Friday, November 25, 2011

inspiration: black friday cooking

This is a video from this morning's mayhem rightly surrounding a $2.00 waffle iron offered by a Wal-Mart in Little Rock, Arkansas. The clamber! The excitement! The enthusiasm! These shopping mavens must really like waffles as much as I do. Sanchez and I are off-site this holiday in something much more luxurious than the Sanchez Test Kitchen so we decided to use the inspirational fervor of these crafty consumers to offer this recipe. Also, we'll leave the mess for the true occupants.

Mini-Riot Blackened Friday Waffles

This recipe will feed everyone who doesn't get in your way. Preheat your waffle iron over medium-low heat so that if anyone does get in your way, they will get a waffle-patterened impression on their face which might dissuade them from coming between you and your waffle again. It's useful to have an accomplice/cart-opperator/shover/consumer artist with strong knees and elbows, though if you are confident and hungry, you can do this yourself.


  • 1 dozen eggs plus any additional egg cartons (regardless of content) you can carry under your arms
  • 1 bag flour, hastily chosen
  • Baking soda
  • Anything else you can grab in a hurry, to taste


Crack an egg from every carton you acquire and declare, "It was mine first, see I broke this egg, it's mine!" Lick the outside of the flour bag and the baking soda can in front of anyone else who would have thought about taking them from you. Hide anything else you can grab in a hurry down your pants, just in case anyone else might try to grab it. Alternately, stake out a Tostitos® display behind which to hide anything else you can grab. Combine.

Not only have you now made the perfect waffle batter, but you have also ensured that you and your family will enjoy The Best Christmas Ever. Revel in the satisfaction that you have made everyone's dreams come true, overcook your waffles, and enjoy. For the perfect waffle, store your waffle iron in a place where you will never find it or use it again. Enjoy!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Occupy Wall Street, Vegans!

Okay, so I have made a commitment to preserve the rights of vegans and vegetarians everywhere to eat what they like, as I would hope they'd also allow me the right to eat bacon wrapped hot dogs on the 4th of July. Anyway, what I can't figure out is what all this Occupy Wall Street stuff is all about and how the vegans have mustered enough energy to participate.

So I'm with it enough to understand that meat is too inexpensive for the environmental costs, that its price is understated due to government corn subsidies, and that the entity benefitting from these subsidies is not the farmer or the consumer (or the government) but the industrial-scale food production machine. But I don't really pay attention to politics.

Anyway, the Occupy Wall Street general assembly is asking for donations. You can contribute money, showers and laundry services and of course, food. On their donation page, they identify eateries from which you can order food for occupants. You can order from Panini & Co. at 115 Broadway in Manhattan, but note: "Please try to focus on vegan and vegetarian options..." So I'm not exactly a puppet for big business nor do I stand with the 1%, but really? Order your own damn vegan panini.

All foods are not created equal, but it is a privilege to demand which foods you will and will not eat. But gosh darn it, I'm hungry for a vegan panini now!

As a post script, PETA has joined the fight, donating vegan pizzas. A person in a chicken suit is "representing the 100 percent of animals raised for food in the U.S."

Friday, August 19, 2011

other rating systems

I have never been the the Chili's in Los Banos, California, so I don't know who to trust. Should I trust Pablo C. who reviews, "This place is awesome I go there on a regular love the food and drinks. Great service and friendly waiters."? Or is it the insightful criticism from Mia K. I should be heeding when she writes, "Nothing impressive here, just your regular Chili's. Drinks are alright, food is okay. As always, there is plenty left over to take home. The awesome blossom didn't seem too awesome at this location though, it was a little more oily than usual. The place was pretty empty for a Saturday night, yet the service was still a little slow. Probably not coming back."?

Or take ratings for the Alhambra, CA Applebee's. Vanessa L. chimes in, "I'd go with the Spinach & Artichoke Dip and Classic BBQ Wings. From what I see the cheeseburger sliders, mozzarella sticks, etc are pretty good, too! I'd only come for happy hour because it's the best!" Hard to believe, Vanessa, since right before your comment Amelia J. bemoans, "idk, i didn't really like it, and i will definitely not be going back." What to do, really? Who to trust?

I will be writing impassioned letters to yelp.com over the upcoming weeks to enlist the S.S.S. (Sanchez Star System) because, really, isn't it all mostly offensive?

Thursday, August 18, 2011

crywich


Felling depressed? Low?

Perhaps it's too early in the day for a drink or the pharmacy won't be open until Monday. It's no problem with a crywich. I recently broke my Margaritaville® margarita maker, so I sought out a sandwich and proceeded to cry.

A crywich isn't simple. There are some very important rules you must follow to find the perfect crywich. First of all, you can't just eat your favorite sandwich. If a crywich was that simple, I would have been eating ham and swiss on a baguette with butter and mustard in no time. You must avoid favorites in exchange for second-tier sandwich fixings. Instead of ham, for instance, I might have roast beef. That baguette? Multigrain sliced bread. Mustard and butter? No. Mayonaise. I don't dislike any of these substitutes, but they are not my favorites.

Certain elements are always appropriate for a crywich since they are solitarily depressing: hard-boiled eggs, Wonderbread, sweet pickles, American cheese singles, iceberg lettuce and "creamy" horseradish. Again, there's nothing inherently bad about any of these foods. In fact I love them all. The fact is that they are the red-headed step-cousins of more delicious substitutes. Choose at least one of these items for the perfect crywich.

A crywich is a cry-aid. Beyond whatever trauma you are experiencing at the moment (you ran out of gin or they cancelled the TV program you just caught up to on Netflix), a crywich is intended to make you think, "God! this sandwich makes me want to cry even more." Take a bite carefully because eating while crying can be dangerous, though you probably won't care. Just remember that a crywich is usually a suitable alternative to heroine.

Photo credit Cat at bigfoodfan.blogspot.com

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

sanchez star system

I will begin employing a three-star rating system for everything. Whether I have dinner at your house, get Afghani cuisine off a truck or microwave some Hot Pockets®, you can refer to this simple, easy-to follow guide. If you have a food, recipe, restaurant, food publication, celebrity chef or other food-related item you would like to have rated, please comment or e-mail thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com.

