The Regular Ass Guy Bullet Point List to Being a Man

While indeed thoughtful, Business Insider's "Unofficial Guide to Being a Man" appears to be written for a narrow audience. After all, we can't all be overworked and miserable millionaires with no life skills at the ripe old age of 28. With that in mind, I've curated my own list for the rest of us, because being a man today is basically the same as it was when our dads were on their grind, just with tighter clothes and a lot more fantasy football.

• If you're gonna talk about where you went to college, make sure you went to a sports school, but if you played sports, stop talking about how you could have gone pro.
• Khakis are both comfortable and versatile. The best ones come from Kohl's.
• Pee outside. Just not in the middle of a busy intersection.
• Tattoos are fine as long as they aren't on your face or neck. Plus, they look wicked hardcore when you're on the Tough Mudder course.
• Join Twitter. Follow Karl Welzein, Zoo With Roy, and Deadspin.
• If your house and your office are both relatively close to the bus stop, there's little shame in the bus game. However, the monthly payment on a Scion or a Ford Focus is about the same as a bus pass. The jury's out on which one's more depressing.
• Do your laundry while watching football on Sundays. Make sure the entirety of your business casual wardrobe is non-iron/wrinkle-free. Life's too short NOT to multitask.
• When the bartender asks, Miller Lite.
• If you perspire, make sure that you're the first to point out how disgusting it is, then continue to sweat like the pig you are. Hope everyone laughs.
• You have to like baseball. This is America.
• When people don't invite you to a party, it's probably because of your perspiration problem. Those people are high falutin' and can suck a fatty.
• It's always better to be the funny drunk guy than the angry drunk guy.
• Brunch is for hipsters. Hipsters are anyone different from you and who like things other than sports.
• There's always another level. You just won't get to it, unless you're referring to video games.
• Place-dropping is cool so long as it's the Super Bowl, the World Series, or one of the majors. Nobody gives a shit how many DMB concerts you've attended.
• If you're not driving and it's free, whiskey away.
• You can't afford cocaine.
• If it's got velvet ropes and lines, you're at the wrong place. Buffalo Wild Wings is down the street.

If you need a little more clarity, this song ought to help.

The Greatest Top Chef Season 11 Pre-Cap Song You've Ever Heard

I blame (thank?) Buzzfeed for the self-serving title of this post, but if you can get past the shitty Garage Band recording and poorly-timed slideshow I made using software that dates back to the invention of the abacus, the results are pretty spectacular. Here's hoping this season of Top Chef will be a lot better than the previous two. Let me know if I should waste my time doing this every week in the comments. Buen Provecho.

Why Did He Eat This?

Been way too long, folks. Way too long. Seeing how the laziness doesn't subside with old age (duh), and taking into consideration the fact that Philadelphia wasn't one of the chosen few test markets for the Taco Bell Breakfast (even though we are a lovely amalgam of actual fat people (me) and skinny fat people), I enlisted the help of a good friend in Nebraska, who was gracious enough to snap a few pics and offer his take on what is sure to be a disappointment once it lands in our fair city. Behold, the taste test results of Taco Bell's attempt at breakfast.

Words and pics courtesy of Matt Biggins, to whom we owe a debt for the intestinal discomfort:

I'm fine with the admission that I do enjoy Taco Bell. Of course, late at night, it's a no-brainer. But even daytime, 3 or 4 crunchy tacos are great. Like a couple cheeseburgers at McDonalds, even the fast food giants can do the simple stuff well. 

A few weeks ago, I made a run for the border. The marquee out front read "Breakfast Coming in August." Having seen nothing on TV or anywhere else, I was a bit surprised. Come to find out that Omaha is a test market. OK. Taco Bell and breakfast. Anything's possible, right? For the uninitiated, there are 3 main offerings being tested:

• Breakfast "Taco" - sausage and egg with a "shell' made of a small waffle. 

• A.M. Griller - Looks like a quesadilla with eggs, cheese and bacon or sausage. 

• Breakfast Crunchwrap - Also, looks like eggs cheese and bacon or sausage. Maybe a taco shell inside? I can't tell from the picture. 

I ordered one of each. The Taco looks like it has a big 'ol slab of sausage, so, anticipating the digestive activity of the next several hours, opted for the slightly lighter bacon on my Griller and Crunchwrap. 

First off, the Taco. This is the one I'm most excited about. I love waffles. Love 'em. And with sausage, giddy'up. The waffle is thick and tender, but oily. First bite, oil. Slightly stale oil. Not a promising start. The next couple bites improve, as the sausage flavor takes over. I was expecting some sort of maple crystals in the waffle, like a McDonalds McGrillers. That or some kind of maple-y sauce. But there is none. Pretty disappointing. 

Next up, the A.M. Griller. It's like a soft taco, filled with breakfast. The bacon flavor reminds me of imitation bacon bits. Not a bad thing, but not great. With a bunch of hot sauce, this one is totally decent. 

Finally, the Crunchwrap. A hash brown(!) replaces the tostada shell. There's also a slightly spicy sauce that tastes like their quesadilla sauce. It's a lot smaller than the normal Crunchwrap, so there's more tortilla per bite. And the potato adds some heft to this. Pretty heavy for a breakfast, but tasty. Again, the bacon flavor tastes artificial. I'm sure sausage wrap is better. 

