tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88541649536907270742024-02-19T09:04:57.556-08:00i think our waiter is drunkeat it or shut upMichael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-83246324357923234152012-11-29T18:57:00.000-08:002012-11-29T18:59:33.931-08:00dear sanchez<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Finally, I have an opportunity to answer your letters. Thanks for the submissions, keep them coming! A quick update: Michael dragged me to his family Thanksgiving. <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/07/sanchez-star-system.html" target="_blank">It didn't offend me</a> and we got to make pie. Michael's dad picked a fight with me about politics, and I had to shut down the conversation by screaming, "HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT ME TO VOTE FOR A MAN WHO DOESN'T DRINK!?"<br />
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-S.L.S.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Dear Sanchez:<br />How do I get to enjoy holiday parties, drink, eat and be merry without gaining weight?<br />Packs On Pounds</b></i></blockquote>
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Here are a few options for you, POP:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Instead of a toothbrush or a finger. </td></tr>
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How about the ultimate party room: Classical Roman-style vomitorium? I'll admit that it is a myth that Romans actually had a room where they would barf simply to be able to go on eating and drinking, but like most things Roman, it's the myths we recall. So hang out with your wang out (of your toga)! Party like it's C.E. 99! Simply line your bathtub with a heavy-duty plastic covering or tarpaulin. For a festive touch, provide candy canes as gag-stimulators. Word to the wise: consider how anything you serve will look in the vomitorium. You may want to avoid seven-layer dip. Hire your neighbor's kid to clean it up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonny Moocher</td></tr>
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Option 2: Eat smaller portions and drink responsi.... I can't even finish that sentence without barfing. Let's say that option two is to start hooking up with people who like really fat people (they're called <i>chubby chasers</i> or <i>chasers</i> for short, in case you were curious, POP) and give up trying to maintain your weight. The holiday season is figuratively Christmas for chasers, since everyone gets just a little bloated from excess. Get into it!<br />
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Option three is inspired by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348">Michael</a>, who is famously cheap. Instead of buying groceries or spending money on food, Michael subsists on PBRs and tap-water, eating only when he's invited to parties. You should see him clean out a guacamole bowl, even I find it impressive. So the other option is to basically starve yourself and only eat when you attend parties. Michael seems to think it saves money, but it's costing him friends who notice that he doesn't bring wine or anything to share. So don't forget to bring something. I recommend a jello mold.<br />
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<i><b>Hi Sanchez,<br />What is the best way to disinvite someone from a party?<br />Cornered And Forced To Invite a Douche</b></i></blockquote>
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Thanks for letting me tackle your etiquette question, CAFTID. Usually Michael answers these, but I'm guessing I'll have better advice for you. I have to first advise you that you are not the brightest bulb in the box since you have <b>already invited</b> this person. I would really rather be answering the question "how do I avoid stupidly giving out an invitation to someone I don't want at my party." That's easy: just say no.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5-kT3YMU6VQGm6-FN6v5dn7unE9mnYNNqvhkr18guDrn3m1VfBA1IkdAI1tAkS28UJAje2of_8Mm_uAKlBNs83H49p4PGNBC-LTf9Rq4qHhCOjOjMdCCJarJ1u8tk-m9_ipZ8AvhDvCL/s1600/NO.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5-kT3YMU6VQGm6-FN6v5dn7unE9mnYNNqvhkr18guDrn3m1VfBA1IkdAI1tAkS28UJAje2of_8Mm_uAKlBNs83H49p4PGNBC-LTf9Rq4qHhCOjOjMdCCJarJ1u8tk-m9_ipZ8AvhDvCL/s320/NO.png" width="320" /></a>Given that you have <i>already</i> made a terrible mistake, it's important to determine exactly why you don't want this person at your party. Do you hate this person's guts and pretend to be their friend in person? Will their presence cause an awkward social situation, like getting two exes together? Or do they simply, literally stink. There's no one way to disinvite someone, each situation has it's own nuance, but here are some simple guidelines:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How rude!"</td></tr>
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1) <b>Don't be nice.</b> Nice is what got you into this mess. Be mean, and don't be afraid to go for the jugular. Avoid racial slurs, but bombs away with character assassination. In the case of avoiding awkward social situations, just put it out there, "Yeah, Dad, I don't think you should come to Christmas since you totally boned my mother-in-law and she's going to be there."<br />
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2) <b>Make excuses.</b> "My studio can't fit more than four people at a time, I'm so sorry." "I'm so daft, I miscounted and only ordered enough catering for 250 people and unfortunately you're number 251, next time, hun?" "Oh, didn't you hear? We had the cancel the party because my dog got crabs." "I just can't help that the elevator capacity is too low for you to ride up." As with any good lying, cover your tracks and make sure no one gives you away on Facebook.<br />