One Star



This blows. Not only do I hate it, but I'm sure you will too. Root canals and Miley Cyrus concerts are preferable to one-star rated items. After assigning a one-star rating, I will think to myself, "Sanchez, why in the hell did you put that in your mouth?" or, "how completely wasted were you?" One star will not apply to items that do not match my taste level, rather it will apply to something universally bad. So for instance, being robbed by a hooker could be considered a one-star situation whereas belut, the fertilized duck egg popular in parts of Asia (from which I have almost vomited), would not qualify for one star since, well, someone likes it. Most of the one-star foods that come to mind came out of my own kitchen, though I'm not usually cruel enough to share these regrettable creations with anyone.


Two Stars


This offends me. It's not that I won't try it again, or even a lot, but my feeling about a two-star item is that there is something offensive about its existence. The perfect example of a two-star food is the frozen microwavable taquito. I'll be goddamned if I don't keep coming back to this item time and time again, but its irresistibility combined with its overall badness makes it offensive. (You can elevate the frozen microwavable taquito to three stars by preparing it in a deep frier, though this is true of most two-star foods.) Fast-food chains categorically qualify as two-star affairs as do hospital cafeterias, places where children are openly welcomed and establishments that do not serve alcohol. My appreciation for all things two-star should be shining through to you if you read this blog.

Three Stars


This does not offend me. The highest praise I can give, three stars mean that I can't find anything about this item that offends me. An otherwise delicious sandwich, grilled in butter with sourdough, cheese and sausage is not offensive unless you try to call it The New American Grilled Cheese. The proper application of butter or mayonaise can be the difference between two- and three-star ratings. Since, however, I am easily offended, three-star ratings are very rare.

Categories

I will also assign stars for relevant categories which may or may not apply in all circumstances. The most important categories are as follows:

Service: was your waiter sober, drunk or trashed (two, three and one star, respectively)?
Appearance: Did your frozen microwave burrito explode, stay intact, or thaw unevenly (two, three and one star, respectively)?
Tastiness: Did your hot dog taste like something, nothing or like shoe leather (Three, two and one star, respectively)?
Condiments: Did the restaurant provide only salt and pepper, many condiments by request, or have a full-on 60-item condiment buffet (one, two and three stars, respectively)?

Do yourself a favor and test out the S.S.S. tonight at dinner. You will see just how many offensive things litter otherwise enjoyable meals. Good luck!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

a worthy opponent


I do not recommend trying to cook while drunk, but this sure makes it seem like fun!

I think we could be friends except that bottle did indeed not contain Champagne. Just saying.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

america's favorite past time: overeating


There is a cult following for many foods, from the obscure to the ubiquitous. My cult celebrates our enjoyment for its foods on July 4th, US Independence Day. This is a day devoted to the appreciation of American foods without any complications or arguments about what constitutes "American." On this day the themes are specific and narrow: protein with pastry (hamburger, hot dog and corn dog), frozen dessert (popsicle, ice cream, shaved ice), salad featuring mayonaise and/or mustard (potato salad, macaroni salad), condiment (catsup, yellow mustard, mayonaise), fruit (watermelon) and vegetable (corn-on-the-cob). Other categories of dessert vary by region.

My day started at the community festival in the park.

I celebrated quite well on the 4th this year by starting early. Ate two bacon-wrapped hot dogs covered in grilled onions and peppers at 10:30 in the morning. These were huge hot dogs, so I had to use a method to get through them. I call this method the "Stuff it like Sanchez Method." While the result is speed, the desired outcome is large amounts consumed. The idea is that you pack it in quickly before you feel the discomfort of fullness, and there may indeed be nothing more American than that! Be focused; set a goal or better yet, start a timer. It will take your body 10-15 minutes to register that you have eaten too much, so set a timer at around 9 minutes tops, but to perfect this method challenge yourself to a 5-minute goal. I finished these very large, bacon-wrapped dogs, piled high with condiments in about four minutes.
Shortly after, I had an impossibly sweet 32oz. lemonade. I listened to a band play Souza marches intermingled with Lady Gaga's Pokerface and themes from George Lucas films. I imagined myself suddenly becoming so obese as to need an electric scooter to get from the Tea Party booth to the Park Manor Rehab balloon stand. I imagined having to keep track of a half dozen children who each want one of the six dozen distractions. I imagined being very old. I became the crowd.

After a long nap I had a huge burger with American cheese. I drank lots of beer until I could no longer stand. It was a great day.

Friday, July 1, 2011

the vegans are attacking


Hide your vegetables and soy-based meat substitutes, the vegans are attacking! Their weapons, judging looks and indignant comments like "Yeah, so I'm vegan." Lucky for you, they are not very well organized and tire easily for lack of calories.
Michael has several close friends who are practicing vegans. Generally, I enjoy their company because I never accept their invitations to dinner. When they stand next to Michael they make him look fat, which is funny. They know their way around obscure, delicious vegetables and often have pleasant-smelling breath. Here is a story about one of these vegans:
Cheap Date

If it was not for the plant-based nature of distilled, brewed and fermented beverages perhaps I would never have the chance to meet a vegan. I'd point to someone walking by, and I'd say, "Is that a vegan?" and someone would politely correct me, "Sanchez, I think she is a meth addict." My mistake. Luckily, alcoholic beverages are not distilled from beef (the very idea is untenable) and vegans seem happy to drink with me. Michael and I were drinking one night with our vegan friend Bradley. Bradley made the decision to go vegan years ago when he read some book he never stops talking about. We realized that we hadn't eaten, and a few friends ushered us into a nearby Italian restaurant. We promptly ordered more wine. Michael and I shared a carpaccio, pasta and something else. I can't remember. Michael and I were really digging the carpaccio and offered Bradley a bite. He declined my offer until I offered to pay for his dinner if he took one bite. Perhaps every vegan has a price, but that bite of carpaccio makes Bradley a cheap date.


Thank you to our friends at The Garden Vegan Cafe in Walla Walla for the unexpectedly delicious lunch. We wish you great success even though I'll still go across the street for my favorite pulled pork sandwich. Just being honest.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

chili cheese dogs


So if you want to pick up someone, I don't recommend this tactic. The picker-up, a portly man of about 40 with thick glasses and an incurable lisp tried to pick up on my friend, who recently went to jail. This is how it went:

P.M.: Hey! How are you doing? Have we met? I'm Orlando.

Friend: We've met several times.

P.M.: You're looking good! Have you been working out?