Having eaten halfway through each item, my stomach is not pleased. This is certainly one of the greasier breakfast meals I've had. While I can get down and enjoy a greasy pile o' fast-food, morning is a rough time to do so. Perhaps to nurse a hangover, a Breakfast Crunchwrap and a big-ass Mountain Dew may hit the spot, but I'd rather spend the junk food points on a big plate of biscuits and gravy. 

Caveat emptor, readers, and as always, buen provecho.

The 2013 Philadelphia Wine & Food Festival in Really Bad Pictures

Loafers without socks, leathery faces, and the quiet discomfort of being in a room where everybody makes more money than you. That basically sums up the 2013 Philadelphia Wine and Food Festival. Not that it wasn't a good time. There were some stellar pours, including a perfectly balanced sherry imported by P.R. Grisley Co.* and a sauvingnon blanc from Casa Patronales that drank like a high octane double or triple-IPA (imagine a boozier Double Jack or a less-syrupy Hop'solutely). Plus, it was all you can drink, although I did my best not to render myself useless for the next day's kid party doubleheader.

At the end of it all, I had the opportunity to catch up with a high school buddy of mine who dropped serious knowledge on the challenges of importing wine (P.R. Grisley is only available in 13 states), the effect of the E.U.'s disdain for austerity (It's no secret that Spain and Portugal, where many of P.R. Grisley's imports come from, are kind of fucked right now), and how wine's a whole lot cooler if you're not snobby about it. Check back shortly for a couple videos featuring a real-life Geico caveman and a drunken Spanaird. Buen provecho.

Update: Here's the Spanish bull (toro?) I was talking about. Foreign accents are so cool:

And here's the IRL Geico Caveman:

Dude, you've got some mango salsa in your beard.

*Full disclosure. These guys were my sponsors. I was pretty relieved, however, when their wines were among the best I had all night. It would have been really awkward if they sucked.

When Life Imitates Art: A Little Green Eggs Cafe Rodent Levity

More surprising than the lack of puns about the whole Green Eggs Cafe rat conundrum (I'll throw my own hat into the headline ring with "Broken Sewer Pipe Leads to Shitty Situation."*) is the fact that almost a week has passed and nobody out there has compared this to one of my daughter's favorite movies, Ratatouille. I suppose real life rats are far worse than computer animated rats, but perhaps they were just in there trying to whip up one of their favorite classic French dishes. A cassoulet, maybe? The perfect omelet?

It got me thinking about the parallels between the movie and Philly food (with a tiny bit of poetic license for one of the characters).

People That Look Like People: Starr and Christie

 I haven't. Have you? Buen provecho.

Burger Brawl 2013 Non-Recap*

It would be nice if we humans could evolve to the point where our collective metabolisms catch up to the amount of food we produce/consume rather than just becoming a bunch of fat shits. That way, instead of only being able to eat nine or so of the burgers at this year’s Burger Brawl, every last one of us at the event could have enjoyed all twenty-four.

Alas, the finiteness of our stupid stomachs brings regret not from eating so much, but from eating so little (relatively speaking). I suppose when you say you’re upset that you only got to eat nine(!) burgers, you’ve got problems. Or you’re American.

Congrats to Fat Jack’s for being the jewel of the judges with their "Memphis Mauler" burger, and to Lucky’s Last Chance for getting the crowd’s crown with their Peanut Butter and Bacon Burger. And congrats to the rest of us for enduring sunburns and meat sweats in the name of competition and philanthropy. Buen provecho.

*Regarding the event itself, I can't stop thinking of Percy St BBQ's offering (middle left), a mouthful of egg yolk and country ham that had the silky texture of prosciutto with vinegar onions to balance all of those riches. I was also quite partial to South Philly Tap Room's Ham-Hamburger, because I hate ham salad (too sweet), but I fucking love SUPER ham salad, something Scott Schroeder came up with while "shooting darts."

Do You Want Pho?

In case you were wondering, this PowerPoint/decision making masterpiece is the result of two years of business school and the associated mountain of debt. 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).

Why Did I Eat This?

The trouble with gimmicks, even the bright orange crunchy ones, is their inherent lognormal distribution. Out of the gate, Taco Bell's first Doritos Locos taco was in heavy rotation, and rightly so. The "oh shit why didn't we think of that before?" combination of crappy fast food and crappy snack food was a monumental success, but like beating Street Fighter II on one quarter with Blanka for the 30th time, its novelty faded, settling beyond the third sigma where one can comfortably avoid being seen making a run for the border and heard in the toilet immediately following. I lost count of how many Doritos Locos tacos I have eaten since their debut almost a year ago, and it has been at least a month since my last one.  I had all but forgotten about the brilliant combination until Hahri Shin's Twitter feed reminded me that the brain trust at Taco Bell was diversifying their Doritos Locos portfolio with a Cool Ranch shell. And it would be ready a day early. And that day was today (well, yesterday, since you're probably reading this on Thursday).

With curiosity and expectations high, I made my way to the nearest Taco Bell thinking my life would be changed once again. That was my first mistake.