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3) <b>Have someone else break the news.</b> Find a naturally aggressive friend who loves the look of disappointment on peoples' faces. If you don't have such a friend, try to find someone willing to file a restraining order on your unwanted invitee, or invite someone who already has a restraining order against them. This is a perfect situation because you don't end up looking like a total dick.<br />
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4) <b>Move the party.</b> A last-minute change in venue can work, however you mustn't let anyone find out until the last minute. This is a risky move, especially if the object of your avoidance is getting a ride with other guests. In that case, you'll have to sacrifice those other guests, too.<br />
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5) <b>Cancel.</b> Start over, and don't make the same mistake again, CAFID!<br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-size: x-small;">Submit your food and drink related questions to Sanchez (<a href="mailto:thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com">thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com</a>) and all of your modern etiquette questions to Michael (<a href="mailto:espinozma@gmail.com">espinozma@gmail.com</a>).</span>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-41448312601088535712012-11-16T17:18:00.002-08:002012-11-16T17:18:29.532-08:00thanksgiving is comingThanksgiving involves some major-league cooking and party hosting. Even though various products have made the holiday meal a little easier (canned- and instant-, etc.), there are still some hurdles to jump over. For the uninitiated, or those of us who are a little rusty, I have a few common mistakes to avoid.<br />
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Getting Drunk<br />
Most of my holiday disasters involve drinking. I'm not talking about a drunk grandma who can't keep her top on, that's just bound to happen. I'm talking about having enough booze to last the day. I am borrowing some fantastic advice from John Cheese at <a href="http://www.cracked.com/blog/5-thanksgiving-disasters-youre-probably-not-prepared-for/">cracked.com</a>, "plan out what you think you need, then triple that order." If you've been to some of the family thanksgivings I've seen, you're just going to have to expect that everything is going to turn into a shit-show.<br />
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Cooks<br />
Choose the least boozy of your relatives to supervise meal preparation. Everyone might love Aunt Linda's famous margarita pool parties, but we all know that the kitchen apron quip, "I cook with wine, sometimes it even goes in the food" was written about her. That is why, while she's welcome you help out in the kitchen (maybe keep her away from knives), you should choose your newly sober uncle or your timid, mousy cousin to make sure that nobody burns down the house. Or that the oven gets turned on. Or so that nobody gets poisoned.<br />
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Turkey<br />
Your frozen turkey will probably come with a plastic bag full of guts shoved up its butt. It's best to take that out before you start cooking your turkey. Plan ahead so you have time to thaw your turkey. If you don't plan ahead, you'll be sucking on raw, frozen turkey instead of fighting over the drumsticks. If you do it right, your oven-roasted turkey will taste just as good as his deep-fat-fried brother, not to mention that roasting is easier to clean up and caries a much lower potential for an explosion. If you like explosions, watch this:<br />
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Make what you can<br />
Stick to recipes you have tried before, especially if there is anything technically complicated. There's nothing like grossing everybody out with the balsamic-glazed butternut squash and sage-scented tart-a-tain you read about in O! magazine, especially when all anyone was looking forward to was pumpkin pie made from Libby-brand pumpkin puree. TLC had it right, at least about Thanksgiving: "please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to."<br />
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Have a happy Thanksgiving from me and Sanchez!<br />
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PS: I'll be taking Sanchez with me to my family Thanksgiving, so I expect he'll come up with a lot to say about it. Cheers!Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-19401085250335050852012-11-08T16:37:00.001-08:002012-11-08T16:37:25.375-08:00rejoice!The result of the election spread sadness all over the country. With hearts full of despair, we may be facing a future filled with whatever canned or non-parishable foods we can fit into our zombie-proof fallout shelter where we will await the Obama Socialist apocalypse.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White ladies sad about Romney's loss, sadness unmatched even when they <br />found out there wouldn't be a new Neimam Marcus in Boca Raton.</td></tr>
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In the mean time we can enjoy a HETEROSEXUAL chicken sandwich at Chic-Fil-A, the country's most popular traditional chicken outlet. <a href="http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2012/11/mitt_romney_chick_fil_a.php">Thankfully, stores are still opening!</a> Republicans rejoice, and take some solace before the world comes collapsing at our feet.<br />