(P.M. squeezes Friend's arm.)

Friend: No. I haven't.

P.M.: You haven't? Well have you been eating chili cheese dogs?

Friend: Um, no.

P.M.: Have you tried the chili cheese dogs at 7-11?

Friend: No.

P.M.: You haven't? They're my favorite chili cheese dogs! You should try them!

Friend: Okay.

P.M.: Call me some time and we'll go get chili cheese dogs at 7-11, okay? High five.

(The conversation ends awkwardly. Friend makes an excuse about needing a drink, which was probably the case.)

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

something fishy

Michael devoted previous posts to fish, but I feel compelled to continue the conversation. Please excuse the excessive use of simile in this post. Send your questions, comments or concerns to thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com or stinking comment.

Fish is food. You can eat fish. Like the banana, which tastes banana-y, fish is fishy. Perhaps fishy is a poor term, since it has the unfortunate existence as a euphemism for something untrustworthy, but I stand by this statement: fish is fishy. Perhaps it's important to distinguish between good fishy and bad fishy. One is delicious and the other is suspicious. I'll let you guess which one is which.

I have heard many versions of this question, but here are two samples:

"I don't usually like fish. Do you think I will like this (insert fish dish)?"

"I don't like fish. Would you recommend the (insert fish dish)?"

It's like trying to find out the best way to kill yourself if you aren't suicidal. My response rarely goes beyond this:

"The (insert fish dish) is lovely. Perhaps you'd prefer the steak. Medium well?"

It's like trying to walk into a bear cave when you know you do not like getting mauled by bears. It's like asking someone to play your favorite song, but specifying that it should only be played at a low volume while somebody screams.

A rundown on the person who orders this way: not being sexist or racist, but she is a white woman of any age under, let's call it sixty. Her friends are foodies or are people who enjoy eating in nice restaurants. Everyone around her raves about how this or that is so great!, like the bouillabaisse or the brodetto or the (insert fish dish), and she feels left out for the lack of maturity or whatever-it-takes to like fish. She has had one or two great experiences with seafood, but it was not fish. It was most likely un-offensive shellfish like farm-raised shrimp or lobster (lots of butter!) or crab legs. Put the word "scampi" after anything she did like and you've got the right idea. Even when the (insert fish dish) is something as approachable and not-fish-like as fish can be such as halibut, I am still hesitant to serve her anything other than the steak.

I'm out of words to describe it, so I will quote another food writer, A. J. Liebling from Between Meals:
The reason that people who detest fish often tolerate sole is that sole doesn't taste very much like fish [...] They prefer processed cheese because it isn't cheesy, and synthetic vanilla because it isn't vanillary. They have made a triumph of the Delicious apple because it doesn't taste like an apple, and of the Golden Delicious because it doesn't taste like anything.

Conclusion: don't be afraid of taste, and more so, please don't require someone to recommend something you think you will not like. This is a requirement for the home cook, not for the food service professional, your very own drunk waiter.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

a reason to sleep on the floor


I woke up on the floor this morning, under the dining room table. Don't worry, I was quite comfortable. The reason? I was making carnitas.

Start with an impossibly large pork shoulder (ten lbs. should do) and an even more impossibly large cast iron lidded vessel. (I stole mine from a rich person, between my legs and down some stairs. Try that!) Salt the "pork"out of it. It is best to start at room temp, but the huge shoulder I had was standing on it's last arm, so-to-speak, since it had been in my refrigerator thawing [read: forgotten about] for well over a week. Start at 1am. For the first hour, bake it with the fattiest side down at a nice high temperature like 450. After the hour is over you will begin to smell pork. If you don't smell pork, turn on the oven and start over, silly! If you were successful, turn your shoulder over and turn down the oven. Keep that oinker covered! Bake at 300 for 5 or 6 hours, or until someone wakes you up, or you start having back spasms from sleeping on the floor. The most important thing, beyond proper salting, is to sleep on the floor next to the oven. This is how I imagine everyone from my natal food legacy did it and so should I, and so should you. If something smells burn-y or the room fills with smoke or the house catches on fire, you have overslept. Run for your life. Otherwise, you have made carnitas. To check, poke a fork at your pork shoulder, which should shred easily. When you take your first poke and realize that you have "pulled" your pork, keep going. Don't slice or dice or cut. Pull!

Get some friends together and eat your carnitas with hands and mouths and teeth. Or, for bonus points, fill a warm corn tortilla with queso, crema, carnitas and pico de gallo, squeeze a lime over, and you will have a lovely carnitas taco. Carnitas are also perfect next to eggs (like bacon), on a sandwich (like bacon) or in pasta dishes (like bacon). If you intend to enjoy this great and versatile food with barbecue sauce, omit the step where you sleep on the floor.

Monday, June 13, 2011

biscuits!


Thanks to the folks at Pine State Biscuits for the lovely breakfast! The joy in my heart could not be contained in prose, so for your consideration:

ode to biscuits
S. L. Sanchez
June 13, 2011


Biscuits!
On bus or in train, at home or on Main
your flaky bites fill up my soul.
Slathered with gravy, some jam or just maybe
warm butter which covers the whole.

Neither bread nor a cake (but not hard to make!)
biscuits are really unique.
When you want something quickly that needn't be tricky,
biscuits are what you should seek.

Start by warming the oven, get ready for loving
with flour, some milk and the rest.
Cut round, square or long, you can never go wrong
'cause biscuits are really the best!

You can find biscuits all places, all countries and spaces
but please do not search like a rookie:
A warning for you, it's painful but true
in England they'll give you a cookie.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

breakfast in jail


Have you ever wanted to have an exciting meal in a place you've never been, meeting exciting new people and enjoying a foreign service style? Go no farther than to jail! Just have a few drinks and drive 7 over in a 30 and you'll get the attention you deserve to get this meal.

Of course this dining experience is not for the weak-at-heart. You must have a strong constitution, but I've found that the same constitution is required when eating from certain vehicle-truck-food outlets or any manner of "fast food" establishments. Or when you are not certain that the cheese or the bread are fit for the sandwich you make at 2:30am but you eat it anyway.

The point is, you'll have an unexpected experience when you have breakfast in jail. If you plan to have this meal soon, remember one thing: hold on to your cup because they only give you one, otherwise you'll have to grab one out of the trash or trade sexual favors for the privilege of the use of someone else's. I can assure you that digging one out from the trash is much better.

