Why Did I Eat This?

Choking Hazard: The $1.99 sausage biscuit special at Dunkin' Donuts is a dried out mess of processed foodstuffs. Keep a glass of water handy if you order this, because quick-thinking with hot coffee will turn your esophagus into a scalded food highway. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? A Trip Down Wing Street

Busy studying for an accounting midterm yesterday, I took a quick TV break in the hopes that I would see Vick get hurt (or at least hit really hard). Instead, I happened upon another Pizza Hut commercial where they pull a fast one with their food (Take that, ususpecting diners!). This time around (and I'm sure you've seen the commercial), it was wings, and since I really like wings and anywhere with a decent batch is not likely to deliver, I figured what the hell? Why not give these "award winning wings" a shot?

What the hell indeed. This is the third time Pizza Hut has suckered me into a food purchase, and for them, the third time is the charm (although the P'zone was pretty damn good). I'm not sure who bestowed the award upon these wings, nor am I certain what the award was, but I'll stand behind it. These wings were cooked past the point of "you won't die from food borne illness," but not to the point of being dry, although they were so saturated with wing sauce that the overdoneness could have been masked. I like a saucy wing, but not to the point where you get it on your cheek and it stays there because your wife doesn't tell you she sees it until 8pm. Pizza Hut forgot to include any sort of dipping sauce, but since we keep a healthy stock of ranch dressing on hand, this wasn't an issue. I would definitely order them again.

Further contributing to my premature death was a stuffed crust pizza. As if it's not enough to soak the crust in butter, they haul off and put a ring of cheese in the damn thing? And of course, there's me again with ranch dressing in hand, squeezing away (the picture of health). This pizza is so greasy that when I finally take my accounting midterm this coming Saturday, I wouldn't be surprised if there are grease spots on it when I hand it in. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

It's 3pm.

I'm not high (I'm not even sure that I'm hungry).

The packaging sucks.

Major waste of 99 pennies. If you've ever had the pleasure of eating powdered non-dairy creamer, the flavor is that plus a light dusting of cayenne pepper. And they go horribly with Cherry Coke Zero. I should have opted for the Baby Back Rib flavored chips. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Read This?

"what we eat has become a dominant, and perhaps obnoxious, part of our everyday cultural discourse." - Joe Pompeo

Hey Mr. Pompeo, I'd just like to let you know that you can suck it (and the cow pictured above feels the same way). Your piece in the NY Observer can also suck it. So what if there's a growing obsession with food? Would you rather we all just ate soylent green (it's people, you know)?

Peeing into an Ocean of Hype

Back in July, I sat down to a gratis meal at PYT. Soft open or no, free or paid (come to think of it, I threw down a $20 tip), I was blown away. Then, in September, Trey Popp made me feel guilty for giving props, thinking perhaps that the only reason I didn't find the burger marginally better than an Angus Third Pounder was because it was free. I don't know the guy from Adam, and a single post shoudn't make you a villain, but it's hard not to take it personal, especially after hearing the deafening rally cry put forth by the dude behind Phoodie.info. I wasn't able to shake his hand at last night's Social Media Club meeting, but it was like watching a white Che Guevara. If I had a gun in my hand, it would have been fired in the air, if not at someone else. But this isn't the point of this post. What we need to discuss is that for the second time in as many visits, PYT delivered the goods once again.

Wading through the endless @tommyup tweets and retweets, the good reviews and the bad, I'm reminded of 2001, when there was a group of five trust fund shitheads who gave sliced bread a run for its money, sailing the tradewinds of hype until they wound up marooned on an island of haters. Oh yes, The Strokes were munched up into bits and pieces until some kid in Pumas informed me that "they were so six months ago." But objectively speaking, if you drowned out the noise and just listened to the music, it was brilliant. An old friend of mine hit the nail on the head by saying that they made rock sexy again (I guess they brought sexy back before JT). I would have to say the same goes for the burger at PYT.

This time around (and to the disdain of my arteries; sorry guys), I opted for the Fat Boy Monster, two patties, cheese, special sauce, bacon, and two onion rings. The challenge was not whether I could finish the thing, but how well it would travel back to Chestnut Hill (newborn baby and all). And the verdict? PYT knows how to cook a burger, season a burger, and top a burger. Cooked perfectly to temperature, each bite was juicier than the previous one, and although I got my stemless wine glass a bit greasy, it was totally worth the mess. I was also pleasantly surprised that it traveled so well. The fries were another story, but the onions they were tossed with made up for the expected sogginess.