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Thank you to "<a href="http://whitepeoplemourningromney.tumblr.com/">White People Mourning Romney,</a>" the brilliant, topical blog which brought this important news to our attention.Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-31367055287773144322012-10-31T21:23:00.001-07:002012-10-31T21:23:28.741-07:00happy halloweenI'm disappointed that no one came to trick-or-treat at my house! I had a bowl of pastel-colored after-dinner mints and a demitasse spoon. I was going to offer as much candy as the little ones could fit in one scoop. Maybe next year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastel after dinner mints are for all occasions.</td></tr>
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Happy Halloween from Sanchez and Michael!Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-34640771225821331782012-10-22T16:18:00.001-07:002012-10-22T16:32:48.778-07:00tasting notesI recently had my sensed dulled by too much drink, but I still wanted to enjoy some wine. Not to get too technical or talk too much shit, but unlike Michael, I think Oregon wines suck, categorically, and with only one exception: some oregon wines come from the Walla Walla valley. I came to this realization concurrently with another important general realization about wine. To describe this new understanding, I will attempt to describe something about wine tasting.<br />
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To taste wine there are (allegedly) three components to pay attention to:<br />
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1) Smelliness: Sniff the wine and notice whether or not it is wine. If it smells like whiskey, you might have picked up someone else's drink. If it smells like butt, it could be wine, probably from California. But if you are really good at determining smelliness, you might notice that it smells like grapes or like alcohol. It might smell like your uncle Jimmy, which explains why your mom always locked the liquor cabinet before he came over. Wine snobs call this the "nose," since French people invented wine snobbery and they have historically large noses.<br />
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2) Mouthiness: Put the wine in your mouth, and like a classy prostitute, try not to swallow. Consider how it feels in your mouth, does it strip your tastebuds like turpentine? Does it taste like grapes or alcohol? Gurgle like you were using mouthwash (or again, like a classy prostitute) and see if that makes it taste more like grapes or alcohol, like dirt, like dog food, or anything else you've tasted. You are experience what the wine snobs call the "body" because they won't usually have access to someone else's body without wine. Decide if you really want to swallow (I don't need to mention it again), and get ready for...<br />
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3) Swallowiness: Swallow your wine. Notice what your mouth feels like. Does it suck your mouth dry of saliva (it might be from California), or does it feel like you've had a sip of cold water (in that case, it's probably from Oregon)? Spend some time noticing how much the taste lingers. Does it linger like a fourth person when all you want is a threesome, or does it run away quickly like a blind date done poorly? This is known as the "finish," and you should hope for happy endings.<br />
<br />
So anyway, I was out with Michael and his friend Steve, numbed to the point that I was actually liking a certain Oregon wine. I evaluated the experience of the wine in all the aforementioned ways and <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/07/sanchez-star-system.html">three stars</a> later, I was not offended, that is, until I discovered the fourth element of wine tasting:<br />
<br />
4) Belchiness: Burp. What do you notice after the wine has made a comeback? Is it a pleasant experience, like tasting chili-cheese fries over and over again after the fair, or is it unpleasant like you had just vomited? Belchiness is always overlooked because of its improperness but I assure you that wine can come back to say "hello" and this is the real test for a good wine. This particular Oregon wine was holding up pretty well to me until at first burp all I could taste was oak barrel, as though I had been forced to lick someone's grandfather's oak-panneled study from top to bottom.<br />
<br />
So, if you take anything from this little foray into the world of wine tasting, know that you know nothing until you've had a satisfying belch: only then will it all come together.Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-41794438506013298582012-10-11T16:43:00.001-07:002012-10-11T16:43:34.587-07:00put a bird on it and call it a restaurant<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.foodcrypt.com/wp-content/uploads/deadbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://www.foodcrypt.com/wp-content/uploads/deadbird.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from foodcrypt.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've had some interesting experiences in dining and food this week.<br />
<br />
First off this week I ate in <a href="http://lepigeon.com/">a very expensive restaurant named after a type of bird</a>. After I got over the name, I marveled at the whimsy of a beef tartare with fried oysters then later, fois gras profiteroles. It didn't offend me. Michael can't stop talking about it, probably to make friends with other needlessly pretentious Portland foodie hipsters.<br />
<br />
Later in the week I heard an argument about how to make a menu more vegetarian/vegan/gluten-free. I'm new around here, and I don't want to come off as an asshole before I inevitably do, so I stressed and strained to keep my mouth shut. I suffered though it, discovering that if I don't stop chugging wine, I am less inclined to use my mouth for any other purpose.<br />
