not paying to eat here.

In my solitude, I observed the careful details of the dining room: the painstakingly dried amber liquid inside of carefully intentionally crushed red Solo cups, the photos of brothers past hanging artistically askew, the authentically dead rat’s tail poking out from underneath a nearby ottoman — there’s nothing like a culinary experience that transports you to new realms.

With a flourish, my lonesomeness is broken when Jacobson Jr. and the rest of the dashing Alpha Guys present me with an astounding array of delectable dishes in approximately the same time it takes me to reheat my frozen dumplings at the end of a long day of reporting and stuff.

I’m first served the incredibly tough “Brolet Magnon,” which left my face sore and my mouth missing three teeth.

Next, I’m presented with the “Baby Got Back” ribs, served on a collector’s-edition plate for a porno, accompanied by a hearty helping of “Sloppy Jill,” which earned its name after Alpha Guy Brad “Bulldog” Brooks’ girlfriend Jill Fromjackandjill, a semi-permanent house resident, ate a Sloppy Joe in 0.000004 seconds.

“That’s true love,” Jacobson Jr. told me, his face way too close to mine. “So I named the dish after her, because girls can be sloppy too — did I tell you I’m a feminist — and because Brad told me I had to include her, otherwise he would tell that finance guy funding this shithole it’s a restaurant and not a startup.”

After a bite of their signature dish, the “Alpha Pie,” a meat pie which includes ground beef, a chicken pot pie, bacon, sausage, onions, alligator hearts, dirt-flavoured protein powder, football leather and remote control batteries, I am happy and stuffed, having consumed the recommended amount of protein for my entire lifespan.

For dessert, I am swiftly ushered into another room by a group of local culture experts. I am lucky to glimpse this unique subspecies up close. Much to my surprise, they accept me as one of their own, and I am welcomed into the community by way of a “keg stand.”

Having been attached by the mouth to a large metal keg, gulping back fermented sock juice with my legs pointed skywards, I can confidently say Alpha Pies is a dining establishment that will make your head spin.

The synergy and vibrance of this culinary team was intoxicating.

Also, I was drunk.

The night persisted, and so did I. I woke up on a chewing gum-adorned sofa with a foggy memory of swearing my allegiance to the frat. I have a tattoo of a wolf. My boss calls. I’ve been promoted to editor. He’s fired.

There’s a new girl in town, and she’s an Alpha Pie Guy.