I have to agree with the masses on service. I placed an order to go, so I suppose I'm an outlier, but it's clear as day how little of a shit the bar/waitstaff gives about the customers. It's almost like PYT is Leave it to Burgers from Silver Spoons and the staff are just extras in the background. Make no mistake, the vibe is fun, but a little bit of "how's everything?" goes a long way, and if it's what transforms good into great, I suggest Mr. Up give his employees a kick in the pants. Buen provecho.

Riding the Old Timey Wave

If we're being honest here, I recall that nostalgia for the good old days was reserved for the kids who sucked at sports (the same ones who sucked at drama but insisted they were good, or at least could pull it off at a high school level). The 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s were the test scores the cool kids got, not decades of bygone eras begging someone to say, "Those were the days." In recent times, however, it has become increasingly more badass to sidle up to the bar in your bespoke suit and order a cocktail that nobody's heard of since before your dad stopped drinking. Score one for the drama geeks for being way ahead of their time (and for continuing to ballroom dance at any cost), and score one for Jose Garces for capitalizing on old timey chic with Village Whiskey, a time warp of an establishment that makes you want to smoke a pack a day (indoors).

More important than the ambience, though, is the food. There's been a fair amount of dialogue regarding the Whiskey King, a culinary triple-dog dare of a burger piled high with the richest toppings imaginable. The right thing to do would be to accept the challenge, but it's best to leave it to the experts. Besides, I've had one thing and one thing only on my mind since Meal Ticket posted pictures earlier this month: short rib and cheddar french fries. So today (actually today), I braved the wind and the rain (could this also be considered 'going postal'?), sidled up to the bar (in khakis), and tucked into this most comfortable of comfort foods.

It was major.

Not only was the cast iron skillet of potatoes blanketed in sharp cheddar and tender beef, but there was a shallow bath of cheese sauce beneath! The potatoes themselves had a hint of cinnamon, making them taste like picking apples on a crisp Autumn afternoon (that's a good thing). You know the commercial where the snowman comes in from the cold, eats the soup, and transforms into a little kid? Eating cheddar and short rib fries is like that, but a million times better. There was also the added bonus of Sixpoint Righteous Rye on tap (the best I could do given the fact I had to go back to the office. As a side note, there's a wall of whiskey that would be worth the alcohol poisoning and/or job loss). Eventually, I'll get to the burger, but probably not before having another ten or twenty plates of these fries. I strongly recommend braving the crowds (lunch is probably better than dinner) just for these, but among the cocktails, booze selection, and food, there is certainly no shortage of great things to try. Buen provecho.

Village Whiskey is on 20th and Sansom, right next to Tinto. I got nicely sated for $24 including tip.

This Free Meal Makes a Total of Two Free Meals as a Food Blogger

Free food is never a bad thing (even though Trey Popp might lay a guilt trip on you) provided that whatever the freebie happens to be won’t poison you*. Bottom line, there’s risk involved, and today’s (actually two weeks ago's) risk was the Basic 4 Vegetarian Café in Reading Terminal Market, already behind the Fidel eight-ball by being vegetarian. I get it, eating healthy is right and good, and reducing your meat intake can shave years off your life. But try as I might, opulence and gluttony suit me a lot better than being able to look down at a gnarly pair of 98-year old feet in Birkenstocks.

Somehow and somewhere the PR heads at Basic 4 stumbled upon my contact info, and I was given the opportunity to eat their “Press Sampler,” a Styrofoam clamshell of their greatest hits: carrot “tuna”, “chicken” salad, pickled vegetables, and a veggie burger. I even got a drink, a rather refreshing lemonade that was thankfully made of lemons and sugar (at least that’s what it tasted like). Here’s a quick review of the herbivore eats:

Carrot “tuna” –I couldn’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to eat shredded carrots that tasted like chicken of the sea, but I was pleasantly surprised that the dominant flavors were mostly Asian and not canned fish.

“Chicken” salad – Mayonnaise makes anything—even smoked soy protein—taste better. Add a crunchy element with diced celery and you’ve got me fooled.

Pickled vegetables – Again with the Asian flavors. Not revelatory, but not soggy either.

Veggie burger – There was no attempt to imitate beef flavor. Instead, they made a patty that tasted like Stove Top stuffing. A bit mushy, but by no means bland. Hands down the best of the bunch.

One thing you have to get past is the service. The two old ladies behind the counter were working their asses off, but it was very slow going. My lunch buddy had already eaten and taken a lap around RTM before I even got to order. Clearly, Basic 4 should put less focus on press and more on hired help. After I ordered (at 12:30pm, aka “the eye of the RTM shit storm), there was a line that must have been 12 deep (I imagine that the last of them got back to work at 4pm). Another thing you have to get past is the crazy voodoo lady loitering by the cash register. I don’t know what’s worse, crazy people screaming expletives in your face, or crazy people who are dead silent that just stare blankly (like this voodoo lady). Buen provecho.

