Why Did I Drink This?

I love the fever pitch, especially when it reaches a level where my my curiosity and stupidity can no longer ingore it.  This Wednesday, the FDA is expected to decide on the safety of boozy energy drinks such as Four Loko,  so before my window closed on the opportunity to see what all the fuss was about, I convinced Mrs. Gastro and the Gastro-in-laws to join me in a controlled experiment involving a case of blue raspberry-flavored Four Loko.  The results, not surprisingly, were disastrous.  So disastrous in fact that we can only show you the pre- and post-Four Loko-logues.  In between, we only managed to finish two cans among the four of us, I made my nephew cry (on his birthday. Sorry, Paddy), and I didn't even make it to bed.  Instead, Mrs. Gastro informed me that at the end of the experiment, I passed out on the couch, and like a soldier wounded beyond repair, I simply told her, "I'll be fine here."  The next thing I remember is waking up at 5:30am because I felt like I was getting kicked in the face repeatedly, and I dragged myself up to bed, where this final clip is shot (turn the volume up on this one).

I started the evening against the ban, but after Four Loko dragged me face-first over glass-impregnated gravel, I would be happy to see it removed from the shelves.  Buen provecho.

Lazy-O!

Check out Rachael Ray's awesome recipe for "Late Night Bacon." I can't wait until midnight tonight to fire up the microwave. Buen provecho.

P.S. Rachael Ray, please kill yourself.

Quotable Gastro

So it turns out people actually read this thing AND they value my opinion enough to associate it with their own publications.  Score one for Fidel, and a hat tip and a handshake to Emily Guendelsberger over at the Philadelphia Weekly for including me in their food and drink issue. Check out my quick take on DiNic's roast pork sandwich and Delicatessen's Jubano.

"I Dunno, Where Do You Wanna Eat?" - Philadelphia Weekly

Why Did I Eat This?

Much like drinking can be worth the hangover, fast food gimmicks can sometimes be worth the inevitable intestinal discomfort.  The McRib is ALWAYS worth it.  Finally reintroduced after years of yeti-like existence, I was lucky enough to find one at the McDonald's in Suburban Station prior to their nationwide availability on November 2, which gives me an additional week to eat it for every meal of every day.  As good buddy Matt Cannon* said, "It shouldn't be 'Why Did I Eat This,' it should be 'How Many of These Can I Eat?'"

Perhaps a large part of the attraction is its inherent nostalgia and mystique, but then again, maybe it's just goddamn good.  I've always been a fan of McDonald's BBQ sauce with its err on the side of spicy and not sweet. Slathered all over a patty of mystery meat topped with pickles and onions, you are dealing with some top-notch second-rate sandwich innards that rest nicely between a marshmallow-soft cornmeal-dusted bun. We have a six week window, folks; let's supersize ourselves. Buen Provecho.


*Loser of the Durian Challenge and wearer of jean shorts

Street Legal

Let me tell you about the way I make a purchase.  I'll find out about a product, talk a whole bunch of shit on it (typically, "whoever eats/uses/drinks these is a total douche nozzle and I hope they get scabies"), let a week pass, then buy the damn thing with little to no research, regardless of the cost.  Mrs. Gastro was kind enough and sage enough to point this out when my brother-in-law walked into our living room wearing neoprene and rubber "socks" that made his feet look like Shrek's. By now I'm sure you've all heard about Vibram Five Fingers, quite literally a second skin for your feet that will allow you to essentially run barefoot.  I spent at least two weeks talking shit about my brother-in-law's "freak shoes," laughing heartily at the thought of him stepping on a syringe (because I'm sadistic); then I went and bought a pair (just like Mrs. Gastro predicted).  I've had them now for almost a year, and I'd really like to tell you that they are life changing when it comes to running, but in order for me to do that, I'd actually have to use them. Instead, they've spent much of the past year gathering dust (an unspoken Mrs. Gastro prediction).  Fast forward to now, when these fuckers are on backorder and I don't really know how to use eBay but wouldn't get rid of them even if I did, because what you don't know about these special "freak shoes" is that they allow you to run and drink beer at the same time.  I found this out when our dear friends Dave and Rachel, accompanied by their third and youngest son, Falcon, had inquired about this barefoot running craze while visiting from Salt Lake (side note: Dave is an incredible woodworker and Rachel writes a hilarious blog about food and how hospitable Utah can be when you're not from there).  What you see above is proof that these shoes do indeed have magical powers (and that I am, for all intents and purposes, a fool).  Too bad they couldn't prevent the ensuing hangover.  Buen provecho.

