The Szechuan and the Ecstasy

“Hey, I think you’re eating my food.””Huh? No, this is Szechuan.””You sure?””Screw it. Let’s just share both of them.”

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how it began. We tried ordering from a new place, only to be completely confounded as to whose food was whose once the food arrived. I ordered fried tofu with vegetables, and Chris ordered tofu Szechuan style. The two items that were delvered were fried tofu with celery and carrots, and non-fried tofu with peas and peppers. But which was which?

Step One: Google It.

Inconclusive. The only thing the internet could agree on was that Szechuan is spicy. As for which vegetables should or shouldn’t accompany the tofu, who knew? American Chinese food itself is an invention of time and regional tastes. Hell, fortune cookies are actually Japanese. (Enterprising Chinese restaurants took over the idea of the cookie during WWII when Japanese people were rounded up and put into camps. Lemons into lemonade, y’all.)

Step Two: Call the restaurant.

By the time Google had settled nothing, the trash talk had already begun and it had already been decided that the loser of what was now a bet would pay for the next order of Chinese food and owe the winner a 10-minute massage (8 minutes normal, 2 minutes “fun places”). This was serious.

“The tofu in your Szechuan…is that fried? I see…” (Chris is smiling at me with what I call his “shit starting” face as he interrogates the lady whose job is to take orders and think that we are insane.)

“And does that come with carrots and celery? Ah, ok, thank you.”

He is grinning at me as though I have lost the bet, but he has forgotten what happened an hour ago: namely that it took 10 minutes to place the order because the woman on the phone couldn’t understand him. The “z as in zebra” part of his address had to be repeated 3 times.

“Dude, she’s going to say yes to whatever you ask her as long as she thinks it’ll result in an order! You were totally leading the witness! The only conclusive solution is to table the issue until we order food from there again.”

We are both hard-headed people who like Chinese food. We ordered from the same place 3 days later. I order something with shrimp so as to avoid dual-tofu dish confusion.

The scene:

“Thus Spake Zarathustra” has been brought up on Spotify. As the epic tympani plays, BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM, the lids are removed. Slowly, dramatically, Chris’s arms are raised overhead in a pose of victory as a dish of fried tofu, carrots and celery mocks me deliciously from its position on the coffee table. I fall to the floor in slow motion, dramatically placing the back of my hand to my forehead in a pose of ultimate failure.

“Nooooooo!!!!” I wail from my position on the floor.”Yesssss! Szechuaaaaan!!!” Chris says, still walking around the living room like a victorious Rocky Balboa.

BOM-BOM-BOM-BOM.

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Consumer Reports: Gigi’s Cupcakes

For somebody who doesn’t make cake for a living and doesn’t really get excited about food in general, I sure care a lot about cake. I don’t need an occasion. I don’t need candles. I’m a little racist against ice cream cakes, but who isn’t? Then again, ice cream cake is still a dessert (if not actually a cake), so it is my friend…or at least my frenemy.

Given my love for all things sugary, several people have asked if I’d had a cupcake from Gigi’s. Jen and I had meant to go, but never got around to it, which was probably just as well. Gigi’s makes different flavors everyday, so there was the potential that I would become like a kid collecting Pokemon: I’d have to taste all of them. It could be dangerous. Like locking Christian Audigier in a room with glitter and a glue gun.

Alas, Audigier did get his glitter (thus giving the world Ed Hardy) and I got some cupcakes. I only ate half of one. See? I was good. Ish.

The cupcake in question was red velvet with a creamy vanilla filling. I won’t tell you my exact words, but I may have compared the filling to a substance that would be expelled by the son of God in a moment of joy. Since the cupcake itself was so soft and moist (this keeps getting more and more unladylike), I held mine by the icing. The icing had a little crust on it after sitting until evening, so it was totally holdable.

After nomming through the red/creamy goodness of the bottom, I was left with a palm full of cake icing. A palm full of cake icing. That sounds like something I would want engraved on my tombstone. “Here’s lies (evil)amy: lover of a palm full of cake icing.” It was delicious, and so sweet it made my dental work scream a little. “Oh my God…I think I need to be alone with this cupcake for a moment.”

As I was telling my mom of this wonderfulness, I looked up the Gigi’s in Lexington, KY. “Mom, you’re so screwed. It’s two streets from your house.”

“I’ll have to check that out sometime. Do they have carrot cake? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Tomorrow is carrot cake day.”

“Oh, well, I have to get a cataract removed, and Kelly is driving me. Maybe some other time.”

“I bet Kelly likes cupcakes.”

“Stop it!”

(Cupcake day schedule is available at Gigi’s site.)

