Top Five: Lunchtime Lenten Friday Non-Fish Meat Substitutes in Philly

Photo Credit: Who the fuck knows? I found it by Googling "Lent."

In an attempt to reconnect with the religion bestowed upon me by my parents, I gave up drinking for Lent (during the week, except last Wednesday and maybe this Monday for Zahav's Lamb Shack). I'm also trying to hold fast (straight edge reference!) to this whole "no meat on Fridays" thing, even though someone told me that the concept was the result of shilling for the fish industry back in the day. Still, it's a form of sacrifice because I eat meat most days. For example, today's calorie massacre would typically start with a sausage, egg, and cheese burrito, then a fried chicken sandwich for lunch, and probably a burger for dinner (wow, that sounds awful when you put it down on paper). Instead, because it's Lent, I'm gonna eat some dumb instant oatmeal after I type this dumb list about the best things you can eat on Fridays during Lent in Philly that are neither meat nor fish. From worst to first, here are the definitive* rankings:

5. Bullshit Salad, assorted locations: Whether it's SaladWorks, Jake & Max's in the Comcast Food Court, or Devon & Blakely, you can be certain that your lettuce/mixed greens/spinach will be unwashed, your tomatoes will be unripe, and there will be entirely too much dressing all over this cold mess of an attempt to be healthy.

4. Falafel from the dude on the corner of 16th and JFK: Does anyone know how long this guy has been here? He's definitely a relic of the "food carts before food carts were cool" era. He's also super nice and his falafel is cheap and excellent. I recommend getting two because they tend to be small.

3. Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup from Meltkraft: You can get a three-cheese classic or opt for something more elaborate like their Melter Skelter (raclette, pickled green tomatoes, jalapeno, bbq potato chips, and watercress). The soup is made daily from roasted tomatoes. Doesn't taste like mom's, but then again, it's not wonder bread, pasteurized processed cheese product, and a condensed glob out of a can**.

2. Margherita at Pizzeria Vetri: If the pizza is good enough for Urban Outfitters to back a dump truck full of cash into Marc Vetri's driveway to acquire the company, subsequently causing the termination of some of his undocumented workers due to the parent company's e-verify requirements, then it's good enough for you and your quest to be closer to God. To be honest, eating the pizza sometimes feels like a religious experience because it's so Goddamn good.

1. Hummus at Dizengoff: Everybody's talking about King Georges at the moment, but I'm all about Prince Solomonov. When it first opened, I had my doubts about hummus being a meal in itself. Then we shot an episode of Camila Eats Food there and I was literally full for a good 36 hours after. I also know a dude who eats it exclusively for lunch 5 days a week. It's hale and hearty and impossible to stop eating from the first bite until the bowl is licked clean.

Buen provecho.

*Not Definitive

*Gotta love the nostalgia of the original, however

Little Lion Happy Hour Exclusive: Southern Poutine

Just a quick little reminder that poutine is Canada's greatest contribution to modern society (unless Vice is reading this and they want to give me a cool food show even though I'm not a rapper or a chef or really all that cool even though I've got like 4 tattoos. Then you guys are the greatest contribution. Sorry, poutine).

And southern food, currently having a moment (I think), ranks among America's greatest contributions to modern society (and obesity).

Put the two together, and you get The Little Lion's Southern Poutine, available starting tomorrow, February 11th. It's a happy hour exclusive, but since I'm old and like to go to bed early these days, the timing couldn't be more perfect to enjoy French fries tossed in dry rub, short rib jus, pork belly, and cheese sauce. Add a fried egg and some scallions, and you've put the "happy" in happy hour without even trying. Buen provecho.

And the Award for Shittiest Meal of 2015 Goes to...

Maybe it's the fact that we decided to go out for dinner on Monday. Maybe this past Monday was, in general, one of those Mondays that gives Mondays a bad rap. Or maybe, just maybe, the Manayunk Brewing Co. has decided to mail it in with their food now that their beer is a level above your ambitious neighbor's "Dave-Brau."

At the risk of sounding like an insufferable Yelper, I'm going to bitch and moan for a few paragraphs in order to get this meal off my chest. Before I launch headlong into it, I will say that the service was great, albeit slow.

But the food was an absolute atrocity.

No sushi on Mondays, I get it. My daughter, not so much. Her reluctant second choice, apples drizzled with caramel for dinner. Three apple slices, two strawberry halves, six bucks, and none of it eaten.