Beginner's (Un)luck

 This is my shitty ass garden.  It was not organic.  It was also not very successful.  Granted, this was my first attempt at channeling Kingsolver/Pollan/hippies in general, but I make no excuse other than I am equal parts lazy and easily distracted.  Plus, gardening is super hard when you're not paid to write about it.  Hopefully either myself or one of you readers will learn from my mistakes.  Here's what not to do when planting a garden:

1. Do not just go to the hardware store and buy a bunch of crap (who really needs two basil plants?).
2. Do not select a location beneath huge black walnut trees that provide lots of shade and danger in the autumn months.
3. Do not just dig up a patch of grass in the backyard on a whim.
4. Do not take weeks off at a time from watering your garden.
5. Do not plant tomatoes within inches of each other.

I don't have any tips for a successful garden, but at a minimum, I would recommend a smidge more planning before your shovel hits the dirt.  Good luck future green thumbs.  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

More like AngASS SnackCRAP.  Surely I am neither the first nor the last to refer to this Andy Garcia's unfortunate twin of a snack as such.  Following a gameful but foodless visit to Charles Edward Cheese, there was a hunger inside me that could only be satisfied by drive-thru eats.  Unfortunately, there aren't many options along the I-276 and 309 exits (not that we looked all that hard), so we had to settle for McDonald's.  Trying not to be a total fatass, I opted for an Angus Snackwrap.  And you know what?  Fuck McDonald's, especially off-hours McDonald's.  What you see above must have been under the heat lamp since noon, onions, pickles, and all.  The half-patty was about as appetizing as a nerf football that had spent some time with a slobbery dog, and the ketchup tasted like pesticide.  To make matters worse, I order an M&M McFlurry, quite possibly the worst combination of candy and ice cream ever conceived.  If you're in the mood for a snack, order anything but this disaster.  Please. Buen provecho.

My Friends Are Cooler Than Your Friends: Adam Curfew of the Utah Brewers Cooperative

I can say with great confidence that 99.9% of the population who didn't grow up in Utah typically associate it with Mormons, polygamy, Karl Malone (who is dead to me), Sundance, and that Band of Horses song that has nothing to do with the Great Salt Lake.  For myself and others who grew up there, the reality is somewhat different.  True, everybody has blond hair and blue eyes, and yes, Tony Danza did get his ass beat by a snowboarder outside of a nightclub in Park City, but Utah is much more than a bunch of wholesome white folks that wear an extra layer of underwear, and a lot has happened since someone showed Mr. Danza who was really the boss.  Lately, my behated state of rearing has been enjoying a fair amount of food and drink press.  Cristiano Creminelli's artisan salamis and sausages are the latest cure for common cured meat, the High West Distillery is making moonshine from oats, and the Utah Brewers Cooperative (also known as Wasatch and Squatters) took home the hardware for best mid-size brewery at the Great American Beer Festival.  Adam Curfew, good friend and brewer for the UBC, sat down with me after recovering from the week-long hangover associated with celebrating the win.  We discussed his likeness to the 'Hoff, why brewing in Utah makes you a better brewer, and the chances of Wasatch and Squatters making it out here for Philly Beer Week. Check it out after the jump, and next time you find yourself in Salt Lake, head down to the brewery for a tasting.

Moral Dilemma

As the baby becomes increasingly mobile, it becomes increasingly difficult to enjoy a sit-down dinner at the chain restaurant of our choice.  Recently, we've caught a few bad ones at California Pizza Kitchen, where the laid-back California attitude that the name suggests in nonexistent.  You're rushed in, the appetizers and entrées show up at the same time, they take the plates off the table before you're even halfway done, and they fuck up your beer order.  So what do you do if the waitress doesn't take the wrong beer off the table after she replaces it?  Is it okay to drink both?  Let me know in the comments.*  Buen provecho.