*If the sign says “Free Poison Donuts,” you should assume that they’ll kill you, although they might just be named after the band, which would be kind of sweet.

To the (not quite 5th place) Victor Go the Spoils

If they had actually tasted the "fajita" roast beef sandwich (not saying they didn't), I'm sure the outcome would have been much more favorable, but I gotta give it up to the folks at Vincent Giordano for softening the "you suck on camera and you're ugly" blow with a $25 American Express gift card. Buen provecho.

How Do You Deal with Colic?

I lip-synch:



Buen provecho.

Fish and Tripps

As far as I'm concerned, the best fish and chips (and surprisingly, fried chicken) reside at McDonagh's in Galway, but this sounds like a close second, newspaper and all. Buen provecho:

Pork Tacos, Bike Shorts

Behold the first (and probably last) installment of "Cooking in Bike Shorts." This episode features a very well filmed (thanks, Mrs. Gastro) but horribly produced (way to drop the ball, self) segment of me making the Homesick Texan's carnitas recipe. Since I do a shit job of explaining what it is that I'm making, I've included the recipe below.

Carnitas is one of my favorite ways to prepare pork, and I love the simplicity of these tacos: a warm corn tortilla is the vehicle for a handful of carnitas, onions, a squeeze of lime, cilantro, and salsa (if you like). I could eat fifty in one sitting. I used to get them at a place called Panaderia La Diana in Salt Lake City for a buck each. It was a tortilla bakery with a small kitchen tucked into a corner of the building, the stuff of legend. I couldn't exactly replicate the flavors, but I think I came pretty damn close. Buen provecho.



Carnitas (adapted from Diana Kennedy)
Ingredients:
3 pounds of pork butt
1 cup of orange juice
3 cups of water
2 teaspoons of salt

Method:
1. Cut pork into strips (three inches by one inch), add to a large pot with the liquids and salt. Bring to a boil and then simmer uncovered on low for 2 hours. Do not touch the meat.
2. After two hours, turn heat up to medium high, and continue to cook until all the liquid has evaporated and the pork fat has rendered (about 45 minutes). Stir a few times, to keep pork from sticking to bottom of pan.
3. When pork has browned on both sides, it’s ready (there will be liquid fat in the pan). Serve either cubed or shredded (pork will be tender enough that just touching it will cause it to fall apart).Goes very well with a green salsas such as Ninfa's green sauce or this tomatillo salsa or this salsa verde with avocados and tomatillos.

Serves 4-6

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.

My Future Food Lover

Introducing Camila Sarah Espinoza, born August 4, 2009 at 3:23pm, weighing in at 6lbs, 6oz. May she love food as much as I already love her. Buen provecho.

This is Why I'm Not a TV Chef Personality

Man, I suck ass on camera:



In directly related news, this is my entry for the Vincent Giordano Video Chef contest. My entry, as you'll see, is a delicious "fajita" sandwich I made by putting VG cold cuts on the grill and topping them with sauteed peppers and onions, pepper jack cheese, sour cream, and homemade (housemade?) salsa. If there was online voting, I would ask for your support, but there's not, so merely enjoy it/hate it/poke fun at it/link to it. And if you're feeling inspired, hurry up, because the contest ends today. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

The real question here is, "Why didn't I buy fifty more bags?" Herr's just threw an artificially flavored haymaker and it landed smack in my mouth. These things tasted EXACTLY like ribs (but not my ribs because my ribs are life-changing; more like something you'd get at a chain restaurant). I'm amazed at the leaps and bounds the food scientists have made since creating something that was supposed to taste like oranges. The only other chip closer to the real thing that I've tasted was a bag of pollo-flavored Lay's in Bogota that might as well have been chicken skin. Buen provecho.

A Shoulder to Cry On

With the arrival of Baby Gastro on the immediate horizon (3 days!), my plan was to lock myself in the home office this past weekend to tie up any loose ends hanging over my head from the 9-5. Instead, I sort of went to Rice's Quality Meats in the Chestnut Hill Farmers Market and sort of bought a pork shoulder. And then, I sort of had to make a dry rub and sort of had to keep an eye on it for 4 hours, which--when you figure in sitting down to dinner--left little to no time for the loose ends. A big oops, but procrastination is sure delicious sometimes. Buen provecho.