So this is what you get, served in a modified elementary school compartmentalized tray: cold toast (lightly buttered), puffed rice cereal, an apple, milk, coffee (if you have your cup) and juice. Whenever I lament that I have allergies and can only eat the apple, I am glad that I am not in jail. Apparently, the young men who occupy the jail in the morning enjoy going without shirts. My friend, who recently had this experience, only drank the milk and ate the apple. He tried to get some sleep after that but I'm sure he kept one eye open at all times. Or two.

People go to jail. You or I might go there tomorrow. I prefer a life where I choose what to eat, but then again, there are meals that surprise us.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

on dining alone

Make it a point to take yourself out for dinner. Don't approach it as a depressing or lonely experience, it will be a meal where you are in control, where you may order seconds and where you can catch up on some reading. It will only be depressing if you choose to dine at the Chili's in the parking lot of the hotel where you are staying on business. Thanks to Tom Chiarella for the inspiration (How to Drink Alone from Esquire, May 2008).

Drawing: Josh Cochran
Choose an intimate restaurant. It doesn't have to be expensive or elaborate, but it should be a setting which discourages children. If there is a TV there, it should not be on. Go somewhere you would take an old friend, and avoid romantic, date-oriented settings. I like dimly lit settings, though if you plan on reading, make sure you have the ability to read without additional aids like book- or flashlights. These are tacky and distracting to other diners.

Sit at the bar. Taking up a table where two or more could sit is irresponsible. Servers, hosts and bussers will not make the mistake of asking if you are expecting a guest, and it is somewhat more likely that your beverages will always be filled. A communal table setting will suffice, but only acknowledge your stranger-diner companions politely and disinterestedly. You are not there to be asked to dinner, you have taken yourself to dinner.

Pick a good time to show up. Earlier is always nice if you can stand to eat at 5 or 6, otherwise don't consider dining before 8:30 when dining alone. Earlier, you increase your risk of being somewhat ignored.

A book is an acceptable distraction. Magazines and newspapers will work, too. Just make sure that your reading material will fit discreetly next to your plate so that you can read efficiently between bites. All electronic devices should be off the table and left away. Do not text or take a phone call, nor should you wear earphones. Hopefully you have chosen a location with a pleasant enough atmosphere, not needing to block it out. Anyway, you might accidentally ignore your server when they inquire about more wine.

Enjoy a cocktail before dinner, preferably gin, whiskey or vodka based, served on the rocks. Don't nurse this drink since you're here to eat.

Kindly acknowledge any acquaintances with spare words and promise to get in touch with them another time. Follow up on your promise. If you get invited to join a table and you cannot refuse, accept only if you will be a fourth or sixth. Joining as a second, third or fifth will result in forced conversation, or the more awkward fate of the third or fifth wheel. Joining an already large party as the seventh, eighth, etc. will turn into a long, arduous ordeal, and paying the bill becomes spectacularly difficult. I prefer in all circumstances to say that I am really caught up in my book or report that I am in a hurry. If you do say that you are in a hurry, have one course, leave, and have additional courses elsewhere.

Have a bottle of wine. Do not order a half bottle or a carafe or by-the-glass. You don't have to finish it, but it's no shame if you do. Just be sure not to get too drunk since it could precipitate long conversations with your neighbors or cause you to receive too much attention from your server out of concern. Use the wine selection as an opportunity to gain trust in your server by asking for an ideal pairing.

Beer is a great alternative, but pick something with some weight to it like a porter or IPA. Never order a beer which requires fruit of any kind.

Order three or more courses, it should be way too much food but eat it anyway. Treat the menu democratically and assume that every item is a reasonable portion size such that you could eat two. You might have a traditional three course, appetizer, salad and entree, but think outside the box and consider three appetizers and an entree, or two salads and an entree. In any case, always order an entree. You are there to dine, not to snack or sample. You may have just two courses if they are both entrees.

Practice good table manners. It is a good opportunity to be civilized without having to be too serious. A sloppy solo diner draws attention to himself which is the opposite goal of a meal alone. Also, you risk losing the respect of your server, the second most important person at dinner alone.

Enjoy coffee or maybe some dessert wine after dinner, but dessert alone is slightly unsettling. You are not out to congratulate yourself for anything so don't reward yourself with dessert. If the desserts at the place you choose are too tempting, take one to go.

Tip heavy. Even if your service was basic or acceptable, it was kind of your server to accommodate the specialized needs of the solo diner. When you come back your experience might come to improve and eventually the servers will actively make sure that nothing comes between you and your night out alone.

Make it a weekly or monthly thing. You will build a rapport with the establishment and enjoy the perks of being a regular. The perks vary from place to place, but I expect you'll enjoy them.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

when excess is excessive, hangover cures



Although I generally prefer just getting drunk again, I do enjoy reading about the lengths some people go to to erase the memory of when they erased their memory.

A simple side note: the best hangover "cure" is of course to not drink at all in the first place. The same principle applies to avoiding STDs and pregnancy; just don't get down. And to avoid getting fat? Diet and exercise. So though it just needed to be said, I err on the side of reparation rather than prevention as a fat, slutty drunk. That said, here are my favorites selected and adapted from Travel + Leisure's June 2011 issue.

The Full English Breakfast

Substitute coffee for tea and gravy for blood puddings and let loose on the Full English Breakfast. Taken moments after waking up, the Full English requires lots and lots of protein and fat. Unlike the stateside greasy spoon, you will find carbs only in the form of a piece of toast or two, generously buttered. Here's what you get: ham, poached or fried eggs, piles of bacon, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, baked beans and sausages. Variations abound, so use what you have provided it's meaty and fatty. While technically a big breakfast will do nothing to "absorb" the previous nights excesses, it may induce a bout of sleepiness and you will be fortified for a long, reparative nap.

The Sauna

I have had great experiences with saunas and steam rooms after tying one on a little too hard. The idea is to sweat out the alcohol or something like that, but all it really does is shock your body, waking you up, and making you thirsty for water. The Russians take it to the next level, alternating between sauna and ice baths. Hard core. In the absence of spa facilities, a hot bath followed by a cold shower does wonders. Avoid a massage though. I learned the hard way that a hungover massage leads to uncontrollable vomiting. Unless you're into that sort of thing.

