Food Bender

If a stray ninja star doesn't kill me, my diet surely will. I spent an entire weekend asking myself not only, "Why did I eat this?" but also, " Why am I unable to stop eating this?" It was a miracle that I could actually get the words out of my mouth with all the food in it. Here's a rundown of the delicious death that was my weekend:

Friday, lunchtime: Ronny's Roadside. The intern at my office swears by the sausage & peppers from this food truck on Temple's campus. So what do I do? Go for the chicken parm and an order of fries. The reason why I would get an order of fries to complement a chicken parm escapes me, especially when I knew the fries had to travel 20 minutes to get here. Wait, I remember now, because I'm a fat ass. Do you ever eat fries so fast that they get stuck in your throat and then it hurts to swallow? Do you ever make it even harder to swallow by taking huge bites of a foot long sandwich that is bready and cheesy to the point where you actually have to chew 30 times to swallow?

Friday, dinner: Uno Pizzeria. Whatever reserves were left in the tank from lunch were completely exhausted by a crazy stroller lady who derailed what would have been a quick registry run to Babies 'R' Us with an inundation of upselling information delivered in the sleepiest of monotones. Waiting to eat is dangerous, because it usually results in ordering too much (or at least eating too much). I went with the parenthetic option, not wasting a single bite of Uno's Shrimp and Crab Fondue, a cheesy and seafoody glop of deliciousness floating in a sea of grease (that's a good thing). I even topped my pizza with it.

Saturday, breakfast: A healthy break from the madness. Mrs. Gastro lovingly prepared a delicious smoothie and pancakes, perfectly portioned and presented.

Saturday, lunch: Four Red Stripes, leftover Uno Pizza.

Saturday, dinner: A pre-Flight of the Conchords meal at Dahlak. I haven't been here since college. Ethiopian (actually Eritrean) food is great, unless your jeans are already snug and you order a third entree to get some vegetables and then when the second round of injera comes you feel bad not eating it even though you're finished. If I were a tad more shameless, I would have unbuttoned the top button of my Levi's.

Saturday, post concert: Having made it home and into bottoms with an elastic waistband, why not eat the rest of the leftover pizza?

Sunday overall was pretty tame. The one item of note is this: It's not the food at Wendy's that makes you fat. It's your inability to resist the 99 cent value menu that makes you fat. Since when do you need to order a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger to supplement your Spicy Chicken combo? Good lord.

I'm not eating this week (we'll see how long that lasts). Buen provecho.

Iron Hill, Take Two

After a successful meal from start to finish the first time around at Iron Hill Brewery, our expectations may have gotten the best of us. Or it could have been that our server, Steve, was just a jerk. In his jerk defense, however, he was also manning a 12-top. Still, I'm a damn good tipper. So what happened? How about another list?

1. Steve completely forgot the cheesesteak eggroll appetizer. It didn't show up on the bill, but there was no apology regarding the forgetfulness. And I was really looking forward to these.
2. No water refills. No check-ins. At least not for us. The 12-top was another story.
3. Fish and chips was probably a mistake after the filet-o-fish meal for lunch. And I already knew about the fries. Thankfully, malt vinegar is quite the cure-all.
4. The dressing on Mrs. Gastro's salad was so bland that all you tasted was the greens. I like greens, but I like delicious dressing much more.
5. Damn you, Steve.

I'll be back (lord knows it's not my last time at Babies 'R' Us), and hopefully the third time will be the charm. If you make it there in the meantime, just be sure you don't get stuck with Steve. Buen provecho.

The Iron Hill Brewery is Neither Made of Iron, Nor is it on a Hill. Discuss.

Perusing the aisles at Babies 'R' Us is great for the appetite, especially knowing that in a few months' time, eating, drinking, and other daily activities will sink to the bottom of the priority list (along with showering and sleeping). Eschewing the national chains for a local one, Mrs. Gastro and I satisfied our hunger (and my thirst) at Iron Hill Brewery's North Wales outpost. The verdict, in convenient (and lazy) list form:

1. Incredible service, to the point where you could get drunk just by asking for a taste of each of the beer offerings.
2. Despite the brownish color, the fish chowder had the most classic of tastes. Subtle and meaty fish, perfectly cooked potatoes, and a portion that was great to split before tucking into our giant sandwiches, speaking of which...
3. Mrs. Gastro's portobello mushroom burger was a bit messy, which caused the loss of the bottom bun, and ultimately led to a fork and knife operation. Even still, a decent take on the pub food vegetarian option.
4. My burger, the Brewsky, was also messy, but I opted to eat with my hands anyway. Topped with both sauteed mushrooms and bacon, it was a bit much. The meat was cooked nicely, however.
5. I'd bet dollars to donuts that the fries showed up earlier that day already julienned and frozen.
6. Pig Iron Porter is almost as good as Polygamy Porter, and Iron Hill's Belgian offering was no slouch either.

I'd go back multiple times, if only to get through their extensive beer list and even more extensive menu. Our food was delicious, and everything we saw on the other tables (even the salads), looked worth a try. Buen provecho.