I used this recipe from Mark Bittman (I would up the salt by a teaspoon or two):

Ingredients
2 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons black pepper
2 teaspoons cumin
2 teaspoons mild chili powder, like ancho or New Mexico
2 teaspoons paprika
1 pork shoulder, about 5 or 6 pounds

Method
1. Start gas grill, using burners only on one side to achieve a heat of 250 to 300 degrees. Put a couple of handfuls of wood chips in a tinfoil pan, and set it over working burners. While grill heats, mix together dry ingredients, and rub them all over pork, including under skin as best you can and in any crevices.
2. Put pork on cool side of grill and cover. Check about 15 minutes later to make sure chips are smoking and heat is below 300 degrees. Check every hour or so in case heat escalates too much or chips need replenishing.
3. Pork is done when it reaches an internal temperature of about 190 degrees, about 4 hours later (less time if you used a smaller piece of pork, more if larger). Meat will be very tender. If you like, raise heat and grill meat to crisp it up a bit. Serve immediately.

Sunday Vacation

"This is the perfect hangover food." - Mrs. Gastro

After I got the email on Thursday, I wondered if there was a catch. "You and a guest are invited to try the new menu at PYT. Regards, Tommy Up." I also wondered how Mr. Up happened upon my name. Then there was the bit of trepidation that I'd show up today to some sort of shit show and not even get to eat, or worse, it would be like the dream where you're walking through the halls of your alma mater without pants. Thankfully, all of it was unfounded (and I remembered to wear pants), and in place of the anxiety was a straightforward meal that could work at any hour of the day.

Feeling a bit off from the car ride (if you're coming from Northwest Philadelphia, take note: there's a section of Germantown Avenue closed in a section where you don't really want to have to take a detour, so take Lincoln to Kelly, even if it's a bit longer of a ride), I was pleasantly surprised to see two words that pair better than a porterhouse and a cabernet, "free" and "parking." Having not yet been to the oasis that is the Piazza at Schmidt's, this was an added bonus, especially since we were running a bit late. An immediate seating awaited us, followed by a short delay, followed by a very apologetic and attentive server that completely made up for said delay. A Stone IPA and a coke spiked with cherry soda helped us wash down a simple cheddar burger (I haven't tasted a burger cooked that perfectly since my honeymoon) and a 'shroom burger, whose inspiration I had assumed came from Danny Meyer's Shake Shack (this was later corroborated by Mr. Up himself); you take two portobello caps, layer some cheese in between, batter and fry it, then top it with some special sauce and tuck it into a toasted bun. It's the alpha dog of veggie burgers, or maybe the funny fat kid. Whoever you're comparing it to, one things for sure: somehow it belongs with the meats, even though it showed up under the Bogus Burgers section of the menu. On the side, a sack of fries and a sack of onion rings. While I wasn't much for the fries (hard to get a handful with my mitt-like hands), the onion rings were in my top 3. Sturdy after the initial bite (I hate it when the onion slips out), well seasoned, and well battered. A chewy and sweet success.

To top it all off, the bartender came out with a special mojito that was more Lucy than Desi (that's good thing): strawberry infused prosecco in lieu of simple syrup, arriving at the latter end of the meal and offering a delicious palate cleanser. Another added bonus? Mrs. Gastro being with child meant two of these for me, and since I also ordered a Kenzinger after the Stone IPA, I gave myself a healthy buzz. Since I'm in agreement with her that this would be amazing hangover food, I guess I'll just have to head back to PYT tomorrow, non-gratis, but it's so good, I'd pay double what they're charging. Buen provecho.

PYT is located in The Piazza at Schmidt's. It's pretty hard to miss the three giant letters in the window, but if you're blind or just more interested in fitness, it's next to the running store. The food's cheap, and it's a great place to hang out. If I didn't have to drive home, I probably would have sat there all day cranking brew doggies. I'd also like to offer my apologies to our waitress. I would have left a bigger tip, but I only had 16 bucks on me. More photos here.

The Cure for the Summertime Blues

There was some serious backlash regarding the last WhyDIET? post, but that's the intent, people. I eat the heavily marketed crap so you don't have to, thereby saving you both calories and your dignity. However, I have said on more than one occasion that I am an equal opportunity eater, so when I'm not chasing the fast food high, I like to slow things down.

At this other end of the spectrum (the non-shitty end), sweet and spicy takes on a whole new meaning with this barbecue chicken recipe from Serious Eater Joshua Bousel. It turns out that the sauce slathering should be an afterthought, so I focused on creating a zinger of a rub instead, and also made sure that my drumsticks were given at least as much attention as Mrs. Gastro gives to the Jon and Kate saga. Buen provecho.