Crimes Against God

There is a piece of cake in the office fridge. Said cake has been there for a week, waiting for someone to eat it. I was trying to not be a dick and spirit the thing away last weekend, but apparently no one wanted it. Now it’s stale, unloved, needing to be thrown away.

Throwing cake away. This should be illegal.

It’s God’s perfect food! Fluffy, tasty moistness covered in icing so thick with lard and sugar that it leaves an oily film on the top of your mouth! How could someone not want to eat this? I don’t understand. No one should ever throw away cake icing.

If you don’t want the flower, don’t leave it languishing on your plate
If you don’t want the flower, don’t take the flower.
If you don’t want the flower, give it to meeeeeee.

That is all.

Weekend: Tenno, Snow, Heston Show

Thursday
It’s becoming clear that I’m going to have to start counting Thursday as part of the weekend, since this is the day that Jen and I usually meet for dinner. We met up at Tenno for vegetable hibachi (sooooo good) and then hit Maggie Moo’s. I got the cheesecake ice cream with strawberries (awesome) and Jen got the red velvet cake flavor (also awesome). My company needs to land the Maggie Moo account so we can all get some kind of gift card that entitles us to free moo for life. OK, maybe that wouldn’t be such a good thing. Which reminds me…

Friday
Headed up to Rivergate to eat pizza and hang out with Mark. Sadly, the visit was cut a bit short when I looked outside at 10:00 and saw 2 inches of snow. “Holy crap….I gotta go.” I’ve done such a good job of not smashing my car into things, and I’d hate to spoil it now. I almost didn’t even get away from his house, as (surprise!) a PT Cruiser is not exactly a good snow vehicle. I took I65 home, in some retarded hope that the highway would be a little better than Gallatin Rd. Not so much. I still had to do 20 mph all the way home, while having the shit scared out of me by truckers doing 50. Honestly, dicks. You’ve got 4 lanes. Do you REALLY need to pick the one right next to me? Anyway, I got home OK and only had trouble at the last stop sign before my house, where I slid to a 45 degree angle. Sweet.

Saturday
Went over to jrob’s for pasta, bread, salad and the watching of Soylent Green. Somehow, I’d lived to be 30 without seeing it. Bad American! Dinner was tasty (and guilt-inducingly plentiful) and Soylent Green was good. I question the feasibility of The Scoopers, but hey.

Sunday
Pretty much stayed inside all day sitting on my ass. In some attempt to make up for eating like a lumberjack for 3 days, I got in some treadmill time and had a big bowl o’ veggies for dinner. Tip: balsamic spray dressing works really well with raw broccoli because of all the little crannies in said broccoli. Just take a Beano first, as raw broccoli, like Wu Tang, ain’t nothin’ to fuck wit. You should only attempt it if you’re sure that you’ll be alone for the rest of the night, if you catch my drift.

I didn’t do goth night this week because I needed a week off and I felt like I should have my wits about me today. In order to make some extra cash for house stuff, I’m doing some light production work for my former employers. Talk about some kismet: I was looking on Craigslist for freelance work, and they just happened to IM me. Sweet!

Consumer Reports: juice, lotion…ass effects?

JooooseItem 1

Ocean Spray has finally gotten wise and come out with Diet Cranberry Juice Cocktail, and they’ve gotten it down to 5 calories a serving. Is it as sweet as the regular stuff that has, like, 90 calories a serving? Well, no. But it’s still pretty darn good and is second only to pomegranate juice when it comes to antioxidants. I pray that this product becomes to popular that Kroger comes out with a store brand of diet cranberry juice, ideally also extending the idea to the cran-raspberry blend. SO tasty.

Smellin goodItem 2

It’s one of my goals in life to constantly smell like a dessert item, and Vaseline’s line of cocoa butter stuff makes me smell like a custard donut from Krispy Kreme. It also moisturizes really well, so it’s good for elbows, hands, knees, and feet. It comes in lotion, tube, and (my fave) body butter. You will smell tasty. Promise.

Item 3

With all of the prescription drugs around these days, they must be running low on possible names. Oh sure, Wyeth scored some points by naming a new form of birth control after an 80s synthpop band (Yaz), but Bristol-Myers Squibb has upped the ante by naming its new acid reflux drug Aciphex. Say it out loud. Yep. Some agency somewhere got paid a lot of money to think of that and, somehow, it got past multiple layers of white dudes in suits without anyone saying, “hey, you know…this kind of sounds like ‘ass effects.'” Maybe The Boss thought of the name and no one had the balls to naysay him. Maybe the people working in the marketing department were feeling a little disgruntled. Either way, it bring to mind anal pyrotechnics of the Jackass variety. Eeexcellent.