*I waited until the check came, then shamelessly chugged the mistake beer

My Friends are Cooler Than Your Friends: Kelvin Natural Slush Co.

Stories about former suits saying "fuck it" to pursue their dreams have become so commonplace these days that it was only a matter of time before the protagonist would turn out to be a long lost college buddy, so it came as no surprise when I found out that Alex Rein was behind the wheel of the recently opened Kelvin Natural Slush Co., a truck dedicated to slanging slushies.  True, he never seemed to be the "company man" type.  In college, we broke bread over cheesesteaks, likely having a profound conversation* that would ring in his ears almost 10 years later, telling him to bag the briefcase in favor of the freeze.  Since July, his big blue truck has been rolling around the streets of Manhattan serving up a refined riff on Slurpees that the rest of us suits would be proud to bring back to the office (or use in concert with the liquor of our choosing to numb the pain of being a suit).  Kelvin's been well received by Manhattanites, and Grub Street announced yesterday that they're up for a Vendy in the category of best dessert.  Amidst the craziness, Alex was kind enough to answer some questions for me.  I've yet to try the slush, but hopefully I'll get up there soon.

*Actual conversation may not have been very profound

Why Did I Eat This?

 Taco Bell is really pushing the menu envelope. First, they almost kill me with a shrimp taco, and now, they've added a Cantina Taco to the menu, a damn near perfect replica of something you'd expect to be fed as an innocent kidnapping victim of narcotraficantes.  Not that it's a hard thing to fuck up (there are 5 ingredients if you count the lime), but it's still fast food. Let's taco 'bout it:

1. A lime actually does come with each taco.  Tucked into the folds of foil, its freshness was debatable (food additives can do wonders for appearance), but it did the trick.
2. The corn tortillas, doubled up just like they do in the cantina, weren't terribly brittle.  Taken at face value, however, even the best corn tortillas have little to offer in the way of flavor.
3. The cilantro bled all over the white onions, giving them an offputting greenish-brown hue like that of guacamole left out too long.  The mixture was also soggy.  More than the flavor of onions, I appreciate their crunch, which was lacking here.
4. The pork was mushy, and as you can see in the picture above, it looks a lot like the "beef" that's ubiquitous in the rest of their offerings.  It really didn't taste too bad, though.  Perhaps a grain too salty, but with sodium levels in fast food being as high as they are, it's a taste that's hard to mask.

I think we paid something like $1.89 for each one.  If you find yourself at Taco Bell for other reasons (Mexican Pizza, maybe), it's cheap enough for you to try, and there's no reason you shouldn't.  Buen provecho.

Why Did They Eat This?

Behold, the durian fruit, an oversized exotic pine cone full of what good pal Mark Novasack called "mayonnaise with hair in it."  Uncut and frozen, there's little evidence of the putrid smell so widely documented (there's even some folklore about your stomach exploding if you combine it with alcohol), but what lies beneath the surface is a deceptive fruity aroma that gives way to a subtle yet gag-inducing fart smell.  At least that's what happened when I got close.  One would think that the need to wear puncture-resistant gloves while handling it would be enough for you to steer clear.  This was not the case for two friends of mine, who, after watching Andrew Zimmern gag on the thing, decided to have a durian fruit showdown.  Whoever can eat the most durian gets to choose a costume that the other has to wear for 24 hours--at work, at home, and more than likely, a happy hour with cheap enough drink specials to make you forget that you lost the bet after subjecting yourself to such gustatory torture.  Dubbing themselves Eva Pierogi and Borscht Yeltsin (damn creative guys), we filmed and photographed the challenge.  And yes, we were drinking, and no, none of our stomachs exploded, although it would have been really cool and really messy to see that happen. Check out the photos and videos after the jump.

Why Did I Eat This?