Rub Ingredients (for 6 lbs of chicken)

2 T Ground black pepper

2 T Chili powder

1 T Brown sugar

1 T Cumin

1 T Dried oregano

1 T Smoked paprika

1 T Salt

1/2 T Granulated garlic

1/2 T Granulated sugar

Cayenne pepper to your heat tolerance

Mix ingredients together and toss with chicken in a couple freezer bags. Refrigerate at least a half hour and up to twenty-four. Follow the recipe in the link above. More pictures can be seen here. Full disclosure: I used Kraft barbecue sauce, but that shit was bangin'.

Why Did I Eat This?

"I'm hot, sticky sweet; from my head to my feet." - Def Leppard

I'm pretty sure the guys from Def Leppard were not referring to Wendy's new Asian Chicken Bites when they wrote "Pour Some Sugar on Me," but I suppose that's neither here nor there. Curious to taste another failure at reinventing the fast food wheel, Mrs. Gastro and I made a small detour on our way to the movies for me to try this drive-thru disaster. Let's break it down like so many stomach acids:

1. I'm pretty sure the acrid taste of the breading was due to the fact that the teens behind the counter would rather smoke marijuana cigarettes than clean the fryer grease, but there's a slight possibility that this whole sauce thing might be Wendy's trying to hide the fact that they're using low(er) quality chicken.

2. The sauce, while not as brown as what you get at the Chinese food carts, had the same corn starchy consistency and stickiness that you pray won't leap from the container onto your hands or clothes (especially if you've got your swag on).

3. More on the sauce: the spice catches up to you, the sweetness makes your teeth hurt, and the red pepper flakes are made of tissue paper.

4. Fries and Sweet & Spicy Asian Chicken is a terrible combination. Sprite doesn't help the cause.

If you've ever put sweet & sour sauce on your chicken nuggets, then these boneless wings are nothing new. The processed chicken is molded a bit differently to replicate breast meat, but that's about it. In addition to the flavors of the Far East, Wendy's also offers Bold Buffalo and Honey BBQ, two flavors that, sadly, I'll be stupid enough to try in the coming weeks. Buen provecho.

Baby Got Back (yes, two rap songs in two posts)

Michael Pollan said that somebody else said that meat will kill you, but as a newly minted Philadelphian, I'm quickly learning a meat bender is the least of my worries. Case in point, the shithead brandishing a lit roman candle amidst the post-fireworks crowd on the Ben Franklin Parkway this past Saturday, or the guy I just heard about on the news that's running around robbing Hispanics at gunpoint. Wading through all this bad news is certainly enough to make you use Pollan's eater's manifesto as kindling for the charcoals and fire up the grill, but since mine's gas and I actually have a profound respect for Mr. Pollan, I'll just open up the valve, pray that my eyebrows remain intact when lighting it, and grill my face off.

After I torched some of Tom Mylan's choicest cuts of pork last summer (sniff), I had to redeem myself. Stumbling upon a Cook's Illustrated recipe a couple weeks back gave me my opportunity. It was your typical gazillion-step process Cook's Illustrated recipe (bad), but it was also the first one I've seen that offered a smoking method for the gas grill (good). Having a Friday at my disposal, I undertook the lengthy process--a brining, a rub, a rest, preparing the wood chips, preparing the grill, and finally, a four hour smoke bath for my baby backs.

The end result was something I want to make every day for the rest of my life. They were quite possibly the most succulent and sumptuous ribs I have ever tasted, and I'm not just saying that because I made them. The brown sugar in the rub gave them a beautiful glaze and sweetness that was the perfect complement to the spice mixture, and the smoky flavor of the meat had me gnawing at each rib for every last piece of protein. If you've got the time and the equipment, I highly recommend using both to make this magical meaty music. Buen provecho.

Barbecued Baby Back Ribs for Gas Grill (stolen from Cook's Illustrated)
Serves 4

Ingredients

Brine
1/2 cup table salt or 1 cup kosher salt
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 racks baby back ribs (about 2 pounds each), or loin back ribs
Spice rub
1 tablespoon sweet paprika plus additional 1/2 teaspoon
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1 3/4 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon table salt or 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
3/4 teaspoon dried oregano
3/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Instructions
1. To brine the ribs: Dissolve salt and sugar in 4 quarts cold water in stockpot or large plastic container. Submerge ribs in brine and refrigerate 1 hour until fully seasoned. Remove ribs from brine and thoroughly pat dry with paper towels.

