Last night I was sitting on the couch, a bag of Cheetos at my side, remote in my hand. Surfing through a never ending onslaught of crappy reruns, pathetic "reality" shows and a cluster of clip shows. Finally, somewhere in the 300s, I found a channel I could handle. Cinemax.
Cinemax at 2am.
I woke up in the morning terrified. My **** was orange! The channel still on Cinemax, the Cheetos bag empty, I put two and two together just as I was about to call 911. Damn cheesy fingers.
That bit was stolen. I'm not Carlos Mencia, I can admit when I flagrantly steal other people's jokes. What I won't apologize for is my obsession with the cheesy crunch of the joyous Cheetos. A special place in my heart for Chester Cheetah.
That sunglasses wearing, hard partying animal that was introduced to a waiting public in need of something more than just Spuds McKenzie.
Remember Spuds McKenzie kids? The dog in the Hawaiian shirt that loved drinking Bud Light? What happened to the brilliant advertising minds behind that one (hmm... future blog idea). Perhaps both they and Spuds died slow painful deaths from liver cirrhosis. One wouldn't think a dog's liver could handle that much of the beast.
Chester (the coolest thing to ever have the name Chester) gave us a substance so addictive it falls somewhere between the paid-for love of a stranger and heroin.
The simple combination of a slightly puffed corn crunch with a powdered cheese normally only found in box of cheap Mac & Cheese. Yet for some reason it works. It is acceptable. It is popular. Be you a stoner, morbindly obese or just bored, this food can fill the void that you have had in your life since you realize mom was wrong and that you really are a loser.
This brand has gone through phases of body dimorphism. From puffs, to balls, to hand shapes (no idea on that one), yet always returning to a shape that vaguely resembles a log, piece of feces or shalaylee.
The later seeming to indicate that the Irish had something to do with this one. Perhaps in an attempt to finding something other than whiskey to have with pints of Guinness.
Put it in a small wooden bowl, set it on a bar. Let it get prodded at by untold numbers of fingers that have been to untold places. And still, they will get eaten. So good that even the risk of explosive diarhhea won't deter.
Though let's face it, eat enough of them with beer and you are going to be on the throne for a long time anyway.
Nothing can be said about this paramount of snack foods that hasn't be theorized and prophesied by ganja addicts world wide, yet still it must be mentioned. It must be remembered and heralded as one of the few foods that didn't seem to be vilified by the Atkins craze.
Perhaps shield by the realization that they aren't good for you anyway, so why give a f*** how many carbs are in a handful of the little blaze orange shalaylees?
Marvel in their color as it does not exist in nature. Wonder how the creator was never given a Noble prize. Pry open your wallet and spend the extra dollar on the Family Size bag, because let's face it, the calories are going to be the make it or break it point between you sporting a six-pack or a keg for a belly.
As the bard said, "It ain't easy bein' cheesy." Of course, it ain't easy bein' fat either, though somehow we all find a way to live with it.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A Naughty Buffalo in White Bear Lake
Riding on the back of a Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle several questions raced through my head.
First, why is it so hard to find a full body wet suit at 1pm on a Saturday in White Bear Lake, Minnesota?
Second, who was the man that I was holding onto for dear life?
Third, did the fact that he was wearing a shirt that said, "If you can read this, the bitch fell off" on the back make me less of a man?
Sadly, the only answer I got was to the third question. And I don't want to talk about it.
I would much rather talk about the restaurant that I just stumbled across in White Bear Lake. I was hungry. As I was unfamiliar with the territory, I walked into the first place that looked like a restaurant (a patio with umbrellas and tables). Enter Washington Sqaure Bar & Grill.
Just as with relationships (and with motorcycling companions), I have found that the most pleasant surprises come from little to no expectations. Inside was a cozy, fireside bar room. Tables and high-tops. Simple, understated, quite pleasing.
I opted to look around, through a door way revealed that the restaurant itself is split into two sides. As if a large circular bar had a wall fall through it a la The Wizard of Oz. Oh, Toto, there's no place like Washington Square. There's no place like Washington Square. There's no place like Washington Square.
Damn, it didn't work. I suppose I'll need to find another ride.
The atmosphere was unique and enjoyable. The environment seemed laid back. There was a chalk board with names written on it I didn't understand and didn't bother to ask about as I am far from a competent journalist. It looked like a list for people that wanted to buy someone a drink as there was three sections outlining from whom, what, and to whom. If that makes sense. If not, consider it another reason to go check it out for yourself.
But the environment should only be a cherry on top. You need to check out both the bar and restaurant menu. Washington Square proudly states that they make there menu from scratch and after eating there, I don't doubt it.
The bar offers incredible originality for such an out of the way, understated location. They infuse their own bitters, vodka and rum. No cheap stuff here. The blend their own margarita mix and make their own simple syrup (the only way to have a daiquiri).