<br />
So I was having a little meal at my neighborhood spot where I overheard a staff meeting taking place at a nearby table around 3:30 in the afternoon. The meeting was to discuss front-of-house operations, and since servers are often loud-mouthed alcoholics it was easy to eavesdrop. Point is, one of the servers brought up the fact that the menu is "less vegan/gluten-free than it pretends to be." Generally, lists of food you can choose to purchase or not to purchase don't "pretend" to be anything else, but I'll let it slide. She went on to explain "It's Portland standard to show which menu items are vegan/gluten-free." So I don't personally understand why this is a "standard." I've been pretty good at knowing which foods come from animals and which foods come from wheat-germ.<br />
<br />
Here's a quick list of things you should avoid if you have a gluten-free diet:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Bread</li>
<li>Soy sauce</li>
<li>Hayrides</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
And if you are vegan, avoid these foods:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Meat</li>
<li>Cheese</li>
<li>Eggs</li>
<li>Shoe leather</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
These are explicitly off limits for both diets:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Beef Wellington</li>
<li>Happiness</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
Sorry haters. I enjoy a good slice of pepperoni pizza now and then.Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-17555237190503782572012-10-05T18:03:00.001-07:002012-10-05T18:03:46.067-07:00responding to letters<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Dear Sanchez: </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It's friday night and I haven't made reservations, I don't know what I am in the mood for and I don't know what my date is going to want. Please help. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Clueless About Dinner</i></blockquote>
<br />
Thank you for your letter, CAD. Since Sanchez is busy sleeping all day, I thought I would take a stab at your letter. There are so many options, so I am going to narrow down your scenario with the following further complications: Your place is a mess, so getting takeout or cooking at home is not an option. Furthermore, it's too cold and rainy for a picnic or other some such romantic nonsense. Let's also assume that you have not been dating long, that this is perhaps date two or three.<br />
<br />
So, without reservations and facing the first-world version of starvation, where do you go? I say, go eat dinner at your neighborhood bar, or at the bar attached to a decent (yet not spectacular) restaurant. In recent years the profile of food in bars has seen a steady increase. It has been fun to experience, too, since bar menus which once featured onion rings and mini corn-dogs now have thoughtfully constructed burgers, oysters in the half shell, I even found a niçoise salad in a bar. The best part is that you can still get those mini corn dogs! Everybody wins.<br />
<br />
I am not praising new bar food without a better purpose. Hopefully you'll choose a popular watering hole with a decent Friday-night crowd. On your date your will be forced to sit very close to be able to talk. Be sure, however, to cut out before it gets too late to prevent interactions with obnoxious patrons and also to be sure not to drink too much. Save getting shitty drunk for the fourth or fifth date.<br />
<br />
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<i><br /></i>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Dear Sanchez, </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>My boyfriend is a picky eater while I, on the other hand, am adventurous and love to try everything. When we go out together, he usually causes a scene by editing the menu so much that he might as well go make it himself. He even pretends to have allergies to things he just doesn't like. I know for a fact that servers and cooks find him really annoying (I overheard some trash talk on my way to the ladies room once). I need some advice on how to continue going out and enjoying new foods without coming away embarrassed by how he acts. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Picky Eater Ruins My Supper</i></blockquote>
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Let me ask you a question, PERMS. Let's say that your boyfriend was a supreme dud in the sack (which, based on your description, I assume he is). Let's say you were really into bondage and he was entirely and staunchly vanilla. Would you stay together? Probably not. Eating is also a sensual experience often enjoyed together. You shouldn't have to give up eating out to be in a relationship, it that is way too much to ask. Also, imagine the future you'll have with this guy, preparing separate meals, having to remember a catalogue of specific prohibitions, and declining nights out with friends for fear of embarrassment. I'm going to assume that you deserve a better future, PERMS, so in the words of Sanchez who just woke up, "Dump the bastard!"<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Letters are always encouraged regarding your dinner dilemmas: thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com or espinozma@ gmail.com</span></b>Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-47220331817873432482012-10-04T15:54:00.000-07:002012-10-04T15:56:07.325-07:00revitalizing sanchezOh, hello there. My name is Sanchez L. Sanchez, overeater, underworker, and critic. I had been working on this blog for some time with my boring, overbearing and snobbish friend <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348">Michael Espinoza</a> until he changed the password on the internet as if to say, "Stop stealing from me, Sanchez. And while you're at it, maybe you should cut down on all that porn you look at." As a result, I found other things to steal, namely his cold cuts, various critical utensils such as spoons, and just as a little practical joke I kind of stole his identity to buy 4 kilos of sel gris from France, but in my defense I did give him a little bit of it for his birthday.<br />