2. While ribs are brining, cover two cups wood chips with water and soak 30 minutes, then drain. Combine spice rub ingredients in small bowl. When ribs are out of brine and dried, rub each side of racks with 1 tablespoon spice rub; refrigerate racks 30 minutes.

3. To barbecue the ribs: Place soaked wood chips in small disposable aluminum pan, (or homemade container as illustrated below); set pan on burner that will remain on. Turn all burners to high, close lid, and heat grill until chips smoke heavily, about 20 minutes. (If chips ignite, extinguish flames with water from squirt bottle.) Scrape grill grate clean with wire brush; turn off burner(s) without wood chips.

4. Arrange ribs on cool side of grill and cover (grill temperature should register about 275 degrees on grill thermometer). Cook for 4 hours, until meat easily pulls away from bone, flipping rib racks, switching their position so that rack that was nearest fire is on outside, and turning racks 180 degrees every 30 minutes. Transfer ribs to cutting board, then cut between bones to separate ribs; serve.

The Daddy Mac'll Make You

Pete's Famous was a perfect pit-stop on the way home from the Parkway festivities this past weekend, especially after wading through a crowd of ne'er-do-wells and drunken revelers with two pregnant ladies in tow (no easy feat). We managed to get one of the last tables of the night, and ignoring any sort of physical cues that I should have gone with something a little lighter, I ordered the Mac Daddy Burger Platter, not only because it was called the "Mac Daddy," but also because it was a cheeseburger topped with corned beef and Russian dressing.

Sandwiched between a home-grilled burger dinner and a home-grilled burger brunch, this overachieving middle child of a burger might be more aptly named "The Reuben surprise." I'm left to wonder (and possibly experiment on my own) what it might be like with kraut instead of pickles, but I was very pleased with how the pickles were used here; one lazy cut lengthwise, giving them a thickness that says, "Fuck you people, it's late and I'm sick of cutting pickles." Whether or not that was intentional, the two pickle halves stood up well next to the rest of the burger, which was an opulent mess of surpisingly fresh ingedients. The patty was a little overcooked, but the russian dressing (whether from a jar or house made, it erred on the mayo side, which is certainly preferable) saved the day. And even amidst the chaos of the teenage clientele in the place, the service was excellent. I'd definitely go back for the Mac (Daddy burger Platter). Buen provecho.

Pete's Famous is located at 116 N 21st Street (at Appletree). Mrs. Gastro got the pizza and gave it an OK. I think four of us got stuffed for $44 including beers for the non-pregnant eaters. Ordering the Mac Daddy Burger Platter will probably not make you a Mac Daddy, but it's still pretty damn good.

Why Did I Eat This?

Another relapse with Taco Bell. I needed a fix after finally getting my PA drivers license (it took months to do so, but the story is real boring and makes me look lazy, so forget I even mentioned it). This time I fell victim to a bunch of sweaty groomsmen and a sockeye salmon colored shell, both of which elevated my expectations regarding the heat factor. And since the portion control section of my brain shuts off under such duress, I ordered the Big Box meal, which comes with a Volcano taco, a regular taco, a Volcano burrito, and cinnamon twists.

Unfortunately, the Volcano offerings didn't really erupt with flavor. The mayonnaise that T-Bell tries to pass off as cheese sauce zeroes out any potential heat. There were other eruptions, but we're talking food here, so I'll spare you the details. Buen provecho.

My Friends Are Cooler Than Your Friends: The Hill-Side

As my style continues its downward spiral into weinerdom, I can at least be proud of the fact that I know people like Emil Corsillo, whose quiet confidence and ancient soul gives him the ability to be both masculine and at the forefront of fashion. The combination of the two puts blue collar in the board room with The Hill-Side, a line of stylish alt-haberdashery that would make your father proud (but he wouldn't tell you because he's the strong, silent type).

Constructed of only the most rugged of fabrics (selvedge chambray, waxed canvas) and handmade in Brooklyn, these ties and kerchiefs will be with you from womb to tomb, and since the designs are all such timeless classics, you're looking good under any circumstance. You could even use one of their ties to hang yourself (I can no longer take the weight of the world, but my Hill-Side tie can take the weight of me), although suicide should be the last thing on your mind when you look this good. Buen provecho.

The Hill-Side's available in person at NYC stores The Smile, Smith+Butler, and Steven Alan. You can also fly to Wisconsin and purchase at Context Clothing in Madison. If you want to shop in your pajamas (or if you live nowhere near Madison or NYC), Context also has an online store. For wholesale, contact Emil Corsillo.

Why Did I Eat This?