Merry Christmas, I Recorded a Metal Song for You

It's not going to be a silent night with this gem on your juke:

Happy holidays from me and the Megadeth skull. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

The prospect of caramelized onions was enough to sucker me into trying the latest attempt at fast food gourmet, the McDonald's CBO Angus Third-Pounder. Click through for a brief (three) photo essay that captures my stupidity and the sadness of this sandwich.

Weighing in on Wells, or Guy Bites Big

By today, most of you have seen Pete Wells' takedown of Guy's American Kitchen & Bar. Already heralded as a thing of beauty by aspiring food writers and other folks that rest comfortably outside this restaurant's target market, the questions-only review takes a megadump on the newest Times Square megarestaurant branded by the goateed specter that haunts my nightmares, Guy Fieri.

It's a fun read, but the joke's on us. While we get to maintain such things as our dignity and our hair color, this clown's laughing all the way to bank. He cleared $8 million last year, and I would imagine that much like Krusty, he signed off on the use of his name and all of those dumbshit menu items after a dump truck full of money showed up in his driveway—too busy to think about anything but the dollar signs because he was "rollin' out!" to the next triple-D shoot.

We're hopeful that Mr. Fieri is investing this cash in something other than hookers and coke, especially if he's planning to continue diluting his brand. In the meantime, let's get back to Mr. Wells, for whom I have a few questions of my own regarding the expectations of this review:

Did you really expect this place to be good? Did the New York Times also review the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. when it first opened? Would you expect your readers—most of whom use the company card to impress clients—to entertain a night out in Times Square? Are you fucking kidding me with this? And one more time, just to make sure—did you really expect this place to be anything other than a T.G.I.Friday's with a different name?

More heartbreaking than this wasted review, however, is the scene that just played out in my mind. Guy's sons, Hunter and Ryder (as if we needed more fuel for the ridicule fire. Plus, that sounds terrible together), are seated at the dinner table, staring longingly at their mostly absent father. The family's eating a Papa John's pizza and Guy closes the lid after grabbing a fourth slice. Not sure what to make of the sad faces (because there's still plenty of pizza left), Guy asks them if there's a problem in flavortown, to which the older one replies:

"Dad, why does everybody hate you so much?" 

You know what's worse than being Guy Fieri? Getting beat up because your dad's Guy Fieri. Buen provecho.

Distilling the Douche Out of Manayunk, One Craft Beer (and One Burger) at a Time

Just in time for the September installment of Manayunk's First Friday, owner Chris Barnes and his crew at Lucky's Last Chance pull off a Robert Irvine-worthy transformation of their second floor from pseudo-club to seats aplenty.  I chatted with Chris during the demolition last week to find out why Lucky's bucked the trend of $3 u-call-its and (insert fucked up candy flavor here) shots that has been Manayunk's SOP for as long as anyone can remember,* and it turns out that the past year of being open was an experiment that ran amok. "We did the whole burger thing on a small scale to start out. We knew we had to cater to a certain population here on Main St, and that's why we kept Upstairs [at Lucky's].  We weren't really sure how far the burger and craft beer thing would go."

In a word, Chris, "Duh."

He's right, though.  Craft beer on Main St. can be a  tough sell.  On the one hand, you've got college kids (or the recently graduated) who favor quantity over quality, and on the other hand, you've got old-ass Main Liners who jump in their tiny-ass Mercedes coupes after drinking way too much wine at Derek's or Jake's.

Fortunately, there's another demographic slowly materializing, and with another level of seating and additional taps, Lucky's Last Chance will be ready for them tonight.

"We're not changing much, just adding tables, really," Chris says.  Still, it's nice to have an option in Manayunk where the food is good and I don't feel too old, too young, and I can bring the kids.  Buen Provecho.

*Nothing wrong with this, folks. Just stating facts.

The Best Thing to Come Out of A-B InBev's Acquisition of Goose Island

This year's beer options at the Linc include Goose Island IPA, an offering from the craft beer concern that was (somewhat) recently acquired by marketing machine/shit beer brewer/craft beer bully AB InBev.  Time will tell whether the quality of Goose Island's offerings will wane to Blue Moon standards, but in the meantime, you can pair your overpriced nachos with a more than fairly priced and super delicious IPA ($7.25 for a stadium-sized plastic cup).  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

If you've been watching the Olympics, you have no doubt seen (or at least fast forwarded through) Lorena Garcia throwing prop spices on prop food to promote Taco Bell's blatant ripoff of Chipotle/Qdoba, the Cantina Bell menu.  The story we're being fed is that the Latina stereotype/current contestant on Top Chef Masters was the inspiration for the new items, drawing from her vast experience with big bold flavors.  Oh yeah, and she's Venezuelan, too.  Not sure how that translates to fast food Tex-Mex (if you can call it that), but the long and short of it is that our border buddies are trying to beat Qdotle (see what I did there?) on price, asking us consumers "Think Taco Bell Can't Do Gourmet?"

Even before trying it, the answer was obvious.  I KNOW Taco Bell can't do gourmet, but I could give a shit if they could.  I go to Taco Bell for Doritos Locos Tacos and Cheesy Gordita Crunches.  I love the powdery taste of the barely beef, the waterlogged lettuce, and sometimes even the horrible abdominal pains that remind you to stay away from it all for as long as you can.