The Corpse Reviver

The ultimate hair of the dog, please be careful: it is said that after the forth corpse reviver, the the corpse is no longer revived. Subject to many variations, my favorite version contains gin, cointreau, lillet blanc, and absinthe. The idea is that essences and herbs from orange, wormwood, anise and sweet fennel are medicinal in some way. I doubt it, but I'll take this rather potent cocktail, served up, over a bloody mary or mimosa any day. My homespun version consists of a shot of Jack Daniels, chased by a beer, then a cough drop. For bonus points, enjoy my version in the shower before you show up 10 minutes late to work.

Menudo

Many cultures have hangover cures, but worldwide three elements are consistent: 1) cures are often soups, 2) cures are very spicy and 3) cures contain tripe. My favorite world hangover remedy is of course menudo (not the band) which harmoniously combines hot spice and tripe in a delicious soup. Call me gross or old-fashioned, but I like how this one works. I prefer it to be so spicy that I can't focus on anything else. Taking your mind off your hangover is sometimes the best you can do. Eating and sexing are my favorite distractions.

Share your favorite hangover cure by commenting or e-mailing thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

i think our waiter is sexy

Unfortunately, a server in the state of Colorado must wear a shirt.

I had my first crush at a restaurant. He indicated that his name was Steven by using two crayons to write his name on the butcher paper tablecloth. He had the sort of smile that did not indicate he was exactly happy, but it always betrayed his interest in you. He made my mom, dad, even Grandpa at ease, and there were no hiccups when my sister excluded every other ingredient from something which probably started out boing, anyway.

It's still there, which is actually saying a lot for anything in Colorado Springs, but it succeeds to this day mostly because it has become a chain:

Zio's Italian Kitchen is a regional concept with 15 restaurants to serve you in Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, Missouri, New Mexico and Texas with plans to expand to additional locations in the future. 

I knew I was in love when Steven touched my shoulder, asking ever so tenderly if I would like a refill on my soda water. I looked into his eyes and said "yes." He was probably 20, stood no more than five-nine, was quite skinny and wore his standard apron well. He was vaguely ethnic and decidedly not white. His hands were strong like his voice: commanding, authoritative, determined.

At the time I was ordering seafood just to gross out my sister and seem mature. It didn't work. In practice, I ended up eating all manners of squid, oysters, salmon and halibut who had met the long, cold prison of a year-long deep freeze. I never liked the food anyway, but I ate it. At this particular meal I ordered fettucini with clams, knowing at least that no one would ask for a bite.

This is not about that meal. That meal is the one I should have had, years later, with Steven and Mom and Dad and my sister, Grandpa was probably there, and who knows who else.

At least four years after I had seen Steven, I was was busy rehearsing for a play about runaway teens, but not that night. That night I was nervously enjoying carnal pleasures with my new boyfriend Noah who, despite his apparent patience was quite pushy. I was having new experiences all at once, in retrospect much like a weekend in Vegas. All I remember clearly about that encounter was that his butt felt like firm tomatoes.

I was carrying the family's only cell phone, and when I came to and remembered I needed to be somewhere, I found the phone just in time to receive a call from my mom, "Where the hell are you?" she demanded. "Rehearsal," I lied, "we're just getting out." The jig was up though, I should have known not to lie when my mother said "hell," this from a woman who gave me a stern talking-to after I used the word "sucks" to indicate that something or another was no good. I had used the unlikely cover-story of a late rehearsal to ride in Noah's Toyota Camry to some basement in a suburby cookie-cutter housing development, not far from Zio's, where he ate Funyuns before he kissed me.

"We went there and the janitor told us rehearsal ended hours ago. We have been waiting for you at the restaurant." Frightened, nervous, guilty-feeling on many levels, I said I would be right there, but I knew that I was no longer invited to my own birthday dinner. "Just go home. We'll talk about this then." At home I paced, hid under my bed a little, listened to 80's at 8, my favorite radio show at the time, but I couldn't calm my nerves. On top of it all, I was hungry.

There was a talking-to, more lies, a bit of anger, lots of tears and I finally fell asleep fitfully. Waking up around 2 a.m., still excited, confused and very nervous, I found leftovers downstairs in the refrigerator. Someone had only eaten half of their chicken parmigiano and there was some pasta suspended in cold-firmed butter. I sat on the floor, refrigerator door open, and awaited the gentle assurance of Steven asking, "is there anything else I can bring you?"

Sunday, May 22, 2011

eatso much, peso little

In the style of the finest hacienda, you walk through the front door looking for señoritas and a little well-lit jardín. Instead you find well-child-licked bars similar to a ride at Disney Land. That is where I had this meal.

Don't get me wrong: inside, there are cliff divers, mariachis, treasure hunts, caves, all-in-all it is a magical place. I've been scared, thrilled, and delighted there. I even got to wear a too-big sombrero. This is a place of sheer childhood delight and I will always love it.

So you go through this cattle shoot past the sign, "Eatso Much. Peso Little." Much like the sign, the food is backlit and offensively punned. Perhaps the only choice you are given is beef or cheese, otherwise it doesn't matter. At the end of this ordeal, you have a hot plate on which beans are indistinguishable from enchiladas from rice from queso. Yes, I asked for seconds. When you sit, enjoying the cliff-side entertainment or the puppet show, your table is equipped with a flag that can slide up and down a simple metal pole, indicating when up that you would like a refried bean refill, more enchiladas, some hot sauce, please, or the sopapillas. My flag went up several times for each.

Sopapillas, a delicacy I have yet to find outside of Colorado or New Mexico, similar to Navajo fry bread, are tortillas cut into triangles then deep fried. They puff up and become fillable with whatever you'd put in a taco or topped with powdered sugar then drenched in honey. The latter is the estilo de la casa, the house style. 

Growing up, my aunt and my grandmother admonished the idea of sopapillas for desert. "Hito, have some more sopapillas with your dinner so you can grow up big and strong like Tío Chito." For grandma, this statement was in earnest. For my aunt, I think she liked watching me eat when she could not, after the stomach staples. 