Mrs. Gastro and I (since there was no sushi) decided to split fish tacos and artichoke dip. No fish tacos. Our reluctant second choice, a veggie burger that was allegedly house made. The provolone cheese and mayo both failed to mask the taste of freezer burn. The artichoke dip was another loser. Ten bucks for a baby handful of stale chips and a ramekin of brown goo.

The only bright spot on the table (which was covered in outdoor filth and pollen) was my son's chicken fingers. Unfortunately, he's not real big on sharing these days.

At the end of it, we dropped 70 bucks and got in a big fight. Two days later, I'm still depressed and angry. I guess the moral here is "Don't go out on Mondays, but if you do, get the chicken fingers. And now, a stupid Dos Equis meme to support this point. Buen provecho.

Alla Spina, One Year Later

It took a little over 365 days for me to finally get to Alla Spina. Those following me on Twitter know that the reason for the delay could be attributed to beef jerky and/or the fact that I'm usually too drunk to drive, but whatever the excuse, I'm happy to say that I finally made it to the North Broad birreria this past Friday. Since I'm a year late to the party and you probably already know about the grafitti, the pig with leg warmers, and the negronis on tap, I'll keep things short and sweet by telling you what I ate and why you should do the same (or I'll go off on a bunch of tangents about shit that doesn't make any sense whatsoever).

Super Timely New Year's Eve Post

I saw something on TV that said if you eat like a pauper on New Year's Eve, you'll eat like a king for the rest of the year.  The classic dish to make is black-eyed peas, but no matter how hard I try to like them, they taste like mushy sand.  They also remind me of the band with the blind guy and the creepy ass dude that dances in the background and whose race is impossible to discern.  Struggling with an idea for poor people food, I happened upon mussels.  At three bucks a pound, they're the 99-cent value menu of shellfish, and at the Top of Hill Seafood Market in Chestnut Hill, they'll even clean them for you, making them that much easier to prepare.  Just saute some shallots and garlic, deglaze the pot with wine, then add the mussels and steam until they open up.  Then drink your face off with all of the booze your guests brought you and give yourself a high five for making such an awesome poor people dish.  Buen provecho.

Magnificent Mexican Mush

While the rest of the world is busy being tasered and/or trying to blow up Times Square (dumbasses), I'm using the Mexican holiday that only Americans celebrate as an excuse for some home cooking in front of the camera. Please enjoy this simple recipe for the best guacamole you will ever taste. What's that you say? Guacamole on Cinco de Mayo? Wow, that's original! Buen provecho.

Seriously, the Best Guacamole You Will Ever Taste
2 avocados, cubed
1/4 medium onion, diced
1/4 medium tomato, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 jalapeno, seeds and ribs removed, diced
Juice of 1 lime
Salt and pepper to taste
Cilantro, if you don't think it tastes like soap

Dump all ingredients in a bowl, mash and stir with a fork using whatever technique you think looks cool.  Drink a shot of tequila, then serve with your choice of tortilla chips (except the baked ones; they suck).

The Craving

I meant to write this back on 8/2, but time has certainly taken on a new meaning now that we have a new roommate.

I have to commend dear Mrs. Gastro for shattering each and every pregnancy stereotype out there, but I would be a filthy liar if I didn't say I was a little disappointed at the lack of cravings. If nothing else, it would have given me carte blanche to eat Taco Bell completely guilt free at her whimsy. But craving or not, every once in a while hunger would give way to something exotic and/or greasy. This time around, it was soup dumplings, something I haven't had since moving from NYC, and something that I sometimes miss even more than my SLC-based parents.

Baby Gastro's refusal to arrive on time left us with little do to but be angry about it. After the due date came and went, we almost felt like it wasn't going to happen, and my darling wife would be pregnant for the rest of her days (which would be kind of sweet because I'd have a permanent designated driver). This anger quickly became hunger, and before we knew it, we were avoiding eye contact with junkies and huffing gas fumes as we made our way into Dim Sum Garden, a well documented diamond in the rough and supposedly the only place in Philadelphia that serves up these gastronomic gobs of goodness.