<br />
Anyway, since then, he's forced me to move to Portland, Oregon with him. This is a good thing for many reasons. First off, there are lots of hipsters whose eating habits I like to make fun of. Secondly, Michael is no longer in charge of the internet arrangement so I can blog another day, but I'll be alone in my room for a while. Thirdly, and quite seriously, there are so many good, bad, ugly, pathetic, and banal things to eat here that I hardly know where to begin. Suffice it to say I will be on the food beat, serving it up bluntly in search of pleasure over ethics, taste over terroir, always on my way to the next whiskey bar. Michael will be living the hipster dream, investigating the culture and ritual of food and dining.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A hungry hipster, i.e. Michael's inspiration</td></tr>
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I am of course flourishing, eating pork sandwiches and scoping out the best places for dollar beer (hint: Sunday-Monday <a href="http://pdxrwa.org/portland-service-industry-nights-2/">service industry nights</a>, or Tuesday nights at the <a href="http://www.devilspoint.net/">Devil's Point</a> strip club), while Michael has been fastidiously arranging and decorating his new digs, taking breaks to make a <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/08/crywich.html">crywich</a>, and watching Food Network. Obviously, you can tell whose entries will be more interesting.<br />
<br />
Thanks for coming back to check us out, may many a badass meal pepper your future.<br />
- S.L.S.<br />
<br />Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-7824341926707251942011-11-25T16:18:00.000-08:002011-11-25T16:18:54.696-08:00inspiration: black friday cooking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/jYeDRKB1RXw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>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.<br />
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<u>Mini-Riot Blackened Friday Waffles</u><br />
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This recipe will feed everyone who doesn't get in your way. Preheat your waffle iron over medium-low heat so that if anyone <i>does</i> 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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul><li>1 dozen eggs plus any additional egg cartons (regardless of content) you can carry under your arms</li>
<li>1 bag flour, hastily chosen</li>
<li>Baking soda</li>
<li>Anything else you can grab in a hurry, to taste</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-43336715738853958942011-10-18T13:00:00.000-07:002011-10-18T13:00:54.955-07:00Occupy 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 <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/07/americas-favorite-past-time-overeating.html">eat bacon wrapped hot dogs on the 4th of July</a>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtcboiyfBWWYNQsFix_I4Cuw_Cgq1i5vaqQH77EK2klUr_bzMcxW1BQW21-qLpSpYCIPLl5DnEE28OXuGuJahdHSpb-Q-Inc286jjLhin3UQg7BEEVvWub5DNWNMe0QAshApeYMTrtEQ/s1600/Ninja-carrot-600.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtcboiyfBWWYNQsFix_I4Cuw_Cgq1i5vaqQH77EK2klUr_bzMcxW1BQW21-qLpSpYCIPLl5DnEE28OXuGuJahdHSpb-Q-Inc286jjLhin3UQg7BEEVvWub5DNWNMe0QAshApeYMTrtEQ/s320/Ninja-carrot-600.png" width="320" /></a></div>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 <a href="http://nycga.cc/donate/">donation page</a>, 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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
As a post script, <a href="http://www.peta.org/b/thepetafiles/archive/2011/10/18/animals-join-occupy-wall-street-protest.aspx">PETA has joined the fight</a>, donating vegan pizzas. A person in a chicken suit is "representing the 100 percent of animals raised for food in the U.S."Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-30756067952989624682011-08-19T16:21:00.000-07:002011-08-19T15:25:05.498-07:00other rating systems<div>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."?</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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?</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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?</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-76048019226657969602011-08-18T12:04:00.000-07:002012-11-08T17:45:14.791-08:00crywich<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQg4GbfWJKyucF5GoReQ5SgG6WfhVGvacvE57YflDHkNFK75H7VpLUXmtNFvvUhzBWPm9KYpG40pxArA7WPqtMlPlQOVjdzT8LbXbZj2sAbdFreFphP85vb5JahN06d8Y1WeQAKP8I6x-/s1600/sad+sandwich.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQg4GbfWJKyucF5GoReQ5SgG6WfhVGvacvE57YflDHkNFK75H7VpLUXmtNFvvUhzBWPm9KYpG40pxArA7WPqtMlPlQOVjdzT8LbXbZj2sAbdFreFphP85vb5JahN06d8Y1WeQAKP8I6x-/s200/sad+sandwich.jpg" style="display: block; height: 450px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 650px;" width="200" /></a>
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Felling depressed? Low?
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<br />
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.
<br />
<br />
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.
<br />
<br />
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.