Still, I had to try their attempt at "gourmet,"  and I was curious how the ripoff would translate when it wasn't styled and made to look as appetizing as it does on TV.  Here's a lazy list of what you can expect from their Cantina Bowl if you decide to try it for yourself:

Since We're All Talking About Chicken Anyway

I figured it would be a much better idea to post this video instead of throwing out my two pennies about Chick-fil-A.  It's unclear whether the dancing KyoChon chicken mascot is a hatemonger, but goddamn it if their fried chicken isn't some of the best I've ever had.

I will say this, however.  Fuck the fucking higher-ups at Chick-fil-A for making all of us choose between eating something delicious and taking the moral high ground.  Buen provecho.

He Made How Much Last Year?

Click image to see larger

Here's some surprising and depressing news.  According to the Huffington Post, my least favorite person of all time besides the kids that fucked with me in grade school just cracked the top ten list of highest paid celebrity chefs. I'm sure he puts in the hours, but I just can't get past the Offspring haircut and the "terrible to the point where I want to start cutting myself" style.  He even beat Andrew Zimmern and Tony Bourdain.  If anyone needs me, I'll be spending the next few hours with my head in the oven.  During that time, please enjoy this infographic to see what Guy Fieri can buy for the eight million bucks he raked in last year.  Buen provecho.

If I Won the Lottery

I don't play the lottery and I think it's a sucker's bet, but in a parallel universe where I'm a blatant hoarder living in a trailer with my collection of highly flammable stuffed animals, mainlining Easy Cheese into my face for every meal, I would spend at least 95% of my government subsidy on Powerball tickets and scratch-offs.  It would also be in this parallel universe that I would win the jackpot and be ushered into the world of the nouveau riche, where I would immediately commission the Taco Fountain pictured above and buy an El Camino. Buen provecho.

Full disclosure: The Taco Fountain was actually spawned in the brain of Jason Sheehan, food editor at Philly Mag and Foobooz, the latter of which sometimes publishes my drivel.  I've kind of been obsessed with the idea since he mentioned it, and you should be, too.  Further, if you consider yourself a Maker, perhaps we could get together and build it?  I'm sure it would kill at hipster weddings.

The Easiest Paella Recipe Ever

Until I realized that being Mexican is actually super awesome*, I would lie and say I was Spanish.  Not that being Spanish made you any less of an outsider in Utah, but bullfighting was definitely more acceptable than low riders (it's a footrace regarding which one is cooler).  I suppose it's not a total lie, but the details on my ancestry are foggy, and that commercial where the white people open up a laptop and have their entire family history after a few clicks is bullshit.  What does it all mean?  Nothing, really.  It's just a roundabout way to introduce you to the easiest paella recipe ever made.  Step-by-step photo instructions after the jump.

Side Project Jerky - Now With More E-Commerce

Ladies and gentlemen, my online store is now accepting orders for our flagship jerky flavors in 2oz. packages, and shipping is free for the next two weeks.  Who's pumped?  I know Montgomery the muskox sure is.  Buen provecho.

Side Project Jerky Online Store - SHOP NOW

A Legendary French Chef Walks Into a Bar...

I exist on the periphery of tragedy.  Eleven years ago, I was five blocks away from the hole formerly known as the World Trade Center and now known as the Freedom Tower.  A year later, a giant portion of the northeast was enveloped in darkness, and I'm pretty sure my block was one of the first to get power.  Last March, I was in Tokyo during the biggest earthquake in Japan's history, and a few months later (this really wasn't a tragedy but it does fall into the category of holy-shit-that-was-intense), Mrs. Gastro missed her epidural window and had a drug-free childbirth (she was a total rockstar).  It has been quite the decade, but not even a former sommelier of Georges Perrier could prepare me for a chance meeting with him at Iron Hill Brewery last night.

The Cat is Out of the Bag

Actually, it's beef, and it's in the bag, a vacuum-sealed one to be exact.  After months in the test kitchen, I'm happy to announce my latest venture, Side Project Jerky.  Our not-so-humble mission is to provide the highest quality and best tasting jerky available, thereby spreading the beef jerky bible to jerky eaters both on the go and at the bar.  Foobooz gave us a great write-up this morning and can tell you when and where to get it in the coming months.  You can also follow us @sideprjctjerky on Twitter and check out webpage for more information.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

I feel bad for Wendy's.  Without Dave Thomas, the marketing's not the same, nor will it ever be.  For whatever reason, it was like they didn't even have to try under his watchful four eyes.  Now, they're flailing like the rest of the fast food giants, not only with their completely forgettable marketing campaigns, but also with their "throw a bunch of shit at the wall and hope something sticks" method of introducing new dishes.  Their latest attempt—a spicy chicken sandwich topped with pepper jack, bacon, and "natural" guacamole—was the first one in a long time to grab my attention, primarily because of the word "natural."  I'm assuming that they couldn't legally use the term "fresh" and figured "natural" would convey the same idea, but when I looked under the hood, the guacamole's neon-green hue reminded me of Ecto-cooler, and it had the telltale tang of something mass produced and infused with whatever acidic chemical is used to prevent it from turning greyish-brown.  Guacamole notwithstanding, I still ate the whole damn thing in five seconds, and the reasoning is simple.  The spicy chicken breast is one of the greatest and best tasting innovations in fast food, and the toppings are no match for its bold flavor, so the only thing you really taste besides the chicken is regret.  Try it if you must (Serious Eats and DidjaEat? both liked it), but my recommendation is to stick with the standard.  Buen provecho.