At the risk of having a trio of douchebags materialize out of thin air, I went ahead and ordered the Bacon Club Chalupa, thus falling off the Taco Bell wagon once again.  Granted, I was in a drive-thru on City Avenue, where the likelihood of a combination stabbing/carjacking is ten times that of getting hit on by a few feathered-hair passersby than it would be in the brightly lit and clearly exclusive club shown in the above commercial, so I wasn't too worried about an onslaught of douchebags.  I'm also a dude.  I also do my best not to carry a clutch, but every now and again, it's unavoidable.  But enough about my fashion sense.  Let's talk about what happens when Taco Bell runs out of ideas thinking outside the bun and goes back to thinking inside the bun.

The Wall Street Journal, master of the obvious, is only now stating what we already know: people love themselves some bacon.  Pork belly prices are up 53% from last year. But my favorite part of the article is the fact that bacon demand coincides with an increased consumption of BLT sandwiches in the summer (if I was one to write "WTF," this would be where I would write it).  Thinking back, I don't recall summer being associated with BLTs, but apparently Taco Bell is hip to the game.  Let's see how it stacks, er, folds up against what the Journal claims to be summer's most popular sandwich:

1. The crunch of the toast, even though it doesn't get its name on the marquee, is one of the most important parts of the BLT.  The chalupa shell, limp from an extended bath in the fry grease, was a terrible proxy for the toast.

2. The lettuce and tomato were minutes away from being rancid.  Even the smoky flavor of the bacon couldn't mask the acrid taste.

3. Speaking of the bacon, it was diced so small that I could have snorted it.

4. The chicken was barely there, maybe a chunk or two, and not worth commenting on.

5. Another key ingredient to the BLT is the gloppy, oozes-out-the-side mayonnaise (a very good thing).  In its stead, Taco Bell substitutes "club sauce," a watery thin condiment that looks and tastes like whitewash.

I think there's a concurrent promotion happening with the cheesy gordita crunch.  If you're going to fall off the wagon, it's really the only thing worth ordering at Taco Bell.  If you don't believe me, ask the other 2,693 people that like it on Facebook.  Yes, the cheesy gordita crunch has more fans than me on Facebook.  Get liking people, and use your disposable income for better things than a bacon club chalupa.  Buen provecho

Why Did I Eat This?

The Doublicious is to the Double Down what Signs (and according to most people, the rest of the M. Night follow-ups) was to the Sixth Sense, but way worse.  Heading home from a party where I ate more than my fair share of slow cooked pork, home grown tomatoes, and self-cubed pepper jack cheese, there was no reason to subject myself to this, but the perfect storm of a drive-thru and a soundly sleeping baby begged a sharp left turn into the KFC house on City Ave, where the intoxicating aroma of the colonel's cologne (two words that make English extremely difficult for non-native speakers) was the lipstick on an awful pig of a sandwich.  Actually, to call this sandwich a pig is insulting to the pig, so let's just call it a failure.  The marketing materials indicate that the "Doublicious" is named for its sweet and savory tastes, but the only taste I got was crap (singlicious? singlawful?).  It had to have spent some time under the heat lamp.  Both breast and (artificially grill-marked sweet Hawaiian bread) bun were chokeworthy, and it didn't help matters that the "colonel's sauce" was little more than a squirt.  Even the bacon grease couldn't bring it back to life.  The meal is five bucks, which isn't a bad deal, but for the same price, you're better off ordering a couple drumsticks and a side order of headache-inducing mashed potatoes and gravy.  Buen provecho.

More Kentucky Fried Coverage:
KFC Can't Stop, Won't Stop - Phoodie.info
Double Down Follow-up Uses "Sweet Hawaiian Bread" - Huffington Post 
Double Down Showdown: KFC's New Doublicious - Serious Eats

Leadership

For business school, I had my managers anonymously provide feedback about my leadership skills. One of the questions was:

"In order for this person to become a better leader, what would you like to see him do LESS of or stop doing altogether?"

These two answers were my favorites:

A: Pay attention to details so that client expectations are met.

A: Become more serious with his career goals

Thank you, managers, for (a) not paying attention to details yourself, and (b) telling me to follow a career path akin to Jeff Spicoli.  Buen Provecho.

