johnny0 is my hero for teaching me the way of bacolicio.us

Here is what I’m doing this weekend:

http://bacolicio.us/http://flickr.com/photos/bryanbope/1594367456/sizes/l/

When I’m not adding bacon to people’s pictures of vegetarian food, I will be on Craig’s List, looking for job openings involving placing bacon on people’s Flickr pictures of vegetarian food.

Mad(den) Props

TK and I placed prop bets on the Super Bowl today, one of which was on:

How many food items will John Madden mention during the game? O/U 1.5

Which I thought was funny at John Madden’s expense, but then I started to wonder whether I’m not just the John Madden of my own world. Do my friends and acquaintances bet on how many food references I’m going to make when talking to them? Do people consider my talking about food to be the only tolerable/endearing part of my senility?

Here are the rest of our prop bets, if anybody is interested. Yes, I took time to make this chart. No, I don’t have a fantasy team. It’s just that this was all my exhausted brain could handle working on today.

Coming full circle

Experience the magic. I stayed up really “late” watching tennis last night. Caught myself alone in my room, shouting repeatedly, “You’re a skeleton!” at Nadal. “You’re a barbarian!” at Verdasco. Extreme shweepiness now.

I forsook a meta–ham and cheese croissant this morning at Four Barrel. I regret not having it in my meaty clutches now.

La Quercia

Read this article on La Quercia.

This is not the best writing: “If salami is the blog of cured meats, then prosciutto is the great novel.”

Also this: “A ham-shaped light bulb went off, Eckhouse recalled.” 

Oh, did it? A ham-shaped light bulb?

Anyway, La Quercia is pretty damn good and available at A16, where, incidentally, my roommate accidentally stabbed himself in the stomach last week. (He’s okay.)

*Nervous laughter*

Not actually me, but you know...

Looks like I’ll be cooking at Mission Street Food tonight. I’m a bit nervous, as the last time I remember cooking vegetarian was six months ago, when I took turns with my roommate drunkenly spooning peanut butter out of a jar and into my mouth. I mean, into our own mouths. I mean, we weren’t taking turns spooning peanut butter into my mouth. (1) 

I’m still excited for tonight. Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to see how the other, healthier side lives. And I think vegetarian food can be great. Who knows, perhaps Anthony’s King Trumpet sandwich will end up on next year’s 7×7’s 100 Things to Try Before You Die. (2)

In unrelated matters, I have a very fuzzy idea of how I’m going to moderate this 826 writing seminar. I think I will read/re-read the Pollan/McGee books and Bonnie Powell’s stuff, and sporadically litter thoughts that come to me here, on this blog. Then you, my lone reader, can raise your hand at the seminar and ask the questions you knew I was going to ask, stealing my material and making me look like a goddamn idiot. Why would you do that? Why do I keep using this same joke? 

In all seriousness, I’m very excited about the seminar, and think you’ll enjoy it. There will be good food, too, I’m quite sure.

 

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(1) Although, my parents like to tell the story about me as a baby, and my uncle feeding me at a rate too slow for my voracious baby appetite, and thus necessitating a second simultaneous food-spooner.

 
(2) Along with these conspicuously absent items:

1. #5 combination (5-spice chicken and shish kebab) from Cordon Bleu
2. Male-male-male-male-male-female group sex

New! Seamless Self-Promoting Pants

I’m moderating an adult writing seminar at 826 Valencia. Not adult writing, as in for adults interested in writing, but like, adult fiction/erotica. Specifically, food erotica. Not food as sex toys, but food as lovers. Like in this “banned” “PETA” “ad”. 

No, come on, guys. COME ON. Be real.

I’m moderating a panel on food writing with Michael Pollan, Harold McGee, and Bonnie Azab Powell. It’s on February 25. Here are details. Here is corn.

More to come as I figure out how I’m going to make it worth your while.

Naked Juice hostility

A nude circa-1982 Phoebe Cates approaches you with a satchel of sorghum and wild nettles and says, “Give up your gross, flesh-eating zombie lifestyle, and embrace the vegan community. Only then will I open my bikini top to you and let you plant your daikon in my field.”

