Me and Food Are In a Fight

Dear Food,

Please refrain from being so delicious as to render me incapable of ceasing to shove you in my mouth.

Regards,

Fidel

Dear Metabolism,

Please refrain from being so slow as to render me incapable of enjoying aforementioned food.

Regards,

Fidel

A very uninspired week for me and food. Buen provecho.

Fresh My Ass

Dear Baja Fresh,
Please cook your rice. Please rotate your salsa stock. Please instruct your cashiers not to cough into their hands behind the counter. Please melt the cheese on my "enchilado style" burrito. Please tell your cooks to stop giving me dirty looks through the pick-up window. Please do not ever again serve the pile of crap that I ingested this past Sunday. In other words, please do your best to give a shit about what you serve. If you can't, then please take the word "fresh" out of your name.

Regards,
Fidel

Buffalo Chicken Shitsteak

Dear Cosimo's Pizza,

You have three options; either replace the hot sauce with something that doesn't taste like apple cider (Frank's Red Hot isn't that difficult to come by), take the damn thing off the menu, or change the name to "dessert steak." And after you've made your decision, bring us the cheese sauce you owe us from last night's botched order of cheese fries. Jerks.

Regards,
Mr. and Mrs. Fidel Gastro

Broken Breakfast

Dear Toothless Food Cart Vendor,

The order was "bacon, egg, and cheese; salt, pepper, hot sauce." Please do not presume that I want half a bottle of ketchup as well. The only thing worse than ketchup on eggs is purple ketchup on eggs. That, or maybe eating a tin of skoal.

Regards,
Fidel

What Do You Want on Yer Tombstone?

Readers (all two of you):

As you may know, I will be relocating to Philadelphia shortly (less than a week to be exact). While I certainly look forward to everything that Stephen Starr has to offer, including his Atlantic City offering of French Onion Soup Dumplings, I leave New York City with a heavy heart. I have started what I hope to be a long string of suggestions for a final meal over on Serious Eats. Nothing's too outlandish, but try and stay within the constraints. Buen Provecho.

Oh Shit

Dear Tom Mylan,
Please forgive me and my inability to cook pork. I feel as though it should be me engulfed in flames and not these spare ribs, not these chops.



Again, terribly sorry for thinking I actually knew what I was doing. Buen Provecho.

Kind Regards,
Fidel

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

Timing is Everything

Dear Acne-Riddled Girl that Lives in Our Building,

No matter how much of a hurry you are in to reapply Proactiv solution to your already destroyed face, please refrain from taking our wet laundry from the washer and putting it on top of the dusty dryers. Or, better yet, please readjust your laundry schedule so as to not coincide with ours, because if this continues, there will be two hits: my wife hitting you, and you hitting the filth that we are forced to call a laundry room floor.

Warm Regards,
Mr. and Mrs. Fidel Gastro

Wag, You

Dear Kobe Bryant,

Please kill yourself. I'm sorry, that's too harsh. Please do all you can to get a season ending injury.

Regards,
Fidel

Bad Beer, Worse Food

Dear The Heartland Brewery on 51st and 6th

Boo and double Boo. Your light beer offering tasted like orange juice from concentrate that you get in the tiny cans on the airplane, and your cobb salad had no taste, even with such pungent ingedients like blue cheese. The chicken was definitely chicken flavored meat product, and the boiled eggs were definitely from a jar. Also, guacamole is for chips. Avocados are for cobb salads. If you don't know the difference between guacamole and a plain avocado, please go f**k yourself.

Kind Regards,
Fidel

French Food Hates Americans

Dear Provence en Boite,
Thank you very much for running out of cassoulet. The steak frites replacement was a real shit show. The cut of meat was way too big and way too greasy. Maybe it's my own fault for already having beef in the form of a pork roll burger for lunch. Regardless, I was disappointed. Furthermore, your service was a big pile of poo. I don't speak French, but I'm pretty sure "Could we get some water?" doesn't translate to "Please ignore us and our entrees presently drying under the heat lamp."

Regards,
Fidel

You Broke My Heart (Sort of)

Dear Fette Sau,
I am fully disappointed in your latest brisket offering. It was all fat and no lean. Jack Sprat would have died on the spot. Thankfully, your baked beans and pulled pork are the best in NYC (leaps and bounds beyond Hill Country's), and they're even better with a gallon of Liquid Gold. It's fully worth reeking of campfire in the subsequent days after visting. But seriously, you should really do something about that brisket.

Regards,
Fidel

Spinning in Memphis

Dear NYSC Spin Class Instructor,

The song "Walking in Memphis" sucks. I don't mind the techno, but Marc Cohn? Please save it for your drive home in your Ford Escort.

Regards,
Fidel