After dinner, there is a lot to see. As a child, I never remembered the food (save the sopapillas) because I was rushing to the hourly piñata, knowing in advance that my older, stronger cousin in his moon boots and Star Wars tee would be the first to crack the thing open as though he could see through the blindfold. The cliff divers wore speedos. If you solved a riddle you would get a Jolly Rancher. I always thought I would discover some forgotten cave and hide there until they closed down and I could break my own piñata without my cousin, and I could have as many sopapillas (with honey, thank-you-very-much) as I wanted. Having returned, having eaten, having pushed through the crowds, I know now that it is just another strip mall amusement in a run-down part of Denver. I'll go back.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Two Buffets


A lavish Sunday brunch, hosted weekly by a five-star resort. Roast of venison. Elaborate raw bar. Every pastry known to (French) man. Omelette bar with the tall chef hats, and you don't wait in line for very long. And salads, oh, the salads! But I all really needed to say was "ice sculptures."

So that is exactly where I did not brunch or buffet today. That is where Michael's family brunched and buffeted today. I told him to ask questions (mostly about the raw bar, omelette, whether or not there was macaroni and cheese), but all he could get was that they enjoyed the shrimp. And the bananas Foster. The APB is still out about the whereabouts of macaroni and cheese.

With consideration to the best cook we know (who feeds us well), we were obliged to pick arugula all morning at her farm. Since it had been quite a day, starved for food and to more or lesser degrees hungover, we stopped at a place we euphemistically refer to as "The Bar." Since we are often expected at a bar, but we may have no way of referring to the bar without being specific about which bar, "The Bar" has a functional, evasive purpose.

This place, an "all-you-can-eat buffet with over 120 items!" features pizza and a salad bar. It happened to be after church, so fried chicken, nacho bar and mashed potatoes made appearances and because there were so many children, there was rarely a solo appearance. I went wanting to hate, but there was a ladle instead of a scoop in the catsup. Much appreciated.

None of us, even though Michael is a hipster, played pinball.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Who knew? Blue cheese and coffee

It was an accident. I woke up at noon to an annoying phone call from my mom who talked about the weather. Since I was hungover and didn't feel like lunching with Michael, I rummaged through my fridge for something to eat. Luckily, I found a cobb salad I hadn't eaten yet, mostly because I decided to drink a few beers that day after I had purchased carry-out from a local deli.

So there sat a yummy salad with lots of meat and cheese, only a couple of days old. At first I noticed that the blue cheese had imparted a medicinal quality to the then stale bread. I ate it anyway. Since I had recently woken up, I brewed coffee. Lo and behold, after I had taken a few bites of my breakfast, I sipped some coffee and had a serendipitous moment. Coffee - good coffee - with blue cheese is amazing! It is an irreverent pairing for sure, but I want you to try it.

I also recommend salads for breakfast, provided you wake up at noon, hungover.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Letters: Gourmet vs. Gourmand, What to eat

I recently received these letters, and am always happy to respond to your questions. If it is out of my league, I'll defer questions to Michael whose pretense is usually uncalled for but at times useful.

"Dear Mr. Sanchez,

I have been wondering lately about this question that is a problem I have, and can you help me I wonder???

My problem for you today is: Where should I eat? lol. but no really!

Thank you for your kind consideration and sharing of your expertise.

Your fan,
Matthew"

Matthew:

It is my general feeling that eating should be done near or in the mouth.

"Dear Dirty Sanchez,

I'm in an irritable state trying to figure out if I'm categorically a gourmet or a gourmand. In dire need of your help.

Sincerely,
Twinky Cub"

Dear TC:

First off, while "dirty Sanchez" could possibly be similar to a reference to food, I am just Sanchez these days.

A gourmet knows the business end of a caviar spoon. A gourmand knows the business end of a microwave ground beef burrito (and there is more than one!). I consider myself to be a gourmand because I will eat anything up to and including the finest providence of the gourmet with the crucial difference that I am more than happy to take pride in the more widely-consumed and accessible options.

To be more specific:

gour•met
—noun
a conneseur of fine food and drink; an epicure.

gour•mand
—noun
a person who is fond of good eating, often indiscriminently and to excess.
< from the French gourmant, glutton

(ref. Dictionary.com, LLC. Copyright 2011. All rights reserved)

Without more information about your food habits TC, I cannot speak to your specific category but I hope that this simple explanation will be helpful.

We are always accepting questions, although be prepared for a pithy response.
E-mail thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com to submit your question.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Fish, a simple and important revelation.

As Sanchez goes to excess to describe how much my food background is bankrupt, there are some basic points I do understand, although I happen to be capable of developing taste as time moves forward. I will illustrate his basic premise with a simple example: fish.

I enjoyed sushi with my mother this evening, which is to say she watched me enjoy sushi while she ate chicken teriyaki and tempura shrimp. I goaded her on to try a little bite of a roll with fully cooked ingredients. She refused saying "it's going to be fishy."

Yes, I thought, it's fish. I respect the various eccentricities and biases that pepper my family's taste as much as I understand them, so understanding is the project here. I understood something so simple and so telling that I can't believe I hadn't thought it before. We all grew up in Colorado. Unless it was brook trout, we never saw fresh fish. Ever. A bias against "fishy" has more to do with freshness than taste. I had mackerel sashimi and noticed the full flavor but enjoyed its freshness. Give the same Mackerel another day, it would be disturbing. Freshness is difficult to demand in the Colorado of my childhood, but now I can enjoy terrific sushi-grade seafood without the pitfalls of "fishy" fish.

I come from Picky people, which Sanchez has had the grace not to mention. Yet. As soon as I can begin to understand why, I will be ready to fully embrace our mantra, "eat it and shut up."

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Sorry Michael, the food in your home town SUCKS!

photo credit: forclosurelistings.com

I am first and foremost grateful for you inviting me to your home town. It's nice! Pretty, at least until you go very far in any direction, starting from any place. He and I did have a very good time at a wine bar here. Oh, wait, Michael is flagging me down, excuse me for a moment...
...Michael tells me that that wine bar, Swirl, was indeed not in Colorado Springs, but rather in an adjoining town called Manitou Springs. God, that town was FUN! And the food looked good, although Michael never took us there to eat any of it. We watched the bartender bring his own food from the joint across the street (The Keg Lounge, 730 Manitou Ave.). Anyway, we were full.