I always find myself at Chinese restaurants during the staff lunch break, and this time was no exception. If I was in the middle of eating a three foot pile of lo mein, I wouldn't want to be disturbed either, so I had no expectations for prompt service. Besides, Mrs. Gastro wasn't going into labor anytime soon. When the waitress finally ambled over, we managed to spoil our dinner with soup dumplings, scallion pancakes, and a deep fried pork chop nestled among noodles that were more fettucine than lo mein. The dumplings were perfection, dredging up memories of the first time I ate them, anticipating a burnt mouth but caring very little as I bit into one resting on a spoon used to catch the broth, which was so rich and full of fat that it would become chewable at lower temperatures (that's a good thing). The scallion pancake was another success, a flaky crust surrounding a pastry dough interior, studded with green onions, and deceptively light. The deep fried pork chop was an afterthought, but by no means regretful. It was another rich dish, so meaty that if you told me the noodles were made of meat, I would have believed you.

What's odd about the whole experience, apart from that whole dining under an elevated parking garage next to a makeshift bus depot, is that we still can't figure out how soup dumplings even came up. Regardless, we'd go back every day if we could. Some things are just that delicious. Buen provecho.

Dim Sum Garden is located at 59 N 11th Street in Philadelphia, where the convention center meets Chinatown. It's not the best location, but your mom told you not to judge a book by its cover, and I suggest you do what your mom tells you. We got three menu items and two Cokes for $25 including tip. Cash or credit card, no booze.

Come for the Wings, Don't Stay for the Burger

Snug pants wishlist:

1. I wish I could wear them with little to no discomfort.

2. I wish I could fulfill that wish without having to resort to the extreme measure of starvation.

3. I wish I didn't belly flop off the starvation wagon last night, but at least I finally got to try the wings at Union Jack's in North Hills (Glenside).

4. I wish I would have stopped at the wings and not continued on with a burger.

I decided that my suit would fit marginally better if I limited my caloric intake to less than one hundred per day. As an alumnus of the Master Cleanser, I was confident that I could manage a 5 day hunger strike with the occasional bite of steamed spinach or gulp of fruit smoothie. And to be honest, after this past weekend, my body could definitely use some respite from the food abuse. I was doing just fine until Mrs. Gastro and I took a trip to USA Baby to test out a few gliders and pick up a toddler rail. To be more precise, I was doing just fine until I realized that Union Jack's was on the way home a little earlier in the day (although the lousy salesperson did absolutely nothing to take my mind off my mounting hunger with her stupid mouth full of stupid rice cakes and her stupid hard sell and empty threats about glider lead times and her stupid annoying voice. Honestly, who gives a sales pitch with a mouth full of rice cakes?).

Our home inspector let me in on this townie secret of a pub and their magical wings a few weeks earlier. After a gaggle of google results whose main theme was "best wings I've ever had," there was little doubt that this hunger strike had precious few hours left, so after Mrs. Gastro punched the USA Baby salesbitch in the face*, we raced there as fast as the traffic lights and our compact SUV would let us. When we arrived, the first good sign was that the parking lot was full. Even better, when we walked in, there was a booth waiting for us. Brief hiccup with the slow service, but understandable with the bartender doing double duty as the waitress. And then the wings arrived. A brief moment of knuckle cracking and expectations lowering (just in case), and then the gnawing commenced. This wing is classic. No breading, ample hot sauce (we compromised with medium), not the puny kind you get during a 25 cent wing night, and definitely not overcooked (as great as these wings were, some of them had a not-so-appetizing pinkish hue). In addition to the standard, Union Jack's also whips up sauces like honey Caribbean and Mexican jalapeño. Since this place is only 9 minutes from where we live, there's no question we will be back to try these.

But (big but here), we will most certainly not be back for the burgers. It could be guilt for breaking the fast, or it might just be that burgers are not the strong suit at Union Jack's. Feeling adventurous, I ordered the Big Ben, a bacon cheeseburger topped with HP Sauce, the English A-1. The patty was way overcooked and without salt, and because it was left on the grill too long, it was as dry as the kaiser roll it was served on. I am also a fool for thinking that HP Sauce on a burger is a good idea. Looking over at Mrs. Gastro's turkey burger, it was apparent that the same lack of care was taken in its preparation as well. Two huge disappointments. As an afterthought, I looked around to notice that the other tables were full of wings and nothing else. Maybe I should have taken my cue from the townies. Buen provecho.

Union Jack's is located at 2750 Limekiln Pike in Glenside, PA. Without drinking, we were able to get 10 wings and two burgers for $25 including tip. Cash only, but there's an ATM by the Golden Tee machine that you can use for the outrageous price of $2.00 plus whatever your bank fleeces you for.

*Actual punching may not have occurred

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.