Captains of Industry, Take Heed

What better way to give the middle finger to the upper class than to take the epitome of opulence and put it on a bun?  Whether or not this was the intent, PYT's latest Burger of the Week does just that, adding a few ounces to their always-perfectly-cooked patty, then topping it with truffled lobster and a creamy aioli. What the fuck indeed.  It worked on more levels than there might be at the summer home of Juan D. Rockefeller,* but the overarching success was its balance.  The flavor was neither too beefy nor too lobstery, and the texture of the ground beef commingled with the texture of the lobster like old country club friends over one too many old fashioneds.  The chunks of lobster stayed with the sandwich due in large part to a tycoon-sized helping of fresh aioli, which I thought was a great strategy to handle any dreaded lobster leak-out.  The fries, whose portion was also tycoon-sized, spent too much time in the salt mines for my taste, but I was able to cut the saltiness with a can of 21st Amendment Hell or High Watermelon Wheat Beer.  At $14 for the burger, there are very few places where you can get more bang (and lobster) for the buck.  For all you early majority/late majority/laggard types that couldn't make it last week, you're in luck.  According to Tommy Up's twitter feed, it was so popular that he's keeping it on the menu, and since they're currently swimming in lobster, there's even the possibility of a lobster roll special.  Now count how many times I said "lobster" in this post and take a drink for each one.  Lobster.  Buen provecho.

*John D. Rockefeller's Mexican non-union equivalent, also a captain of industry.

No Se Olvide: El Mejor Cocinero

Check out the Top Chef recaps on foobooz, coming at you all season from yours truly.  This week, we learn that some of the cheftestants are doing what sherpas call "sauce making."  Use your imagination.  Buen provecho.

Top Chef Episode 5: Angelo Cheats on Tamesha with a Duck - foobooz

My Friend's Friends are Cooler than Your Friends: Kirsten Henri

I'm definitely not as lucky as your typical toothless lottery winner, but I am rather fortunate when it comes to being in the right place at the right time.  In October of 2009, I shook hands with a dude named Jayson Tonkon, whom I would discover a few weeks later was in my fraternity after a string of "get outta' heres" and "no ways" led to the secret handshake (yes, I was in a fraternity; yes, I paid for my friends; and yes, there was a secret handshake. Commence judgment).  Since he lived a few doors down, we would start to bump into each other on the commuter rail, and as the "getting to know you" evolved, he mentioned casually that he was really good friends with Kirsten Henri, you know, the new food editor of Philly Mag?  I thoroughly enjoy being in the right place at the right time, and after a brief introduction, Kirsten agreed to meet for lunch to discuss roots, (w)riting, and rockstars. What follows is actually an email interview that was equal parts humbling and amusing.

FG: Firstly, congrats on your new gig at Philly Mag.  Great bunch of writers there.  How’s it going so far?

KH: It's going well. Print is so quaint and charming! We use paper and think about things for days at a time! It's fun.

FG: Now let’s ask some tough questions.  What’s the square root of 7?

KH: Please don't ask me math questions. It's painful for everyone involved.

FG: Speaking of roots, which one is your favorite? You can say ?uest Love if you want.  He’s everybody’s favorite root. 

KH: I do like ?uestlove. 

Why Did I Eat This?

 Ladies and gentlemen, we now have a proxy for the unicornwich that is the McRib. Subway is now slanging a pulled pork sandwich that--when toasted and taken for a swim in way too many squeezes of the BBQ sauce bottle--is about the closest you'll get to a McRib sandwich until someone figures out that whole time travel thing.  While there is no substitute for the subtle crunch of the McRib's "bones," the flavors are spot on.  I topped mine with american cheese, red onion, banana peppers, jalapeños, and mayonnaise. The footlong is eight bucks and I can no longer justify spending more than five there, but at that price point, the six inch is a much less depressing alternative when you consider the fact that you just ordered a pulled pork sandwich from Subway.  Buen provecho.

Shameless Self Promotion

My (somewhat) incessant nagging and bleak outlook on life has yielded an opportunity to do Top Chef recaps for Foobooz (Thanks, Art). Please feign interest by making comments.  It keeps me that much further away from the operable window on the 34th floor.  Buen provecho.

An Irreverent Look at Top Chef 

Photo stolen from Bravo website