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

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

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

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

I Spent a Week in Bogota and All I Got Was This Lousy Blog Post

Stay tuned for an overview of culinary delights from the land of FARC bombings, coffee, and coca. But don't expect much. I wound up eating burgers (hamburguesas, burguers) half the time I was there (but holy shit they were good). I think A Hamburger Today would be quite impressed.

Social Commentary from Way Back When

"What happened to Buzzsaw?" quips Maria Conchita Alonso. "He had to split." Arnold, you're funnier than Neil Patrick Harris v2.0. I hate cable, but when you're able to catch The Running Man from start to finish, you can justify the $180 a month (at least for those 90 minutes). A future where TV shows feature real live people doing crazy shit? Stephen King (author of the book the movie is based on) is a modern day Nostradamus.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 2
Geno's: 0
Delassandro's: 2
Steve's: 1
Street Meat: 4
Other: 4.5
Total: 13.5

I applaud the testicular fortitude of the cart cooks on the sidewalk today. Anyone that can manage 8 hours in this weather (I'm talking about you, Middle Eastern food cart guy on the southwest corner of 18th and JFK) deserves my patronage. You gotta respect the hustle. I was surprised to find that I wasn't the only one on the lines, but I imagine the rest of the lot was more interested in cheap and quick food, and not so much trying to do right by those that feed us, even in extreme conditions. Sadly, the cheesesteak--which I tucked into the inside pocket of my puffy coat to keep warm until I got back to my cube--was palate punishment. The offenders, in no particular order, were day-old bread, generic hot sauce, generic cheese, and dry meat. Try to do something nice every now and again and it backfires. Stay warm, singular reader. Buen provecho.

North Country

Behold the highlights of my weekend in NYC (just a few days late):

1. Paul Bergman
2. The Indian food place that Paul Bergman suggested. Rich sauces scented with spices I can barely pronounce simmered in copper bowls dotted all over the table. I dipped my spoon in every one I could reach, and rued the moment I ordered a dosa.
3. Harrassment by a dozen Chinese ladies eager to sell me a bus ticket. Sadly, none of them cared to direct me to the local opium den.
4. 50 frozen dumplings for 8 bucks. Fuck yeah.

Buen Provecho.

Yesterday's Qdoba

Chicken queso burrito, no cheese, no sour cream, to go. Followed by coffee straight out the French (freedom) press. Issues of a personal nature ensued.

Cabin Fever

It hasn't been real crappy, but it's still winter. Fighting the doldrums one fisticuff at a time, I think of summer moments, this one in particular:

Che Gruyere: May I have a slow gin fizz

Country Club Teen Waitress: ...?...

Che Gruyere: It's delicious

Taking a Moment to Raise My Head from the Holiday Trough

Eating, drinking, and being merry has left my brain full of holiday mush, so how about a quick list of highlights?

1. Crown pork roast with cranberry apple stuffing. This was the second of my mother-in-law's pork contributions made special for the birth of our savior, the first being a ham fresh from a pastured piggy. Both renditions of the other white meat were incredible.

2. Egg nog. I'm getting really good at making this, and electric mixers procured from wedding registries only increase my awesome power. I've used this recipe for three years running, but I cut down on the booze to please the crowd (and keep booze on hand for those who prefer a little nog with their booze).

3. Buffalo chicken dip. Put the word "buffalo" in front of pretty much anything and I'll eat it. This was no exception.

4. Wii Monopoly. Simply shake the Wii remote and pray you don't land on Boardwalk when there's a hotel there. The game does the rest.

Guest Post: My Lucky Day

D-tron sez:

"I received a beautiful tin of cookies from one Mrs. Fidel Gastro. Chocolate chip and peanut butter with Hershey's kisses. They are delicious. And I mean it. If I had a dollar for every time I said that, I would have one dollar."

Today's Qdoba

Was actually Marathon Grill. In the four months I have been here, this was my first time patronizing the Philadelphia staple. The Cuban burger was a regrettable audible (I went in fully prepared to order chicken salad). The play on the Latin panini doesn't work with a hamburger patty in lieu of roast pork. D-tron's turkey burger with proscuitto was definitely the better option, and I was consumed with food envy.