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to Happy Hour

Dear Mr. XXXXXXX,
Thank you very much for reaching out to me regarding a recent comment I made on Foobooz about XXXXX.  It certainly came as a surprise considering that I changed my phone number not too long ago, but if my remarks warrant tracking me down, then yay me. Since I’m pretty sure that you and your management were the only people who actually bothered to read it, I’ll go ahead and post it here again for a bit more visibility:

“Have yet to have a positive experience there. Dirty glasses, stale nachos, always out of the one beer that I want on their draft list, and the staff is a bunch of jerks. The XXXXX boys need to keep a closer eye on this spot.”

The Martini Experiment

Martini on a high chair. Father of the year.

A recent visit from a couple with no kids inspired Mrs. Gastro and I to try out the Southern tradition of cocktails at 6pm.  If you're like them and your list of responsibilities is a little shorter than ours, I highly recommend following suit.  It's a great way to start the evening, and it'll slice the edge off cleaner than the sharpest of Japanese cutlery.  If you happen to have two or more kids, however, the 6pm cocktail hour plays out like a grown-up version of an after-school special. You forget about the meat on the grill, the macaroni for the kids boils to mush because you shifted your attention to the cocktail shaker, and the whole host of shit you need to do once you've finished your neglected dinner is still waiting for you three days later.  With the bender complete, it's safe to say that the martini experiment was as big a failure as my unfortunate run-in with Four Loko couple years back.  Martinis are delicious, but it's probably wise to save it for when the kids are in college and you need to self-medicate to forget about how much it's costing you.  Buen provecho.

Ozzie Guillen: It Was All a Misunderstanding

Blame the suspension on broken English (or the rain or whatever), but this is what Ozzie Guillen really meant to say.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

From the department of "I should have known better" comes another piece of shit breakfast sandwich from Dunkin' Donuts.  I know you have all been impatiently waiting for me to eat this, so I finally bit the stale bagel bullet (Jesus went so far as to die for your sins, so I figured it was the least I could do for the people still reading this).  Here's a quick rundown of why you should probably avoid Dunkin's Angus Steak & Egg sandwich:

1. The bagel, as is the case with all Dunkin' Donuts bagels, is chewy on the inside, but you have to gnaw through the impenetrable "crust" to get to it.  It's a lot like cutting through pork skin with a dull knife, but doing so with your teeth, and way less worth the work involved. 

2. The eggs are nothing if not consistent.  Three years later, they still taste like this.

3. I had no expectations for the "steak" other than the hope I could keep it down.  I didn't expect it to taste EXACTLY like a microwave cheeseburger, but when it did, I was at least happy that it tasted familiar.

This poor excuse for a breakfast sandwich set the tone for the rest of the day, which got more and more depressing as the "steak," "eggs," and "cheese" made their way through my system.  I suppose I should just be thankful that I didn't get (literally) crucified the day before.  Buen provecho.

A Well Roundeyed Meal: Cheu Noodle Pop-Up

With two feet firmly planted on the Ramen Radio Flyer, I snagged an early reservation for noodle nerds Ben Puchowitz and Shawn Darragh's third pop-up, held last night at Matyson.  While the simple yet complex noodle soup was definitely the draw, the rest of the menu held its own, showcasing Puchowitz's Asian abilities (rumor has it that he's really good at math, too*) as well as his talent with tails.  From start to finish, here's a lazy list of the things you should eat when you book your reservation for the next Cheu Noodle Bar.

Making a Good Idea Great: The Cheesy Dorito Crunch

Continuing my slight obsession with Taco Bell's Doritos Locos Tacos, I took the obvious next step of having the taco artists put one inside a Cheesy Gordita Crunch.  The results?  Remember Matt Levin's super poutine at Adsum?  It broke the fucking mold.  Plus, the gordita shell keeps your fingers squeaky clean.  It was well worth the extra 30 cents that they charge to combine the two.  Buen provecho.

Field Trip: Crown Burgers in Salt Lake City, Utah

A snowboarding trip to Utah isn't complete without a stop at Crown Burgers.  Their eponymous burger is a thing of beauty.  After sitting on an open flame until charred in all the right places, it's topped with a slice of yellow American cheese, a half-pound of griddled pastrami, shredded lettuce, tomato, and fry sauce (mayo folded into ketchup).  Served with French fries whose shape and thickness would be the result of a steak fry and a McDonald's fry having fry babies, I was tempted to order three more in case it took me another three years to get back to Salt Lake (and three days after returning home, I feel like a jackass that I didn't). Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

Are we certain that we should be eating these colors?

I'm going to skip the formalities and get straight to the point.  Leave work now and find your nearest Taco Bell so you too can try this brilliant combination of Doritos and dog food-grade meat that is a marriage more perfect than Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman.  A few quick pros and cons about the experience:

Pro: It's your standard Taco Bell taco, but the shell is caked in nacho cheese powder.  There is some expectation of how it's going to taste, but nothing can prepare you for how well it goes with the taco fillings.
Con: The wet beef makes the "hinge" of the shell soggy.  If you've ever been at the beach or on the lake when some jackass forgets to close the bag of Doritos, then you know what I'm talking about.  In my case, it was just a jackass food blogger (me) taking too many pictures.