They have a build-your-own margarita in which you choose the kind of tequila and triple sec. They even have the national drink of Brazil....
The answer is: caipirinha.
Their lemon drop and scratch margaritas include egg white. Again, I have no idea why. But it was 1pm and I had a hard enough time staying on the back of that motorcycle without having a buzz going. Though I can guarantee that it will gnaw at me until I find out for myself.
Their appetizer menu goes from the more common mozzarella sticks and onion rings to a fish-of-the-day ceviche (a dish in which the seafood is cooked thanks to citric acid. Therefore both accentuating and preserving the flavor. Pretty bold for a local bar in Minnesota). Also intriguing were the sausage platter and the roasted vegetable platter options.
Again, all made from scratch unless otherwise mentioned on the menu. The personal pizza concedes that it is made on a Boboli crust. The lunch menu is mainly salads and sandwiches, but the back cover reveals an interesting Mexican menu with tacos, burritos and the very intriguing mole enchiladas. Novias enchiladas with queso fresco. The list goes on and on and on...
As for first hand experience. The clam chowder is second only to the ambrosia at Kincaid's Seafood and Chop House in St. Paul. The freshness shining through in every bite. From the fresh Minnesota Sourdough Bread (one of the four bread choices you have with any sandwich choice) to he ham in the ham and swiss being thick cut. These were not cold cuts. Delectable!
Time to get more experimental. Of course, I don't experiment. The buffalo chicken sandwich sounded good. The fact that they offer either a 6 or 4 ounce (slightly cheaper) sandwich was even better. More options is a pain for the kitchen, but bliss for the patron. This is a restaurant with the patrons in mind.
Just before ordering, my eyes wandered one spot down. The Naughty Buffalo? Sounds... naughty. The short of it was a buffalo chicken sandwich rubbed with jerk seasoning, served with a pile of thick cut french fries.
The sweet and savory taste of the Jamacian jerk seasoning (with the every present cinnamon overtones) complimented the spice of the buffalo sauce. So much so that the side of blue cheese wasn't necessary to balance the heat. But it was still appreciated.
The bun soft. The chicken tender. Making a barroom staple as good as it can get.
Too much food, too little time. Having never had reason to want to live in White Bear Lake before, I only now regret such a long travel time between my place of residence and what will quickly become my default choice if I am hungry, thirsty or just trying to kill time within a 30 mile radius.
I would have had a post lunch drink or at least got a dessert to go, but my ride was leaving and I wouldn't have wanted anyone to think that the bitch fell off.
My belly full and my faith in my own sexuality momentarily restored (I don't know my buffalo chicken reaffirms my sexuality, it just does) I held my traveling companion like the man I was as we road down Highway 96 towards places unknown. Only two questions that remained.
First, In the bar on the north side of the building, how did they get the TV into the nook above the door? There is a water pipe running across the very top of the TV and the screen was far to big to get past at any angle (proves I was there, suck it!).
Second, would my traveling companion remember me as fondly as I remember him for bringing me to Washington Square?
I think not. And I am sad.
First, why is it so hard to find a full body wet suit at 1pm on a Saturday in White Bear Lake, Minnesota?
Second, who was the man that I was holding onto for dear life?
Third, did the fact that he was wearing a shirt that said, "If you can read this, the bitch fell off" on the back make me less of a man?
Sadly, the only answer I got was to the third question. And I don't want to talk about it.
I would much rather talk about the restaurant that I just stumbled across in White Bear Lake. I was hungry. As I was unfamiliar with the territory, I walked into the first place that looked like a restaurant (a patio with umbrellas and tables). Enter Washington Sqaure Bar & Grill.
Just as with relationships (and with motorcycling companions), I have found that the most pleasant surprises come from little to no expectations. Inside was a cozy, fireside bar room. Tables and high-tops. Simple, understated, quite pleasing.
I opted to look around, through a door way revealed that the restaurant itself is split into two sides. As if a large circular bar had a wall fall through it a la The Wizard of Oz. Oh, Toto, there's no place like Washington Square. There's no place like Washington Square. There's no place like Washington Square.
Damn, it didn't work. I suppose I'll need to find another ride.
The atmosphere was unique and enjoyable. The environment seemed laid back. There was a chalk board with names written on it I didn't understand and didn't bother to ask about as I am far from a competent journalist. It looked like a list for people that wanted to buy someone a drink as there was three sections outlining from whom, what, and to whom. If that makes sense. If not, consider it another reason to go check it out for yourself.
But the environment should only be a cherry on top. You need to check out both the bar and restaurant menu. Washington Square proudly states that they make there menu from scratch and after eating there, I don't doubt it.
