The day I became Pocha 88's unofficial taste tester

Kevin was arranging glasses behind the bar when I walked in. He dropped everything.

This is how it works at Pocha 88 on 10th Avenue and 45th Street. I arrive with Mom for her coffee meetings, Kevin appears with treats, and I provide professional quality control services. Today's inspection was particularly thorough—chicken jerky, dried sweet potato, and something that tasted like Seoul in spring.

Three treats before Mom even ordered. New personal record.

Kevin runs the kind of operation I respect. Clean floors, proper ventilation for maximum scent detection, and a treat drawer that opens the second I walk through the door. While Mom set up her laptop at the corner table, I conducted my usual perimeter check. Kitchen smells: kimchi, sesame oil, something bubbling that made my tail move involuntarily.

"Lucky's here for his shift," Kevin announced to the empty restaurant. I took my position by the bar, ready for whatever culinary challenges the afternoon might bring. This is serious work—someone has to ensure Hell's Kitchen maintains its treat standards.

The lunch rush started at 11:47. Kevin worked the kitchen while I monitored customer reactions from my station. Every dish that passed by got the full nose evaluation. That bulgogi? Approved. The seafood pancake? Suspicious but ultimately acceptable.

By 2 PM, I'd sampled four different treats, supervised seventeen orders, and earned Kevin's official "Best Boy" certification. He even saved me a piece of plain grilled chicken.

Mom finally packed up her laptop around 3. Kevin handed her a small bag—more treats for later. Professional consultation fees, obviously.

Four and a half paws. Excellent treat selection, superior customer service, and Kevin understands that quality control is a full-time job. Deducted half a point because they don't deliver to apartments yet.