Admit it. This looks delicious. Maybe not gourmet, but definitely worth a trip down the esophagus. Gooey cheese, an assortment of meats, a crusty and chewy shell, all pre-processed, pre-packaged, frozen, shipped to your nearest Pizza Hut delivery storefront, reheated, and delivered to your doorstep. A second item from the Hut that makes me ponder, "Why did I eat this?" The main reason would have to be that I wanted to check it off the list of things that advertisements tell me to eat. I don't know how on earth they can make this thing so big for so cheap (see photo below for scale), especially with all the meat and cheese inside, but it beats the shit out of a $5 footlong.

I've been trying to get my hands on one of these since Tommy Davidson came out of "retirement" to bounce around on TV and scream "P'zone!" in your face repeatedly (much better than the footlong jingle). Not being anywhere near a pizza hut at the time, I missed my oppotunity, and I figured P'zones had gone the way of the unicorn until my non-DVR TV watching presented me with a second chance. After Mrs. Gastro smacked me out of my Homeresque trance, I grabbed the phone, lowered my expectations, and impatiently waited for about 30-40 minutes.

The verdict? It's actually pretty good, although it's way too much food. If it wasn't so heavy (according to the commercials, over a pound, which feels about right), you could wear it on your head to the Kentucky Derby. The best strategy is to try and stretch it over a couple meals/days if at all possible. Shoving the whole thing in your face will just put you to sleep. It's also really greasy, and I doubt you'd want to shove a paper towel inside of it, so that thing you normally do with really greasy pizza and paper towels doesn't work. If you're a slob like me, this isn't too much of an issue, but you should be mindful of such things as remote controls and couch cushions.

If we're going to call a spade a spade, it's really just a calzone with a clever name, but that's enough to sell me. If you can't find a real pizzeria nearby, or you're just a sucker for marketing like me, I'd give the P'zone a shot. Even if you think it sucks, you're only out six bucks. Buen provecho.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 6
Geno's: 0
Delassandro's: 2
Steve's: 1
Street Meat: 4
Other: 10.5
Total: 23.5

As of late, I'm either too busy or too boring to maintain this damn blog, but at least I've been able to find the time to eat cheesesteaks (two in the "other" row since last time). The first of the two "other" steaks came from Fiesta Pizza in Chestnut Hill. It didn't suck at all. The movie we watched, "Rachel Getting Married," was a different story. I'd like those two hours back.

"Other" steak number two came by way of an increasingly rare late night run to Chubby's, one which might have been a little safer on foot (although the sub-compact rental car handled great in the Manayunk hills despite the BAC of the driver). Mushrooms (from a can) are starting to make their way into my steaks these days. The brine adds the appropriate amount of saltiness, and since they've been sitting in a can for Jeebus-knows-how-long, the fungus taste is muted (and then further muted by my heavy handed hot sauce/mayonnaise one-two punch) to a volume just above a whisper. That's all for now. Buen provecho.

My Sister-in-Law Found a Dog. Is It Yours?

This little sweetheart was found on Dexter Street in Manayunk. If you are the owner or know the owner of this pooch, please leave me a comment so we can get her back home safely. Unlike my life, this is not a joke.

Chains, Chains, Shackles, and Chains

As twitter increasingly becomes my photoless-in-the-moment medium, I've become neglectful of my non-twitter devotees. My sincerest apologies. Anyhoo, nothing specatacular to report except maybe a post-childbirth class Chili's excursion (I saw one of those giant red chili peppers sitting on a gurney in the hospital, so we had to go). In these economic times (which are still totally going on), the chain gangs are now offering meals under (insert piddly dollar amount that will only serve to make you drink more) bucks. This turns out to be a blessing in disguise, because cheaper chain food means smaller portions means not having to ask, "Why did I eat this?" after eating a giant burger with bacon that looks more like roof shingles than food. In fact, our expectations were so low from the post-it's a girl Chili's excursion that we were pleasantly surprised with our tiny little burgers and buffalo chicken sandwiches (although my Miller Lite was miles away from being crisp and refreshing). Buen provecho.

We went to the Chili's on City Ave. Service was okay. One appetizer, two $7 meals, and a brew doggie came to $33 including tip. I hope Chili's doesn't sue me for using the image above

Chifauxtle

If imitation is the highest form of flattery, then El Fuego must really want to impress Chipotle. Then again, maybe they just want to capitalize on the silent-but-deadly cash cow that is the burrito boom, which, by all accounts, is alive and well in Philadelphia (we took the detour to El Fuego because the Qdoba line was out the door). There were a few missteps, but the next time D-Tron says, "You're coming with me to get burritos. Pick a place," I'll probably pick El Fuego.