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<div>
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Photo credit Cat at bigfoodfan.blogspot.com</div>
Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-58993694820026551122011-07-13T10:47:00.000-07:002011-07-15T11:50:40.309-07:00sanchez star systemI 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.<br />
<div><br />
</div><b>One Star</b><br />
<div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628901977456777298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-T5nyXfLjVtM_nfBddQNReRiyLUe_fbpnrt2LOstsWYtIpFygOU9JpNx0eJ-nbTZN1Eruc1gjZ371SgLg4o1nb9hKr6px3jAhQ7XtgwPwIKmpY7IO6z5IuBLLQpFZPCFrHHYNvQQ2nGl/s320/1star.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 28px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 33px;" /></div><div><br />
</div><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>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 <i>hell</i> did you put that in your mouth?" or, "how completely wasted <i>were</i> 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.</div><div><br />
</div><br />
<div><b>Two Stars</b></div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628902192214731362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegvtj7MxmunCNWIRt1zDCKbxmcQh5jrchUlcPb95ZdIXczWgv6hZ6vkUXtU5FjwjzDPScum57cqEMzmVIXZTFgiS4XZDzNxEnkc9i7sL_67puLnv9c1WA0c3GRaIf7sOLoBH5TJPS5vJ6/s320/twoStarRating.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 23px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 116px;" /></div><div><br />
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</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Three Stars</b></div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628902498408077314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmWXegIj8N7EfBq2BzH_jqamPXdVOUvO9QDNp58aYmVRgVhsPWuXe512I2sJTM6mY6epD44PppToqvwkXRX84pXWuuWQMXoLTa5Y3hPyGFgNB4X3TfTA3glkyW0i3-ckzNop1wWckpo7W/s320/threestar.gif" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 16px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 49px;" /></div><div><br />
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</div><div>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 <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/03/blogger-calls-food-wine-out-for-calling.html">The New American Grilled Cheese</a>. 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.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Categories</b></div><div><br />
</div><div>I will also assign stars for relevant categories which may or may not apply in all circumstances. The most important categories are as follows:</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>Service</i>: was your waiter sober, drunk or trashed (two, three and one star, respectively)?</div><div><i>Appearance</i>: Did your frozen microwave burrito explode, stay intact, or thaw unevenly (two, three and one star, respectively)?</div><div><i>Tastiness</i>: Did your hot dog taste like something, nothing or like shoe leather (Three, two and one star, respectively)?</div><div><i>Condiments</i>: 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)?</div><div><br />
</div><div>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!</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-64423036915072374902011-07-12T13:28:00.000-07:002011-07-12T13:28:41.154-07:00a worthy opponent<div><br /></div><div>I do not recommend trying to cook while drunk, but this sure makes it seem like fun!</div><div><br /></div><div>I think we could be friends except that bottle did indeed not contain Champagne. Just saying.</div><div><br /></div><iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qTyotI3IHFQ?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-944756917066251002011-07-07T11:06:00.000-07:002011-07-07T13:18:01.464-07:00america's favorite past time: overeating<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzX-fBBHs6db2eGqGZIU_gfeGCdldTTUNtk9QidzSVZBmVN0Q89weHGSsml2I4GJf7hRSsZzmfF_V8SA3x78CM53P_pQdrvWGiszhZTrB9PkEUIGDoC75IGj48r2ohX2K5GKGh_qD_55Q/s1600/IMG_3368.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626690014504567234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzX-fBBHs6db2eGqGZIU_gfeGCdldTTUNtk9QidzSVZBmVN0Q89weHGSsml2I4GJf7hRSsZzmfF_V8SA3x78CM53P_pQdrvWGiszhZTrB9PkEUIGDoC75IGj48r2ohX2K5GKGh_qD_55Q/s320/IMG_3368.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">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.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>My day started at the community festival in the park. <br />
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</div><div>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.</div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626690006404791154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje29qRYHYqwRWe0yeoxP_m8te40ttQeHVlGYRgnAfE_ewMmk2W_XVVakb8EqsUaIGXD4opO-TVSmojC1ZswO5f_9AM6cgJh2crrRlMXsiOAzQOl7tQAX_tlWcKnxJUREpHPDz8LmYdjsLW/s320/IMG_3367.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></div><div>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.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-67138323882907376382011-07-01T13:07:00.000-07:002012-11-08T17:43:55.409-08:00the vegans are attacking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hide your vegetables and soy-based meat substitutes, the vegans are attacking! Their weapons, judging looks and indignant comments like "Yeah, so I'm <i>vegan</i>." Lucky for you, they are not very well organized and tire easily for lack of calories.<br />
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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:</div>
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<b>Cheap Date</b></div>
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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.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div>
Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-91952421235662964842011-06-23T11:49:00.001-07:002012-11-08T17:50:08.980-08:00chili cheese dogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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:<br />
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P.M.: Hey! How are you doing? Have we met? I'm Orlando.</div>
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Friend: We've met several times.</div>
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P.M.: You're looking good! Have you been working out?</div>
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(P.M. squeezes Friend's arm.)</div>
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Friend: No. I haven't.</div>
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P.M.: You haven't? Well have you been eating chili cheese dogs?</div>
