Again, that is. Apparently, for the second time in the last eight years, Hostess is going bankrupt. Not that I eat them with any regularity, but such news makes me want to run out to Publix during lunch and pick up some Ho-Hos and some Twinkies while I still can, if the company really does go under.
But really, the point of posting this at all, is so I could make the very obvious, but always relevant Zombieland reference.
Jews have Chinese food on Christmas. I have Waffle House.
As depressing and desolate as the imagery of Waffle House on a dreary, rainy Christmas afternoon is, believe it or not, it’s one of the things I most looked forward to doing on this day. Two years in a row now.
I got a Keurig coffee maker today. I’m on my second cup of coffee now. Weekends and non-working days will never be the same again, but for the better. No more no-coffee headaches, as long as I have K-cups.
Merry Christmas, everyone out there.
For my office’s holiday potluck party, I contributed a giant-sized side of chips and my homemade guacamole. I’ve been making it for a few years now, and all my friends and acquaintances seem to like it fine, and I happen to think it’s pretty decent too. But it was to the test, being served up to 30 or so of the people in the company I’m currently working for. It was during this test that I kind of learned that maybe it’s pretty good on a slightly larger scale sample.
One of the IT guys is Spanish. I have no idea to what his specific ethnicity is, but it’s clearly Spanish. At one point, as he was going through the line, he remarked about how there was guacamole available, and asked who made it. I said that I did, and watched as he took a heaping serving of it, with a fistful of chips. I told myself “man, I hope he likes it,” which was a relative feeling, but applied more to this guy because he was Spanish and much like people would assume of my judgment of Korean food, I was hoping my guacamole would warrant his seal of approval.
I’m finding that for the first time in quite some time, I have an evening with absolutely nothing planned. Nowhere to be, nothing scheduled to watch, nothing planned to do, no chores, self-appointed obligations, no nothing. So with that in mind, I guess I’ll take a little time to catch up on some writing, since National Novel Writing Month is now in the rear view, and I haven’t felt like writing about baseball in a long while lately.
The monstrosity pictured above is an item from Battle & Brew, the nerd bar where I frequent most every Wednesday to play geek trivia. Over a year ago, they came up with this food challenge known as The Final Level sandwich, which I promptly owned like a slave, and have successfully abused it thrice more since then. Needless to say, it was of little challenge to me, and I was satisfied at knowing that it was my culinary bitch as far as all concerning parties, were concerned.
A few months ago, Battle & Brew decided to up the stakes, and a beefed up challenge was put on the table – the Ultimate Final Level sandwich.
Continue reading “Finding true pain: The Ultimate Final Level from Battle & Brew”
Blue Steel says it all.
Thanksgivings have been great since I started staying home for them, instead of traveling. This year was no exception. The destrucity of a 27 lb. turkey, successful Black Friday shopping, and the near completion of my Nanowrimo for the fourth time, all while sleeping in gratuitous amounts. My kind of weekend.
I’m not going to lie – the main reason why I went to this place in the first place was because it was called “Sacred Hogan.” I know in redcorn-speak a hogan is something of a wooden cabin structure where ceremonies are held if it’s a “male hogan,” and food is made if it’s a “female hogan,” but let’s be real here. Hogan is synonymous for one thing, and really just one thing. Which is obviously the god damn Immortal Hulk Hogan. And Sacred Hogan sounds just fitting as a shrine to the Sacred Hulkster himself.
But really, I’ve never really had redcorn food in my entire life, so this was as good as time as any to try some. From the Hulkster’s sacred shrine. In all honesty, this Navajo Taco wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it was far from the worst. To give benefit of the doubt, I’m guessing my tastebuds are all sorts of fucked up and ruined by all the processed and unhealthy crap food I eat on a regular basis, so something so fresh, natural and redcorny like this Navajo taco go a little under appreciated and is construed as a little bland. Adding some salsa helped a little bit, but overall, the flavor was a little light. But not to say it was bad at all, because I ate it all, and I really wouldn’t do that for something I didn’t enjoy.
So in all, Hulkamania would approve of the Sacred Hogan. Brother.
Let’s see, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, egg, chorizo, ham, sausage, and pork. The Del Ray.
Getting to Torta de la Reyes involves driving down a sketchy stretch of a redcorn road called Indian School Road, where you have to pass like 20 redcorn businesses, several sketchy strip joints, chop shops, and imigracion offices, but this sandwich made it worth it. The entire place was entirely Mexican, but nobody seemed to notice white boy and chino wandering in to sample some of their foods. Our waitress even addressed us in Spanish, before I had to bust out “no habla Espanol” before she switched to English.
The ironic thing is that this restaurant’s other location had the sandwich that was twice the price, and probably twice the size of this monstrosity that I initially scoffed at not being able to get. The best analogy for this beast of a sandwich and how it dominated both Huzzard and myself is that we both thought we could take Shredder, but instead this Krang of a sandwich kept beating our ass, and we never even got to lay eyes on Shredder when the day was over.
It was a truly delicious sandwich, but I couldn’t finish it. Granted, we had only eaten three hours prior, but even on a hungry, empty stomach, I don’t know if I would have been able to tackle this entirely. Not to mention the absurd side of fries.