Decorated and set up almost exactly like Chipotle, El Fuego has the same spacious and minimalist feel without the "hurry up and eat so others can sit down" vibe. I probably could have stayed there all afternoon (they serve beers, so I may have to make this happen one day). Going down the burrito assembly line, you have your usual suspects: grilled peppers and onions, grilled chicken, grilled beef, stewed beef, chorizo (I suppose they have to separate themselves somehow), and hot, medium, and mild salsa offerings. I went with the chorizo and immerdiately regretted it. I have a very specific idea of chorizo in my head and it's not the kind that looks and tastes like Hillshire Farm smoked sausage. Same foil, same basket, same price (same rice!), but when I peeled back said foil, the damn thing was cold, and the tortilla was brittle. The flavor was as you'd expect from the other guys (a very good thing), but eating a burrito is no fun if it falls apart on its way to your mouth. I'm hoping the next time will yield much better results. Until then, I'm going to tuck into the burrito lethargy that is par for the course with such a huge lunch. Buen provecho.

El Fuego is located at 2104 Chestnut St. and also at 723 Walnut St. I got way too much much food for $7.50. The tap water was free. And yes, that's a crappy picture.

These Economic Times

Looks like McDonald's has scaled back on sesame seeds. Too bad they haven't scaled back on how disgusting their food makes me feel. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

This has been a very long time coming, and it took plenty of whining on my part to convince Mrs. Gastro to give in, but finally, months after the ad where all those (paid) idiots gush over how deliciously non-pizza hutty it tastes, we ordered the Tuscani pasta--one half Bacon Mac 'n' Cheese, one half Chicken Alfredo, one whole piece of shit.

With that, the bad news:

1. The "chicken" is of the hyperprocessed-and-molded-into-strips variety. I'm surprised that it's not breaded, but the release of the Domino's Bread Bowl Pasta may just be the boost Pizza Hut needs to up the ante in the "kill you faster" race.

2. The rest of the Chicken Alfredo mess had a 10:1 ratio of garlic flavor to everything else.

3. The pasta is a bunch of diminutive spirals that are better fit for spooning than forking.

4. You're eating pasta from Pizza Hut.

But there is a silver lining:

1. Bacon (or the bacon flavored chewy chunks of who knows what) truly does make everything better.

2. Since you're getting half portions of each, you feel slightly better about eating the whole thing in one sitting.

3. Delivery means that the work effort involved is reduced to walking from the couch to the door and calculating the tip. Even better, the pasta's congealed enough that you could probably eat it with your hands, eliminating the need to use any utensils whatsoever.

4. I have managed once again to line the pockets of the ad men (good news for them, at least).

If those people really were convinced that this pasta came from a fancy restaurant, I feel sorry for them, but I feel even more sorry for myself. I knew that the pasta was coming from Pizza Hut, and I still ordered it. To my darling Mrs. Gastro, I'm heartily sorry. I should have heeded your warning. Buen provecho.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 6

Geno's: 0

Delassandro's: 2

Steve's: 1

Street Meat: 4

Other: 8.5

Total: 21.5

One must lower their expectations when it comes to ballpark food. Case in point, the Tony Luke's in left field at Citizens Bank Park. Steak-umm quality meat that tasted boiled, not grilled, and less salt than a sugar factory. I wish I would have opted for "The Heater" over at Campo's (cheesesteak with hot sauce and pepper jack, I think), but by the time I saw the 6'x3' airbrushed sign, the cheesesteak runners were already pretty far up the line and not very patient. It's a very good thing, then, that the night would inevitably lead to multiple cabs to Pat's, where the line wrapped around the building almost twice thanks to the Dead concert (aren't hippies supposed to be vegetarian?). Entirely worth the wait, especially when you're brown bagging Schlitz and discussing with Al Roker's brother whether or not you think touring without Jerry is sacrilege. Buen provecho.

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.

Why Did I Eat This?

If eating healthy is right, I want to be wrong. Dead wrong. Faltering once again on the 5 day fast, I tried to keep it a bit healthier with this disaster of a salad from Orewa Deli in Suburban Station, the Tuscan Tuna (Romaine, tuna, tomatoes, red onions, and chickpeas). It was a plastic clamshell full of disappointment and banality (although the onions are definitely sticking with me). They didn't even give me a piece of bread to soak up the unforkable bits of tuna caught in the clamshell ridges. Why I would buy a salad from one of the dumps in Suburban Station is another one for Robert Stack, and now I'm seven dollars and twenty-seven cents poorer, still hungry, and a little sad. I have managed to completely ruin my afternoon. Shit. Buen provecho.

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.