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Friend: Um, no.</div>
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P.M.: Have you tried the chili cheese dogs at 7-11?</div>
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Friend: No.</div>
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P.M.: You haven't? They're my favorite chili cheese dogs! You should try them!</div>
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Friend: Okay.</div>
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P.M.: Call me some time and we'll go get chili cheese dogs at 7-11, okay? High five.</div>
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(The conversation ends awkwardly. Friend makes an excuse about needing a drink, which was probably the case.)</div>
Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-77695549525618635042011-06-22T13:07:00.000-07:002011-06-23T12:19:24.488-07:00something fishy<span class="Apple-style-span" >Michael devoted <a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/04/fish-simple-and-important-revelation.html">previous po</a><a href="http://ithinkourwaiterisdrunk.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-think-our-waiter-is-sexy.html">sts to fish</a>, 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.</span><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8"><img src="http://cache.lifehacker.com/software/uploaded/2005-07-18/smelly-fish.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 143px;" border="0" alt="" /><div>
<br /></div><div>I have heard many versions of this question, but here are two samples:</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"I don't usually like fish. Do you think I will like this (insert fish dish)?"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"I don't like fish. Would you recommend the (insert fish dish)?"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>It's like trying to find out the best way to kill yourself if you aren't suicidal. My response rarely goes beyond this:</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"The (insert fish dish) is lovely. Perhaps you'd prefer the steak. Medium well?"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>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 <i>did</i> 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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I'm out of words to describe it, so I will quote another food writer, A. J. Liebling from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A._J._Liebling"><i>Between Meals</i></a>:</div><div><blockquote>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. </blockquote></div><div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-42960573825573972632011-06-15T08:07:00.001-07:002011-06-15T10:42:34.137-07:00a reason to sleep on the floor<a href="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/how-to-draw-animals-72.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 330px;" src="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/how-to-draw-animals-72.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />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.<div><br /></div><div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-82112828720050497222011-06-13T13:39:00.000-07:002011-06-13T13:49:22.787-07:00biscuits!<a href="http://myweb.cableone.net/howle/images/BISCUITS.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 419px; height: 277px;" src="http://myweb.cableone.net/howle/images/BISCUITS.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">Thanks to the folks at <a href="http://pinestatebiscuits.com/">Pine State Biscuits</a> for the lovely breakfast! The joy in my heart could not be contained in prose, so for your consideration:</span><div><br /></div><div><b>ode to biscuits</b></div><div>S. L. Sanchez</div><div>June 13, 2011</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Biscuits!</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">On bus or in train, at home or on Main</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> your flaky bites fill up my soul.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Slathered with gravy, some jam or just maybe</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> warm butter which covers the whole.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Neither bread nor a cake (but not hard to make!)</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> biscuits are really unique.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">When you want something quickly that needn't be tricky,</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> biscuits are what you should seek.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Start by warming the oven, get ready for loving</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> with flour, some milk and the rest.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Cut round, square or long, you can never go wrong</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> 'cause biscuits are really the best!</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">You can find biscuits all places, all countries and spaces</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> but please do not search like a rookie:</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">A warning for you, it's painful but true</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> in England they'll give you a cookie.</span></i></div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-28419306237525885792011-06-09T00:59:00.000-07:002011-06-09T01:42:38.880-07:00breakfast in jail<a href="http://blogs.houstonpress.com/hairballs/monopoly-jail042710.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 490px; height: 480px;" src="http://blogs.houstonpress.com/hairballs/monopoly-jail042710.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-56809211809046872862011-06-01T23:44:00.000-07:002011-06-01T23:44:02.994-07:00on dining aloneMake 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 (<i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_229075819">How to Drink Alone</a></i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_229075819"> from </a><i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_229075819">Esquire</a></i><a href="http://www.esquire.com/features/best-bars-in-america/drink-alone-0608">, May 2008</a>).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.esquire.com/cm/esquire/images/CZ/drink-alone-0608-lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.esquire.com/cm/esquire/images/CZ/drink-alone-0608-lg.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drawing: Josh Cochran</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Choose an intimate restaurant.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Sit at the bar.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Pick a good time to show up.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>A book is an acceptable distraction. </b>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.<br />