Pro: Since there is a finite amount of shell, your Dorito intake is limited by the amount of tacos you can eat instead of speed eating an entire bag of (Family Size) chips in one sitting.
Con: Powdered cheese fingers.  Although it's 2012, scientists have yet to figure out a way around this clothes-ruining nuisance (I just now realized that I could have used the cardboard sleeve to avoid this. Fuck).

Pro: $1.69 for the Supreme version.
Con: The low price guarantees that the next time I go, I'll order a dozen of them, and since I hate wasting food, I'll have to eat the entire lot.

One final note about this taco.  I'll typically go through ten packets of Fire sauce (on two tacos) with any Taco Bell meal.  I think that's standard operating procedure for most of you, but take heed that if you do so, the delicious Doritos flavor will nullified.  Buen provecho.

Launching Today: Doritos Locos Tacos

Keep your browsers tuned to Fidel Gastro today for a very special (and long overdue) entry of Why Did I Eat This?  It's a Dorito.  It's a Taco Supreme.  It's worth falling prey to the nostalgia of Taco Bell and their new "Live Más" marketing campaign, which is ironic considering this shit will kill you. But if it's anything like crossing the streams in Ghostbusters, the reward of combining two hyper-processed pseudo-Mexican products will be worth the risk.  Buen provecho.

My Toddler is Cooler Than Your Toddler

With the advent of technology and the whole "civilization" thing, I no longer have to spend the day hunting to put dinner on the table.  The upside of this arrangement is not getting eaten by a lion.  The downside is that our food is often hyper-processed, with nutrition losing to convenience nine times out of ten.  I've always said that I'm an equal opportunity eater, and I believe that there's a time and a place to eat shit, but I would be very happy if my children didn't make the same mistakes I made, sentencing them to a life wrought with self-consciouness and ill-fitting pants.

Whether or not it's a lucky break, I'm thankful that we're off to a good start.  This past Sunday after our first trip to Elevation Burger (patties needed salt but they might have Five Guys beat in the fry department), I made an Indian-spiced salmon topped with a yogurt sauce, and Toddler Gastro smiled after her first bite and asked for more.  She also ate her broccoli.  This kid rules, and the whole experience was made even better by the fact that it was super easy to cook, so processed foods can suck it.  Buen provecho.

Two Day Hangover: Big Ass Beerfest

I spent last Saturday shamelessly photographing the craft beer geek version of Pauly D in between gulps of beers whose average %ABV was in the upper 9s.  Here's a quick list of the highlights:

1. Stoudt's Old Abominable: If you don't believe in the abominable snowman (which is an abomination in itself), you probably don't believe there exists a drinkable barleywine, but this one went down way too easily.  Needless to say, I got abominably bombed.
2. Green Flash Double IPA: I hate to use the word dank, but there's no other word to describe how punishing the hops were in this palate coating pale ale.
3. Central Waters Illumination Double IPA: Nowhere near the intensity of the Green Flash, but still worth a nod for its non-syrupy and floral qualities.
4. Brooklyn Brewery Companion Wheat Wine: From the Brewmaster's Reserve series, A very subtle 10%-er with an almost sour taste.

My sincerest apologies to Mrs. Gastro for rendering myself completely useless in dealing with our daughter's double ear infection.  Buen provecho.

Tortilla Soup All Up in Your Face

Tortilla Soup isn't just my mother-in-law's favorite movie, it's also a soup, and when the cold wind blows through your uninsulated 1800s-era home, it's a welcome wintertime meal.  Growing up, Ma and Pa Gastro opted for pozole and/or chile verde, so I had little experience with the movie soup in my own kitchen.  I did make a shitty batch of it in the early 2000s, but that was so two thousand and late, so I decided to make it again, and this time it was two thousand and great.  I recommend you try it for yourself.  It was a nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and there was plenty left over to get out of cooking on Sunday.  Recipe after the jump.  Buen provecho.

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.

The Worst Shit I Ate All Year

Wow.  What a deplorable showing in the blog post department this year.  I won't make excuses (twitter), but I will agree with Che Gruyere's father Jim that "Having two kids is like having three."  Better words have never been spoken.  Still, judging by my waistline and the fact that I currently fit into only two of the twelve pairs of pants in my closet, I must have eaten some pretty bad shit in 2011.  It's a shame that much of it went undocumented, but it makes it easy to put together a Top 10.  Better yet, here's a Top 5, because I barely made it past that number in total.  Buen provecho.

5. Manhattan Burger, Tokyo Airport McDonald's: This went undocumented on Fidel, but I did put a video on YouTube. Happy to be alive after a massive earthquake, I unhappily scarfed this sandwich down while the aftershocks continued to taunt my own insignificance.
4. BK Minis, Burger King: These sliders should be knocked out of the park, couldn't get past the catcher, or any other baseball analogy apropos for saying that we'd be happier without ever knowing they existed.
3. Big 'n' Toasty Breakfast Sandwich, Dunkin' Donuts: An annual offender, Dunkin' Donuts sold me on the idea of a fast food fried egg.  It was a lie bigger than the moon landing and the creation story combined.
2. Durian Chips: Almost missing its 2011 eligibility, it was a Christmas miracle that I could stomach this.  The dehydrated version of this foul fruit has all the fart-tastic qualities of the fresh version.
1. Ghost Pepper Steak, Jake's Sandwich Board: This was actually pretty good, but the ensuing havoc it wreaked on my insides was really really bad.