Fidel: Hey D-tron, would you ever consider using your powers for evil?
D-tron: I don't think I'm programmed that way. Should we hog and jog?
Fidel: You mean dine and dash?
D-tron: Whatever. I'll go to the bathroom first.

Hogging and jogging ensues.*


*Actual events may not have included hogging and jogging. D-tron, thanks for lunch.

Buffalo Chicken Dip

This is a Christmas Miracle.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 2
Geno's: 0
Delassandro's: 2
Steve's: 1
Street Meat: 3
Other: 4.5
Total: 12.5

Today I am eating a mushroom cheesesteak from a food cart over on 16th Street. I forget the name, but it's on the west side and close to Market. I know that "healthy cheesesteak" is an oxymoron, but this one has a "guiltless" taste to it (not a bad thing). It's almost as if I could eat three of them without filling up. Buen provecho.

Lunchtime stroll highlight: The junkie that stopped me to ask if "Holiday" has one or two "Ls" before he put sharpie to cardboard. Analog spell check. Brilliant.

Naptime, Willpower, and the Job Market

I just got back to the office with some mediocre sesame chicken from the Chinese food truck on the east side of 18th Street between JFK and Market. The dude in the cubicle next to me is enjoying a lunchtime nap, snoring loudly, mouth agape (camera phones: what can't they capture?). Considering the current job market, it's probably a real stupid idea to play chicken pong* with him, but boy is it hard to resist. Buen provecho.

*Chicken chunks are the ping pong balls, his mouth is the cup. If I succeed in making the shot, hilarity ensues.

Gift Baskets

Amidst all the layoffs, party cancellations, and doorbuster stampedes, gift baskets manage to survive. The first of a hopeful many showed up at the office doorstep today, and so far I've eaten a half of a sweet sorpressata link, one eighth of an asiago cheese wheel, and a teeny tiny chocolate and hazelnut truffle. But, since nobody else seems to be interested, it's likely I'll take the whole thing down myself. Buen provecho.

Buffalo Wings?

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

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

Today's Qdoba

Queso burrito with pork, corn salsa, hot salsa, pico de gallo. It may well have been a Top 25 burrito.

D-tron sez, "Don't put my face on the internets."

I say, "Shut up and eat your burrito. Would you hand me a napkin?"

Fist fighting ensues.*


*Actual fist fighting may not have occurred.

Neat Little Bows

I watched National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets last night (and you can punch me in the face for that). Despite Nic Cage's uncanny resemblance to a burn victim, I enjoyed it. Not so much for the shitty CG and lightning fast puzzle solving, but more for the fact that I knew a happy ending was inevitable, and with it a full update of the characters post-denouement. Way to go, Disney.

Surprise!

I'm 95% sure that the cart guy on 17th and Market put pastrami instead of bacon on my breakfast hoagie. I'm 100% sure that we're on to something here. There's a place in Salt Lake City called Crown Burger whose signature sandwich is a cheeseburger topped with pastrami. If you subscribe to the "everything's better with bacon" maxim (and if you actually put bacon on everything), I recommend spending a week trying this out with pastrami. It will change your life (or kill you). Buen provecho.

Worst Snack Ever

As a man on the move, sometimes life hands me lemons and I'm too busy to make lemonade. Having less than a moment to spare between pointless meetings that didn't require my presence, I grabbed a pretzel hot dog yesterday. Holy shit was it shitty. The dough wasn't fully cooked around the pretzel, so I alternated crunching and chewing a pretzel that literally tasted like cardboard (I took a bite of a cardboard box when I got home just to test the palate). As a young boy, I ate moldy bread thinking that the bluish spores were berries. I'd take the moldy bread any minute of any hour of any day over the pretzel hot dog that's probably still making its way through me now. Buen provecho.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 2
Geno's: 0
Delassandro's: 2
Steve's: 1
Street Meat: 2
Other: 4.5
Total: 11.5

Having Ma and Pa Gastro in town (stay tuned for a report on all the misadventures) gives just cause to eating Philadelphia's signature sandwich more than once, especially since they decided to stay for an entire week (yes, a whole week). Last night's choice was Chubby's, a place directly across the street from Delassandro's, who happen to be closed Sundays. Great fries, above average steak (the meat has a great seasoning), but the fake Cheez Whiz took it down a couple notches. Buen provecho.