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<b>Enjoy a cocktail before dinner</b>, preferably gin, whiskey or vodka based, served on the rocks. Don't nurse this drink since you're here to eat.<br />
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<b>Kindly acknowledge any acquaintances</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Have a bottle of wine.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Beer is a great alternative,</b> but pick something with some weight to it like a porter or IPA. Never order a beer which requires fruit of any kind.<br />
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<b>Order three or more courses</b>, 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.<br />
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<b>Practice good table manners.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Enjoy coffee</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Tip heavy.</b> 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.<br />
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<b>Make it a weekly or monthly thing</b>. 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.Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-45259859335851532732011-05-26T14:04:00.000-07:002011-05-27T14:39:04.379-07:00when excess is excessive, hangover cures<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwP2DheWQFCcExANjun2Ai0-nPgq5c8ZApv_Dc7d8XHPCvH2PLXrUwi16flbIOYaXWHDyxfvNXjjIpGJOiQWWhA6DewCSzCGvnyupBrvZWabOvhfNmDDlYGG8XAJD90ARzXq2Lbp-6Vzq3/s1600/DSC03528.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611178471117981538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwP2DheWQFCcExANjun2Ai0-nPgq5c8ZApv_Dc7d8XHPCvH2PLXrUwi16flbIOYaXWHDyxfvNXjjIpGJOiQWWhA6DewCSzCGvnyupBrvZWabOvhfNmDDlYGG8XAJD90ARzXq2Lbp-6Vzq3/s320/DSC03528.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 240px;" /></a> <br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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 <a href="http://www.travelandleisure.com/articles/worlds-strangest-hangover-cures">Travel + Leisure's June 2011 issue</a>.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">The Full English Breakfast</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">The Sauna</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The Corpse Reviver</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Menudo</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">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.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> <br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Share your favorite hangover cure by commenting or e-mailing thesanchezlsanchez@gmail.com.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>Sanchez L. Sanchezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18225828169558348379noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-77898977080811923672011-05-24T14:06:00.000-07:002012-11-08T18:10:51.197-08:00i think our waiter is sexy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyDNk7YiYyb2XY7vsLD8eDFiIdBjUVlPdEv725X4VQrcgB3_T1uGA9QGKuojnp40HS9P-BVph-BfHmP4a9Xq9y6f56y3SyMyZqC_EaVKcoelMb2TPr0YrkjoA7vekB1LKTYQnr6XK5nTw/s1600/Topless_Waiter_Advertising_Photography21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyDNk7YiYyb2XY7vsLD8eDFiIdBjUVlPdEv725X4VQrcgB3_T1uGA9QGKuojnp40HS9P-BVph-BfHmP4a9Xq9y6f56y3SyMyZqC_EaVKcoelMb2TPr0YrkjoA7vekB1LKTYQnr6XK5nTw/s400/Topless_Waiter_Advertising_Photography21.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately, a server in the state of Colorado must wear a shirt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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.<br />
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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:<br />
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<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #616161; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.zios.com/site/">Zio's Italian Kitchen</a> 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. </span></blockquote>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>hell</i> 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 "<i>hell</i>," 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.<br />
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"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.<br />
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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 <i>parmigiano</i> 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?"Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8854164953690727074.post-65604570063112480412011-05-22T14:27:00.000-07:002011-05-22T14:33:32.163-07:00eatso much, peso littleIn the style of the finest <i>hacienda</i>, you walk through the front door looking for <i>señoritas</i> and a little well-lit <i>jardín</i>. Instead you find well-child-licked bars similar to a ride at Disney Land. That is where I had this meal.<br />
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</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRa5H5stfgSX7gMBfHdz3kWD7BBUbQ5eMXFx6xGPPun_4pna1Nb_CcKcPR7yqWgH009HndL_RoDqWXLR7OLVBekKUjY9amAJIlVg5r4zQPf05m7snMuiQZu22qskHuYGTZtnHctn8Yum4/s1600/DSC03186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRa5H5stfgSX7gMBfHdz3kWD7BBUbQ5eMXFx6xGPPun_4pna1Nb_CcKcPR7yqWgH009HndL_RoDqWXLR7OLVBekKUjY9amAJIlVg5r4zQPf05m7snMuiQZu22qskHuYGTZtnHctn8Yum4/s320/DSC03186.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>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 <i>sopapillas</i>. My flag went up several times for each.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>Sopapilla</i>s, 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 <i>estilo de la casa,</i> the house style. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Growing up, my aunt and my grandmother admonished the idea of <i>sopapillas</i> for desert. "<i>Hito</i>, have some more <i>sopapillas</i> with your dinner so you can grow up big and strong like <i>Tío</i> 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. </div><div><br />
</div><div>After dinner, there is a lot to see. As a child, I never remembered the food (save the <i>sopapillas</i>) because I was rushing to the hourly <i>piñata</i>, 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 <i>piñata</i> without my cousin, and I could have as many <i>sopapillas</i> (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.</div>Michael Espinozahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09078127397998747348noreply@blogger.com1