It is 1991. Wendy the Snapple lady opens a gourmet juice bar and snack shoppe on your block. The strawberry juice is mostly apple juice. The apple juice is mostly water. The water is Snapple pink lemonade. The snacks are frozen Snapple ice cubes.

You own a sandwich shop called A Spicy Meatball where you have created a sandwich known as the King Me(at), which is corned beef, tongue pastrami, mortadella, pickled red onions, mustard, fuji apples, and taleggio. It tastes more reasonable than it sounds, and it is a moderate hit. A neighborhood action committee posts a petition in Le Sprout, a neighboring coffee shop that specializes in sprouts. The petition calls for equal vegan and meat-centric options in all neighborhood restaurants.

Rick Bayless (1) opens a “chimichangaria” in suburban Chicago. The fried burritos are filled with Frontera Grill® carnitas, and are topped with Rick’s Spicy Mojo. They cost $14 and are a smaller approximation of the classic Tex-Mex dish. They are offered as mild, medium, and picantísimo. Frontera Grill continues to thrive in downtown Chicago. ¡Chimi Chimi Chimi! expands to two locations, but is not listed as one of Bayless’s restaurants at the end of Mexico: One Plate at a Time episodes. 

 

I cannot abide by this. No more concessions. I’m tired of concessions. I cannot fault you for cashing in on your celebrity. You are but a chubby woman who loves sweet teas. You, on the other hand, have talent and a steel-trap mind. Do not soil your name by opening goddamn concession stands.

And while I often think my hostility toward vegetarians is unfounded, there are days like today when tolerance is difficult to muster. You’re not gay for veggies, you just prefer them. You’re not allergic to meat, you just have soft teeth. I can’t omit the bacon from the BLT, or else it’s just a shrub on toast. I never asked for your community’s support. There is a Le Sprout down the street that makes a passable Kombuchaburger. 

I love vegetables, and I love your breasts. But enough is enough. I will still bone you, but my bone will be coated in beef grease and shmaltz.

 

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(1) This has nothing to do with RB. He is a good man, and I love him. His was just the right name for the situation.

Losing My Cherry

Tonight I’m going to eat at MSF as a civilian for the first time; see what all you youngsters are fussing about.

I will be wearing a zoot suit with a fedora and a red, red rose boutonniere. Approach me and speak the words, “The night is young, and I grow cold,” and I will open to you like a bloomin’ onion.

By the way, Beans and Weenies are going to be the sleeper hit. Believe me.

Did I show you this yet?

The Plebiscite reader–inspired Plebitote by Peg®. It’s been available from McSweeney’s for a little while now. Did you write this fortune? Let me know and we’ll get you a tote.

Manswers to all your questions

Hardees Monster Biscuit, a.k.a. Chrisee's Monster Biscuit

When I was in college, my mom got me a subscription to Men’s Health. As the stack of issues amassed atop the back of my toilet,  it started to look more and more like I was really, really into gay porn. Now, years later, it turns out that Men’s Health was good for more than scaring off potential female bedfellows. I guess every year they list the worst foods in America, according to unhealthfulness. My dinner last night, I suppose, was just outside the bubble this year.(1) 

Evidently, Baskin Robbins has topped the Worst Foods of the Year two years in a row. As the son of parents who owned two Baskin Robbins, I am shocked and appalled. Except not really. Sort of explains a lot. The rundown:

1. Worst Food in America

Baskin Robbins Large Chocolate Oreo Shake
2,600 calories
135 g fat (59 g saturated fat, 2.5 g trans fats)
263 g sugars
1,700 mg sodium

Here’s the complete list, by the way. [via Bitty/NYT]

 

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 (1) Maybe next year the Bender’s Burger with grilled onions, cheese, bacon, and a fried egg will make it (fingers crossed)! Fuck, I’m disgusting. Did I really eat that last night? That’s insane. And come to think of it, it bears a close resemblance to the Hardees Monster Biscuit pictured above.