Blogroll Addition: Kyle Gibson Takes Wicked Good Photos

Jason once told me about the raisin esters in Victory Storm King

Recently added to the sidebar is photographer Kyle Gibson at theruleofthirds.com. This one here is of professional beer judge/homebrewer/amateur soccer player/salon owner/beer program coordinator/dude that looks a bit like a young George Michael or maybe Rey Mysterio Jr. if you look real quick—and good buddy Jason McLaughlin.  Kyle also counts anthropology, music, and surviving a Ph.D's worth of time in Utah among his many talents.  Since you're probably doing less than I am at work right now (it's my lunch hour, what's your excuse?), why not take a moment to check out some more of his great photography and copy?

Why Did I Eat This? Revisited: Durian Chips

Remember when I tried Southeast Asia's king of fruits alongside two comrades who squared off in a "Who Can Eat More Durian" challenge?  Well, those same two pals of mine went to Asia this past year and returned with a special Christmas gift for me: durian chips (I would have preferred a lump of coal).  Not being one to let food defeat me, I immediately opened the bag to try one, completely disregarding the fact that an entire pot luck of brunch items could resurface in the middle of my cousin's Christmas Eve party.  Check out the video above to see who wins between me and the durian.  Buen provecho.

Hey Philly, Wanna Open a Restaurant?

3rd Ward, a hub for all things creative, recently announced that they're headed down the turnpike to open a location here in Philly, and now they are looking to for somebody to keep their community of artists and makers fed. Because they walk the talk of community, they are conducting somewhat of an open casting call for the restaurant space. If you're vision aligns with theirs, I strongly urge you to check out the details in the RFP recently released on their website. There's an opportunity to get up to $80k in capital, and the process seems a lot easier than a month's worth of Quickfires and sleeping in bunk beds.  Plus, you get to work with a solid group of folks that will be a welcome addition to Philadelphia's already amazing artist community.

Biter Alert: Infidel Gastro

Look at that asshole face.  I'd like to knock that sandwich out of his hand and kick him in the chest.

This is Matt Basile, some random ass canuck who is using my name for some sandwich making enterprise that probably sucks butt.  I've currently been harassing him on twitter, but I'm tempted to make the 8-hour trip to Toronto to eat one of sandwiches, give it a horrible review, and then settle this thing one of the only two ways I know how: kumite or dance battle.

Don't get me wrong, a poutine and bacon sandwich sounds intriguing, but hasn't something like that been done before, like a year ago (RIP Adsum)?  Whatever. Good for him for following his dreams.  Bad for him for not doing better name research, and worse, being a biter.  Mr. Basile, I urge you to stop using my name, lest your dream turn into a nightmare.

P.S. I hope you get diarrhea.

The Worst $40.83 (Plus Tip) I Ever Spent

Philadelphians, feel free to chase me out of town with torches and pitchforks in hand after saying this, but I am disappointed with Chickie's & Pete's.  Don't get me wrong, a Big Gulp-sized order of fries sprinkled with a sneezeable (yes sneezeable, not sizeable) amount of Old Bay seasoning and served with American cheese sauce just seconds away from congealing into an undippable globule is great when you're watching one of our local teams break your heart.  But remove that context (along with the gallons of light beer), replace it with one screaming infant and an anomaly of a toddler who prefers vegetables instead of chicken fingers and fries (how the hell did that happen?), and you're left with food that is crappy at best.  It may have been voted the "Best Sports Bar in North America" by ESPN, and I may still want to drive home drunk from there after a long Sunday of football watching, but since I'm supposed to be writing about food, here's a quick breakdown of the crap we ate last night:

1) Crab Fries: They're just too damn thin and flimsy, especially when the cheese sauce hardens.  Furthermore, it's kind of hard to eat them when you're holding a toddler.  My sincerest apologies to my son for the Old Bay fingerprints on the onesie.
2) Chickie's Cutlets: Standard frozen and boxed chicken fingers.  How they can get away with calling them "cutlets" is beyond me.
3) Signature Salad: Bagged romaine topped with Old Bay croutons and crab fries.  A real pile of shit.
4) Cheeseburger: Pre-formed patty, terrible burger-to-bun ratio, no toppings.
5) This last one's not about food.  I just thought I would mention that I was wearing sweats when this all went down.

You may be thinking, "Jackass, you're supposed to get the seafood when you're there," or you may have just stopped reading.  If you are still reading, it's obvious from the above list that much of the food at Chickie's & Pete's is pre-made and at the ready to get unsuspecting families like mine in and out the door and/or pump out food quickly to keep the drunks at bay.  Either way, not a great family or food destination, so save it for a night out with the boys, or leave the kids in the car.  Buen provecho.