The bar offers incredible originality for such an out of the way, understated location. They infuse their own bitters, vodka and rum. No cheap stuff here. The blend their own margarita mix and make their own simple syrup (the only way to have a daiquiri).
They have a build-your-own margarita in which you choose the kind of tequila and triple sec. They even have the national drink of Brazil....
The answer is: caipirinha.
Their lemon drop and scratch margaritas include egg white. Again, I have no idea why. But it was 1pm and I had a hard enough time staying on the back of that motorcycle without having a buzz going. Though I can guarantee that it will gnaw at me until I find out for myself.
Their appetizer menu goes from the more common mozzarella sticks and onion rings to a fish-of-the-day ceviche (a dish in which the seafood is cooked thanks to citric acid. Therefore both accentuating and preserving the flavor. Pretty bold for a local bar in Minnesota). Also intriguing were the sausage platter and the roasted vegetable platter options.
Again, all made from scratch unless otherwise mentioned on the menu. The personal pizza concedes that it is made on a Boboli crust. The lunch menu is mainly salads and sandwiches, but the back cover reveals an interesting Mexican menu with tacos, burritos and the very intriguing mole enchiladas. Novias enchiladas with queso fresco. The list goes on and on and on...
As for first hand experience. The clam chowder is second only to the ambrosia at Kincaid's Seafood and Chop House in St. Paul. The freshness shining through in every bite. From the fresh Minnesota Sourdough Bread (one of the four bread choices you have with any sandwich choice) to he ham in the ham and swiss being thick cut. These were not cold cuts. Delectable!
Time to get more experimental. Of course, I don't experiment. The buffalo chicken sandwich sounded good. The fact that they offer either a 6 or 4 ounce (slightly cheaper) sandwich was even better. More options is a pain for the kitchen, but bliss for the patron. This is a restaurant with the patrons in mind.
Just before ordering, my eyes wandered one spot down. The Naughty Buffalo? Sounds... naughty. The short of it was a buffalo chicken sandwich rubbed with jerk seasoning, served with a pile of thick cut french fries.
The sweet and savory taste of the Jamacian jerk seasoning (with the every present cinnamon overtones) complimented the spice of the buffalo sauce. So much so that the side of blue cheese wasn't necessary to balance the heat. But it was still appreciated.
The bun soft. The chicken tender. Making a barroom staple as good as it can get.
Too much food, too little time. Having never had reason to want to live in White Bear Lake before, I only now regret such a long travel time between my place of residence and what will quickly become my default choice if I am hungry, thirsty or just trying to kill time within a 30 mile radius.
I would have had a post lunch drink or at least got a dessert to go, but my ride was leaving and I wouldn't have wanted anyone to think that the bitch fell off.
My belly full and my faith in my own sexuality momentarily restored (I don't know my buffalo chicken reaffirms my sexuality, it just does) I held my traveling companion like the man I was as we road down Highway 96 towards places unknown. Only two questions that remained.
First, In the bar on the north side of the building, how did they get the TV into the nook above the door? There is a water pipe running across the very top of the TV and the screen was far to big to get past at any angle (proves I was there, suck it!).
Second, would my traveling companion remember me as fondly as I remember him for bringing me to Washington Square?
I think not. And I am sad.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Aurelio's Pizza- A Justified Obsession
At this very moment, all over the world, babies are coming into the world. Miracles from God. Results of biology and evolution. Crap factories. Whatever you want to call them, they are out there. In the time that it took to read this paragraph about a hundred more have popped out.
Their eyes closed by the light, their instincts all they have to survive. The instinct to eat being predominant. The desire and need for nutrition. Mother's milk. The colostrum produced by the mother essential for the growth and development of the infant. High in antibodies it is the cornerstone of their health. Hence the term Mother's Milk.
As a man screaming towards middle age, I need to find other sources of Mother's Milk. Although I have heard a sickeningly number of stories about mother's that breast feed their children well into the Elementary School years. Gross.
I found my newest source of nutrition and life in Roseville a couple of decades ago. In a small, nondescript strip mall off of Hamline Avenue, appropriately named Hamline Mall, exists perhaps the single most wonderful source of pizza in my known universe: Aurelio's.
Just through the doors lay a wonderland disguised as a neighborhood pizza shop. A small waiting area with checkout counter. Refridgerator case filled with Pepsi products. The walls are lined with pictures and trophies from softball and Little League teams from the 80s and 90s.
There are a few pictures of local celebrities from back in the old school wrestling days. One in particular being signed by a certain former wrestler-turned-governor. Next to the door is a collage of baby pictures. Each baby wearing a little white Aurelio's onsie. Precious.
Except for one. There is one really ugly baby in the collage. Can you find him/her?