So we were full, but from questionable sources. I have no nose in the air, I'll eat anything for a dollar: put it in front of me and offer me a dollar, you'll be out a dollar. Michael took me and his friend Finneus, whose birthday it was, to a very crowded joint called José Muldoon's, a sort of Irish pub with Mexican food. We thought it could be good because they served a happy hour until 7. So I had to fight a pretty girl for a table at the bar, otherwise the wait would have been 20 minutes. She asked me if I was even going to watch the "Bulls" game, which was apparently on the TV in the bar, with an overwhelming sense of entitlement. At first, I pretended not to understand her, and then I became suddenly annoyed, "I'm sorry, but I was here first. No, don't go away. You see my friend here?" I indicated Michael, who was recently robbed and assaulted with a face to match, "Yeah. He was a victim of a violent robbery. Oh, and Finneus here? It's his birthday. We shit on the Bulls. Bull shit." I guess her pretty girl thing works some or maybe most of the time, but not here. I'm too hungry. But I digress. $2.50 margaritas and $.99 tacos. You would too. Word to the wise, though, they'll always be able to make you a bean taco no matter what they offer you in a busy bar. Mystery meat may not be a risk or an ethical dilemma, but it also might not taste good, so I wouldn't take the risk. I had three, they both had four, a side of guac was $8, almost doubling our tab. I respect the pricing for its deceptiveness, and since it was crowded on a Tuesday night, there are only two possibilities: locals have no taste or locals know better. If you see me in person, I'll let you know which I think. The guacamole had too much green onion and not enough salt and was served in a four or five ounce portion. I would be happy to spend $4 on that much sub-par guac, but otherwise it was disappointing. After we decided the margaritas were more sour mix than anything else, we switched to Negro Modelo on tap. We all ate too many tacos and left disappointed.

Michael says he's also been taken on dates here to Denny's, Village Inn and Wendy's (I suspect all in the same day). Use your own judgement to evaluate that.

I will say that I noticed that the Indian buffet Finneus took us to on Monday for lunch was decent. The only two dishes which contained meat contained only chicken, and everything else tasted better (the chicken tikka masala tasted a bit half-hearted). They spontaneously refilled our naan with fresh naan without having to stand up or ask. It's great Indian, flavor forward, keeping the options simple, so far away from where I live. Know you should go to this one place if you go to Colorado Springs: Mirch Masala, 5945 N Academy Blvd., corner of Union and Academy. But seriously, it's new and it depressed me because it it was in one of the most massive mostly-empty strip malls in Colorado Springs. Otherwise, it was surrounded by chain restaurants.

It's a wonder Michael even eats at all, since his flavor background started here. But I can understand now completely how he drinks the way he does.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

The cocktail that will make you vomit before you've had too many

Firstly, agar agar is generally used in petri dishes to cultivate controlled bacterial growth. A seaweed derivative, it has lots and lots of applications as a food additive for texture. These things aside, it is not food.

Secondly, I do care about waste reduction.

Thirdly, I love a good stiff drink more often than I would care to admit.

But come on! This is gross:

Our Edible Cups re-imagine the concept of drinking, and impart a new experience in the way they feel, taste, smell, and move. The cups are made of agar agar and cast in different flavors, such as lemon-basil, ginger-mint, or rosemary-beet, each specifically designed to compliment a corresponding drink. The cups can be nibbled on while drinking and any leftover remnants can be composted.

The very idea that a cup has the integrity of old jello is alone enough to leave this on the trash heap of bad ideas, even if they are compostable.
And really? Where do you get this liquor for these eco-cocktails, anyway? Can you compost the Absolute Vodka signature glass bottles? Here's an eco-tip: To save waste, just drink out of the bottle like I do.

To order or to learn more, visit thewayweseetheworld.com.

Foods suited for the shower


I got hungry in the shower yesterday (or whenever I last showered) and decided to review foods you can enjoy in the shower. First, I ruled out very broad categories. Pastry, for instance, is very sensitive to moisture so that rules out lots of foods from baguettes to empanadas to Hot Pockets. I ruled out anything served in a bowl: you don't want to water down your soup or cool your oatmeal. Anyway, splash factor makes the notion untenable. For that matter, anything served on a plate is out for many reasons, the simplest of which is drain clogging. Also, water would wash dressings and sauces right off. Most hand-held foods have a pastry factor i.e. burritos, but there is one category that stands up to the shower foods test: fruits and vegetables. Anything that requires seasoning, dressing or dipping is out, so keep artichokes out of the bathroom. Anything requiring a utensil is out such as grapefruit or avocado.

Although I've almost ruled out all food, here are my top three:

Bananas! Be sure to discard the peal where it is not prone to fall on the floor of your shower, otherwise it will create a (albeit hilarious) safety hazard.

Plumbs! The satisfying juiciness of a perfectly ripe plumb is in other contexts problematic. The way juices foster sticky hands and roll down your chin and onto your clothes is never a problem in the shower.

Carrots! Be sure to peal your carrot elsewhere and avoid carrot sticks, otherwise have at it. Mr. Carrot loves the water and his refreshing crunch will enhance your sensual shower experience.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Tofutti: Cursed with more than a dumb name

Michael, the other contributor to this blog, is hilariously disabled from processing dairy. God knows he tries but you don't want to stick around after his last bite of that cheese sandwich. I make fun of him mercilessly since he has to ask for "no cheese" when I'm drunk enough to agree to go out to eat with him. It's embarrassing.

In any case, his dietary disability also exposes him to really gross dairy substitutes. He puts clearance soy milk on his cereal and stocks margarine in his fridge. Margarine. I only bring it up today because he made me tacos. Simple bean-rice-egg tacos. Of course I had cooked the beans perfectly earlier this week and his assembly as you can see was a little Holly Hobby, but there was nothing wrong with his tacos. I'm still full.

Unfortunately Michael forgot to specify that he had purchased a sour cream substitute. Please don't get me wrong, soy products are really great when they're great, but very poor when they're poor. The Tofutti company of Australia has decided to sell Michael a soy product which demonstrates the limited, almost destructive abilities of the soy bean. I generously applied the white substance which I believed (for good reason) was the real thing. The industrial cooks who invented this product got the texture just right, but upon first bite it became clear that they gave up before any of them considered the taste. Sour Cardboard.


Will I let Michael dupe me into another food replacement meal? Probably. I'm a little too hungry to say no.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Make this, but follow the instructions carefully...


