Why Did I Eat This?

There are few places more depressing than family night at Uno Pizzeria (especially when you're one of six diners), but your options are severely limited when your plan to "just go and get the BJ's membership" turns into "Maybe we do need a gallon of mayonnaise," and "Sure, we'll definitely finish this suitcase of mixed greens before it wilts," until you've clocked a few laps around the discount warehouse, you're hungry, and more importantly, the baby is hungry.  Under these circumstances, the best choice is always the closest establishment that serves beer and more than likely just reheats their pre-packaged entrees, thereby ensuring prompt service.  Uno was a no-brainer.

Not wanting pizza and feeling perpetually guilty about eating red meat (I'm almost at the point where I feel guilty eating meat in general, which is a real turnaround for me.  It's also a huge bummer), I opted for "Rattlesnake Pasta," penne and grilled chicken in a cream sauce topped with shredded cheddar cheese and pickled jalapenos.  I rationalize ordering the unhealthiest thing on the menu based on both price and the fact that eating such crap only happens once in a while, even if once in a while sometimes means twice a week. This dish was definitely in that category. 

After a well executed magic trick by a ponytailed magician (and a subsequent awkward moment deciding whether or not I had to tip him and then not tipping him*), the pasta arrived in all its gooey glory.  Except that, as you can see, the combination of cold weather and air conditioning caused the sauce to congeal.  Coupled with a stingy sprinkling of cheddar and jalapenos, I was left with forkful after forkful of bland penne.  Each bit made me more depressed, which made me eat more, which made me more depressed (just like poor Fat Bastard).  Our waiter, a rotund and clearly stoned version of Luke Wilson (who looks a bit hefty himself in the AT&T commercials), said it was his favorite.  In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea to take a recommendation from Johnny Blaze, but you live and learn, which is really the essence of Why Did I Eat This?  Buen provecho.

*Steve G, if you're reading this, what's the protocol?

My Friends are Cooler Than Your Friends: Chamberlain Cabinetry

I have accomplished assorted feats of kitchen alchemy, but much like the rest of our service-based economy, I mostly use my hands for typing.  It's depressing. Hopefully someday it will pay off, either with the great American novel that I'll never write, or an opportunity to embezzle copious amounts of cash that nobody will ever miss.  If and when either of these two things happen, the first thing I spend my money on will be a bespoke kitchen designed by David Chamberlain of Chamberlain Cabinetry, not so much because we went to high school together, but more for the fact that I have never seen such timeless design built with an attention to detail reserved for only the worst cases of OCD (that's a good thing).

Dave and I go way back. We went through a skateboarding phase, a hip-hop phase, and even a stinky hippie phase (that was really more him than me, but I did learn how to eskimo roll a kayak (that's not code for "rolling a joint." It's really as it sounds)). Through it all, Dave has demonstrated some remarkable talent (boy's got serious ice hockey skills), so it's no surprise that he's beast when it comes to millwork.  For now, his work can be seen in the tony zip codes of Salt Lake City, UT, and a little bit higher up the mountains in Park City, UT.  I caught up with him over a few craft beers and way too many shots of whatever liquor was in the cabinet a few weeks ago.  After an attempt at ghost riding, we talked cabinets, drug lords, and juggling clients, contractors, and kids.

Pick One: Are You Pho Real?; Pho-nally; or, It's About Pho-ckin' Time

In the fall of 2009, I predicted pho would be the next big thing in comfort food.  At that point, I had yet to try it, but its cult following by eaters coast-to-coast indicated that it was at a tipping point.  Even with ramen hot on its heels, I'm confident that pho will enjoy its time in the spotlight in 2010, and I'm happy to say that before this happens and I switch my beverage du jour from pho broth to hater-ade on principle--thereby cutting off my nose to spite my face--I was able to slurp back an Atlantis of noodles resting at the bottom of an oversized bowl of meaty, gingery broth.  I imagine that most of you reading this (if anyone is actually reading this) have enjoyed the experience, but for those who haven't, I recommend the following: order the special, don't question the meat involved, give it a healthy squeeze of sriracha and lime, and see how long you can make your good manners last before ultimately burying your face in the bowl and ruining your freshly laundered J.Crew button-down.  Buen provecho.

I lost my pho-ginity at Pho Cali, which is located on 10th and Arch in Philadelphia's Chinatown.  In addition to a host of mix-and-match pho offerings, they also slang banh mi sandwiches and other Vietnamese fare (stuff I've never had, but would love to try).  I got a so-so summer roll and the bowl of bliss pictured above for $10 including tip.