Federal Freakin' Donuts is Worth the Early Long Lunch

I'm late to the party, but it's nowhere near finished.  In its third week of being open, the birds at Federal Donuts continue to fly out the door.  I showed up at 11:50 A.M.—ten minutes before chicken service is supposed to start—and I was already order number 35 and 36.  When I walked in, a small crowd leisurely waited for their chicken, each of us holding our golden post-it notes.  The good part about the wait is that you can have a coffee and a donut for an appetizer; the bad part is that you run the risk of spoiling your appetite.  This actually isn't a worry for a fat ass like me, but it's something to think about if you're one of those people who actually listens to their stomach.

Starting with a nutella-tehina-pomegranate donut and an iced coffee, it was immediately evident why the closing time on their website is listed as "'til it's gone."  The sugary sponge studded with sesame seeds begins with the heart smart tartness of pomegranate and ends with the richness of the chocolate-hazelnut spread I stole from Pat Keller's pantry in high school because it was so good.  Still waiting and still calm (because you're guaranteed a couple orders of chicken), the POS crashed, and this is where things got slightly hairy.  I had intended on using a debit card for my orders of harissa and chile-garlic chicken, but without modern technology, I was fucked.  Thankfully—and keep this in mind if you wind up in the same situation—there was an ATM at the beer distributor on Washington Avenue, a few short blocks away.  Clocking what was probably the fastest 1/4 mile I've ever ran, I made it back, and before even taking a bite of the chicken, this is where the place went from good to great.  Because of the computer turmoil (they will one day turn on us, as evidenced by this mishap), the staff was extremely apologetic, comping my coffee and throwing a couple donuts into my takeout bag.  Even if I made it all the way back to my office and the chicken sucked, this kind of service would make it worth returning again and again.  But that's not how the rest of my day transpired.  It was a lot more like this:

Tooth-chippingly crispy (a very good thing), spicy, and cooked flawlessly, I can't wait to have it again.  Buen provecho.

First the McRib and Now Top Chef? I Love This Time of Year

Artist's interpretation of Colicchio's first elimination

For those of you still reading this poorly maintained excuse for a blog, we have kicked off Top Chef Season 9 on on Foobooz, and you can find my Episode 1 recap here.  The best part about writing for an online publication?  You can say shit more times than Jesse Pinkman does on Breaking Bad.  Looking forward to another great season of Colicchio-induced tears and drunken Padma slurs.  I hope you are, too.  Buen provecho.

So What Did You Do With Your Peck of Apples?

Although I may lack the scalp sheen and creepiness of the Sweet Genius guy, it turns out I'm a bit of a sweet genius myself.  How so, you ask?  Well, I just used most of the apples the Gastros picked to make a pie from scratch for the first time.  Since I nailed it, I'm gonna go ahead and hoist that title belt above my head while you guys enjoy the first installment of "Straight Guy Stuff."  Fabulous Baker Bros, you too can harness the power of the pastry, and if you do it while wearing a backwards hat and sports team apparel, nobody will accuse you of being a dandy.  Buen provecho.

I Am an International Rap Superstar

I'm definitely late to the party on this one, but I just discovered that Eater has spent the past two years interviewing bands in a recurring post called Sound Cheque. Typically–and I'm only judging from the headlines and photos–the bands are like, "Tacos rule but there's not much time to eat on the road and my hair only looks like I don't shower and blah, blah, blah."  Pretty cool stuff, right?  Well, I decided to take the concept in a new direction. Instead of interviewing other people who make music, I made some music of my own, and the music is about food, specifically, falafel. From a box.  Part freestyle, part written, all talent, I present to you, "The Falafel Sessions."  Buen provecho.

R.I.P. Joey Vento

Foobooz reports that Joey Vento, founder of Geno's Steaks in South Philly, died last night of a massive heart attack at 71 years young.  Mr. Vento gained notoriety as a racist back in 2007 by demanding that his customers order in English.  All politics and -isms aside, however, I tip my jar of whiz to Mr. Vento. I hope the pearly gates are neon-clad and wide open for you.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

By now, you've probably seen the latest Burger King commercial advertising their version of the slider, the BK Mini.  If you haven't, it's basically a montage of people stealing other people's food, the food being a miniature hamburger or chicken sandwich.  Burger King's thought process was probably, "These things taste so good that you'll want to steal them."  Philosophically, however, it is proof once again that humans are dicks.  Alas, marketing makes me curious, and a rushed lunch the other day presented the perfect opportunity excuse for me to see whether or not these sliders were theft-worthy.

At $4.99, the value meal includes a 4-pack of the Minis.  I wanted two chicken and two beef, but you can't mix and match, so I opted for beef.  When I got the box, which was about the size of a McDonald's Big Breakfast container, I realized why.  The meat and buns are attached in fours and you need to rip them apart.  You could probably leave the whole thing intact, but then you would just be eating an enormous burger.  Not necessarily a bad thing, but when you're stuffed in the driver's seat of a parked car blasting both the AC and XM's Hair Nation channel, you don't really need the extra attention.

And how did they taste? Definitely not theft-worthy.  Without the extra shit that typically goes on a Whopper (the Minis are just ketchup, pickles, and cheese if you want it) you get the standard BK artificially flavored flame-broiled taste, but not much more.  I also caught a bad batch of fries, making the already crappy BK fries that much worse.  I'll probably go back for the chicken Minis, but in the meantime, I'll get my slider fix at White Castle.  Buen provecho.