The Perfect Grilled Cheese

Best made one-at-a-time for the home cook and eaten immediately. If you are trying to impress someone with your handle on things you ate when you were 6, consider setting up a station with two or more skillets. Avoid panini presses at all costs because our parents never intended to feed us ten dollar sandwiches. The simple secret to the perfect grilled cheese is the application of heat to all bread surfaces.

Sliced sourdough bread, 3/4 to 1 inch
Gruyere
White American cheddar
Herbed chevre
Butter at room temperature
Salt
Pepper
Garlic cloves
Olive oil
Ironic t-shirt
Jeans that cost more than you pay for rent

Put on the clothes because those sweat pants you were wearing since you woke up at noon will not do. Warm a stainless steel skillet. Medium low or "3" seems to be the ideal setting on my hot plate. Butter both slices of sourdough bread on each side. Be generous. Apply just a touch of olive oil to the pan to prevent your sandwich from toasting too quickly. Your buttered pieces go down and get a nice crust, 90 seconds to 2 minutes. Remember that you are only toasting the inside of your sandwich so you are not perfecting the overall beauty, you are just enhancing taste and texture.

Congratulations! You have perfectly toasted the inside of your sandwich. It's time to start thinking about cheese. Think about how much you would slice gruyere and white cheddar for any other sandwich, then double it. Spread the chevre on one toasted surface and stack your cheeses. Add salt and pepper. Proceed with toasting the outer surface of your sandwich open-faced.

While you wait for the outer surface of your sandwich to transform into golden brown goodness, talk to your friend (and if your friend is not near by, call him on your iPhone) about Craft american singles and Wonder Bread. Mention Campbell's tomato soup as you warm something called "organic tomato tarragon bisque." Be sure to have a conversation for no longer than 3 minutes, otherwise your sandwich will burn.

Close your sandwich like a good book. Once your sandwich has cooled for a moment, halve a garlic clove and rub the exposed side on the exterior surfaces. You're ready to eat.

Consider enjoying your sandwich with cornichons. Drink a PBR. Even though you don't have a job, plan on moving to Williamsburg.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Not sure if macaroni salad is for lovers...

What is it about pre-packaged macaroni salad that burns my tongue a little bit and leaves me wanting more? It’s like the elbows (always elbows!) are jabbing me under the chin.

Then I started thinking about Hawaiian-Style mac sal. Keep it simple, Hawaii! Necessarily requiring dried then overcooked elbow macaroni and large quantities of Mayonnaise, plate-lunch-style mac salad sounds like a dream. Or torture. I can't decide for the life of me which!

Anyway, here's what I look for, for what it's worth:

Elbow (yes, Elbow!) Macaroni well cooked, drained and cold
Mayo
Mustard
Dill Pickle Relish
Black Pepper
(probably won't need but I'd add it anyway) Salt to taste
A hot dog with a bun, for garnish.

From the guy who brought us (information about ) tomato slavery...

I pay attention to Barry Estabrook, the James Beard award-winning Journalist who wrote the March 2009 Gourmet article "Politics of the plate: the price of tomatoes."


Mostly, I pay attention because I like to look at off-season, cardboard tomatoes and call them "slave tomatoes" or "tomato slavery." They're gross anyway, so Estabrook lends further justification to avoid them by claiming, "If you have eaten a tomato this winter, chances are very good that it was picked by a person who lives in virtual slavery." Read the article if you want to find out more, but basically the demand for off-season produce has led some industrial farmers to convince immigrant workers that they will be kicked out of the country if they do not basically work for free. Or something like that.

Anyway, the news today is that a group representing 60 organic farms, small farms and seed companies is suing Monsanto to preempt being sued over patent infringement. Why? Monsanto owns the DNA in Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs). Should GMO plants cross-pollinate with plants on land where the farmers do not purchase seed from Monsanto, the farmer might be sued for unlicensed copyright infringement. This suit is pressing now because patents for sugar beet GMOs and alfalfa GMOs, two plants with an enormous potential for unintended cross-pollination:

Both crops can easily cross contaminate with non-GMO plants. Alfalfa’s pollen is carried by the wind and can travel distances of up to five miles. Most sugar beet seed—GMO and conventional—is grown in a small area in Oregon in plots adjacent to where conventional and organic table beet and chard seed is also produced.

Anyway, it's a good article, it comes from tomato slavery guy, and I'll be interested to see what happens.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Put an egg on it...

The New American Grilled Cheese, because I'm pretty sure the egg was laid in America and I made it up today. So new.

In the absence of anything fresh or local, I made a sandwich.
Sourdough, sliced chicken breast, provolone, medium cheddar, avocado, butter for days, chicken egg, salt and pepper.

I Can´t Believe It´s Not Butter

This first caught my attention because there is certainly something unmistakably dirty about the term "butter lovers."

I have to admit however that I love the play on words:

KC: He's French
French guy: Oui.
KC: Mmm... We like.

Are you a butter lover? Me too. I just don't need a French guy around to justify it.


Sunday, March 27, 2011

blogger calls food & wine out for calling a spade a clover

An open letter to Food & Wine

To editor:

Since you do not publish letters to the editor, I thought I would use this forum to make a simple albeit impassioned clarification. A grilled cheese sandwich requires two elements being, in order of import, cheese & bread. Other things certainly come in to play such as what bread, what cheese, and other important additions. Namely butter.

You got these elements right. Almost. Thank you, Food & Wine, for including lots and lots of butter in your April 2011 recipe for "The New American Grilled Cheese." You also called for extra-sharp cheddar (a great melter), monterey jack (a great counterpoint) and sourdough bread. The directions are spot on. These are the three things that make a great sandwich, a classic. These ingredients aren't a secret, but the perfect combination makes for just that: perfection.

So how is it New American, F&W? I'm not going to even start to try to begin to define New American, but this is a rustic recipe. Period.

And then there's the real point of confusion: andouille sausage? I don't mean to say it's a garnish or a fat component in the pan, F&W published a recipe for the New American Grilled Cheese with sausage. They meant to say "The New American Sausage Sandwich with Cheese." Get it right.

Importantly, it is not to say that I would not eat this sandwich. The saturated fat content must be through the roof therefore I want it all the time. Just don't mess with my grilled cheese. I need it.

I think our waiter is drunk...

He seems a little too enthusiastic. Besides, I'm feeling more drunk every time he talks.

No holds barred food criticism and lust. Eat it or shut up.