Sporadic Suckage

God I suck at consistently posting. With that, you will now be getting the list version of the balance of the Bogota trip:

Day 2: Burgers at Agadon. A self directed menu where you can order burgers by size and trick them out (did I really just type that?) with classic toppings, or a fried egg.

Day 3: Steak at Salto del Angel. The Bogota equivalent of Rosa Mexicano, a behemoth restaurant specializing in local fare, including aguardiente, a digestif that's a lot less syrupy (and a lot more drinkable) than Sambuca.

Day 4: Appetizers at 1492. While the apps were delicious, they couldn't compare to the basil ice cream at the end of this finger food meal.


Day 5: Burgers at Agadon. I still couldn't bring myself to order the fried egg.


Wow, this post is lousy. Buen provecho.

Dia Uno: In the Atlanta Airport, It's Always Friday

I apologize in advance to anyone who actually thinks Guy Fieri is a cool dude (and also disown you), but I can't seem to get around that mid-90s-Offspring look. I'd like to see him separated (Hey! Come out and play!), you know, like drawn and quartered? Spikey bleachy hair notwithstanding, my options for food and drink in the terminal were limited, but who am I kidding? Even with the spokes-douche* on the cover of the menu, I'm a sucker for chain restaurants.

As my wife and I have learned time and again, chain restaurants are only good for appetizers and desserts. Heeding that sage advice, I went with the pork ravioli bites, stuffed, breaded, and fried pasta with a BBQ dipping sauce (note the impeccable presentation). The pork filling has the texture of Totino's pizza rolls, although possibly a bit more stringy. It's kind of an unknown foodstuff that you take at face value, like babies with baby food. The ravioli shell is almost there, but the hint of freezer burn takes it down a couple notches as well. Thinking it couldn't get much shittier, I was rather rather surprised at the tang and spice of the BBQ sauce, although it had the texture of the assorted sauces slathered atop a styrofoam tray of Chinese fast food (too much corn starch). But I ate every last one. Why the hell not?

*To be perfectly honest, my audition tape for The Next Food Network Star was not well received, and I'm a tad jealous of Guy's meteoric rise, not to mention the fact that he gets to travel cross country and eat shit on camera, aka my dream job.

Buffalo Chicken Dip

This is a Christmas Miracle.

Buffalo Wings?

Although they're dubbed with the same name as the bar food staple, the only thing Coyote Crossing's interpretation shares is the chicken part. The deep fryer is replaced with the slow cooker (or an oven set to low), Frank's Red Hot is replaced with god-knows-what-but-holy-shit-it's-delicious (my first guess would have to be a modified mole sauce), and the blue cheese is replaced with sour cream. The result is a tender treat that requires zero effort to wrest from a stubborn bone. As the chicken melts in your mouth, spice and sweet battle each other until you finally have to swallow. It's enough to make you forget about those other buffalo wings. Buen provecho.

Coyote Crossing is nestled among the blue collar townhomes of Conshohocken, PA. In addition to delicious ass wings, their margaritas and entrees do not disappoint. And if dancing's your thing, DJ Strike spins on Friday nights (but both times we have been there, the place was deserted).

Eatin' Good in the Neighborhood

Rather than seek out new and interesting places to try (last night would have been an ideal night for a sports bar to watch the Phillies jonron their way out of a two run deficit), we settled for Applebee's, which makes sense because it's the halfway point between us and the in-laws, and also where our waiter was kind enough to let us order half price appetizers before 9pm. Problem is, when you're getting such a sweet deal (yes, even if you're eating mounds of heavily salted carcinogens, it's still a sweet deal), you could completely render the deal null and void by ordering way more than you need. This is exactly what my fat ass did, and between four people, we managed to rack up $100 worth of food and drink. At Applebee's. That's like spending more than five bucks at taco bell. Buen provecho.

Try Again Beca

Dear Nancy Whiskey Pub,
Why must you tarnish your perfectly cooked chicken wings with jarbecue sauce (barbecue sauce from a jar)? Please advise.

Regards,
Fidel

Nachos Muchacho

Please be advised that Pete's Ale House in Brooklyn has the greatest nachos in the world. You get a perfect balance of cheese, chili, and chips, all of which are made even better when you get a jalapeno thrown in the mix. Pair it with a beer from their extensive draught selection (I recommend the Liberty Ale) and you've got the perfect accompaniment to the Mets-Phillies game, or the angry lady throwing menus across the dining room. Buen Provecho.