Stuck Between Maroc and a Hard Place

When you're young and stupid, business travel sounds like a great idea.  Air travel, free food, maybe a neat name tag if you're at a team building or sales convention.  The reality of business travel is that since you're wherever you are to work, all the touristy stuff you had planned to do takes a seat right next to you in the back of the van that's carting you around.  It's still pretty cool that you're considered worth the airfare, lodging, and the name tag, however, and if you can manage some downtime, you may wind up eating something that will never show up on the menu at Applebee's (although I just got an email from Uno Pizza about a Moroccan soup).  You might also get kidnapped.  This past week's sojourn to Morocco was a blitzkreig of interviews, harrowing cab rides, and language barriers.  When we finally hit the pause button to eat, we found a wealth of porkless options that showcased the amalgamation of French and Middle Eastern cuisine typical to the region, a place where a lemon sauce is so sour as to be bitter, veal is actually short ribs, and every meal comes with French fries (a good thing).  More pictures after the jump.

Why Did I Eat This?

This is the carcass of a muffin that cost me $2.43.  I can get a bacon, egg, and cheese from the toothless guy outside for less money.  The worst part?  It tasted like Arm & Hammer and smelled like the cheap lotion they sell in the shrinkwrapped wicker gift baskets at the dollar store that the fat ass dude from Teen Mom would probably buy for his whale of a girlfriend to say sorry for being such a lame and sweaty excuse for a human being.  I suppose that at the end of the day, it could always be worse.  I could be that dude.  Buen provecho.

I Am Your Drunk Uncle: Egg Nog

(Apologies for the lack of timeliness on this one)

"Hey, it's the guy that makes the egg nog!"

If this is what you aspire to, continue reading.  If it's not, enjoy your much less flavorful and definitely less rock 'n' roll carton of the storebought stuff.  For the adventurous and attention-starved, you would be surprised how simple it is to prepare egg nog from a dozen eggs, some heavy cream, milk, sugar, and nutmeg, resulting in applause from all who imbibe.  If you can execute, it's a foolproof way to flex some culinary muscle.  I've been making Cyril Collins' recipe for a couple years now, and according to my monther-in-law, it's the best she's ever had:




Start by separating the eggs.  Whisk the yolks with sugar, beat the whites until stiff (and get your minds out of the gutter), combine with the milk, heavy cream, and the booze of your choosing (I opted for a cup each of Sailor Jerry and Jim Beam), dust with nutmeg, and do your best not to puke all over your gay apparel (man, this would have been so much funnier around Christmastime).  Then forget to write about it until after the New Year.  Then forget that you already (sort of) wrote about it a year ago.  Then wish your reader(s) a merry belated Christmas.  Buen provecho.

Guided Missile versus Kamikaze

Rather than jumping head first into the funeral pyres of processed food like I tend to do, Hamburger Calculus uses a more, er, calculated approach.  Integrate yourselves into their blog this week as they drop some science on Japanese snack foods and where to get them (I stole the photo above from this post).  Buen provecho.

The Worst Shit I Ate All Year

This year marked the introduction of "Why Did I Eat This?" on Fidel Gastro, a low-brow culinary oddyssey of bridging the gap between the food you see in the commercial and what it really looks like when the wrapper comes off, or sometimes just letting hunger get the best of me with no marketing involved.  Behold, another not-very-well-thought-out list of the terrible excuses for food in 2009.

10. Taco Bell's Blackjack Taco: As the unofficial spokesfood for the Phillies' 2nd World Series bid, the photoshopped images were pure comedy, but the actual taste of this thing was more miserable than the entire white sneakered population of gents mourning a loss to goddamned Yankees.
9. Big Ben Burger at Union Jack's: Amazing wings, terrible burger.  I guess you can't be good at everything (Michael Phelps is a great swimmer, but he sucks at not getting busted for smoking pot).
8. Flavia Coffee from my office pantry: Is it that difficult to make single serving coffee not taste like burnt water?  And is a carton of half-and-half really that much more than a squirt bottle of non-dairy creamer?
7. Wawa cheesesteak: Duh.
6. Baja Fresh burritos: We really tried to like these.  Even if you give them odds against the likes of Chipotle and Qdoba, they still can't get past "sucks only a little" status, which makes them a waste of money.
5. Dunkin' Donuts Waffle Breakfast Sandwich: A poor excuse for a McGriddle with waffle marks.
4. Pizza Hut Tuscani Pasta: You're better off making a box of Kraft macaroni & cheese.  Hell, you're better off just opening the packet of cheese powder and dumping it into a glass of water.
3. Herr's Kansas City Prime Steak Flavor Potato Chips: I will forever feel stupid for falling victim to these.
2. Buffalo chicken cheesesteak from Cosimo's Pizza: Last time I checked, hot sauce wasn't supposed to taste sweet.
1. Wendy's Asian Chicken Bites: A high fructose corn syrup-based sauce sloppily glopped over boneless breaded chicken that was obviously fried in grease weeks overdue for a change almost ruined fried chicken for me.

There were two things I couldn't manage to get to that would both be shoo-ins for this list, but you'll just have to wait and see what 2010 brings (aside from another 15-20 lbs on my frame).  Here's to another great year of regrettable eating.  Buen provecho.