The space seems about equally divided between customer seating a kitchen space. There are about a half dozen booths in a hallway that goes to a slightly larger back room. Every other booth has a coin operated television that has been there for who-know-how-long. A remanent and fond reminder of how long this place has been a local staple.
There was a time when Aurelio's delivered. When, in an effort to cut costs, they eliminated the service (well over a decade ago), the owner stated simply that the people that really wanted the pizza would be willing to drive. There survival since then has been a testament that true believers still exist.
Besides pizza, there are options for traditional appetizers, sandwiches, pastas, and salads (a great antipasto). All are good and worth a taste, but this place is all about the pizza.
A crispy and flaky crust covered in a sweet red sauce unlike anything else found in the metro. A cheese blend with a splash of oregano. The first cheese being mozzarella, the second, as yet unidentified by my oft overwhelmed palate. The simple effort of adding a second cheese instead of just cutting open another bag of mozz not going unnoticed.
Fresh toppings, sausage in particular. Far too many pizza places have become satisfied with the idea of using frozen nuggets that they call sausage. Never settle for anything less than the real thing.
Besides the traditional pizza, there are stuffed pizzas (like an actual pizza pie) and the very popular spinach or plain calabrese (very similar to a large calazone).
The sauce deserves it's own mention. It deserves it's own place on the menu (also used for the pastas. The cheese ravioli is another favorite). Smooth and sweet. It is the only time I have every asked for extra sauce on a pizza. The simple joy of mopping up any extra sauce left on a plate with an edge of crust is a pleasure I don't take for granted.
This sauce that I dream about. This sauce that makes me hate other pizza parlors for not being able to simulate. My desire so strong that I feel the need to go all the way to Roseville just to satisfy my urges.
The fact that I would sell my TV like a crackhead to get a large pepperoni, extra sauce, extra crispy.
But I digress.
The staff has been there for a long time. Some are actually family of the owners. The servers are no-nonsense and are there to get you your food and drink. Miller Lite and MGD are your on tap (and only) options.
It is a small location that can fill up quickly. As far as I know, it is the only Aurelio's location outside of Chicago, a point that they take pride in. This is a place with the sole goal of making it good, the way it has always been made.
It is a little bit pricier for the food. A large (16 inch) pizza pepperoni pizza running $18.50. Don't let the price dissuade you, this isn't Dominos. This isn't some franchise (well, techincally, it is since there are 43 locations around the country, most of which being in Illinois. But there is only 1 in Minnesota) that will just pop up and churn out pizzas, worrying more about advertising than taste. This is a local, family run business that has survived in an all-but-dead strip mall for decades.
There is a reason for that. You need to find it out for yourself.
It is my guarantee to you that if you go to Aurelio's and it isn't some of, if not the, best pizza you have ever had... I will hate you. This is Mother's Milk and don't you dare speak bad about my momma. F***ers.
Their eyes closed by the light, their instincts all they have to survive. The instinct to eat being predominant. The desire and need for nutrition. Mother's milk. The colostrum produced by the mother essential for the growth and development of the infant. High in antibodies it is the cornerstone of their health. Hence the term Mother's Milk.
As a man screaming towards middle age, I need to find other sources of Mother's Milk. Although I have heard a sickeningly number of stories about mother's that breast feed their children well into the Elementary School years. Gross.
I found my newest source of nutrition and life in Roseville a couple of decades ago. In a small, nondescript strip mall off of Hamline Avenue, appropriately named Hamline Mall, exists perhaps the single most wonderful source of pizza in my known universe: Aurelio's.
Just through the doors lay a wonderland disguised as a neighborhood pizza shop. A small waiting area with checkout counter. Refridgerator case filled with Pepsi products. The walls are lined with pictures and trophies from softball and Little League teams from the 80s and 90s.
There are a few pictures of local celebrities from back in the old school wrestling days. One in particular being signed by a certain former wrestler-turned-governor. Next to the door is a collage of baby pictures. Each baby wearing a little white Aurelio's onsie. Precious.
Except for one. There is one really ugly baby in the collage. Can you find him/her?
The space seems about equally divided between customer seating a kitchen space. There are about a half dozen booths in a hallway that goes to a slightly larger back room. Every other booth has a coin operated television that has been there for who-know-how-long. A remanent and fond reminder of how long this place has been a local staple.
There was a time when Aurelio's delivered. When, in an effort to cut costs, they eliminated the service (well over a decade ago), the owner stated simply that the people that really wanted the pizza would be willing to drive. There survival since then has been a testament that true believers still exist.
Besides pizza, there are options for traditional appetizers, sandwiches, pastas, and salads (a great antipasto). All are good and worth a taste, but this place is all about the pizza.
A crispy and flaky crust covered in a sweet red sauce unlike anything else found in the metro. A cheese blend with a splash of oregano. The first cheese being mozzarella, the second, as yet unidentified by my oft overwhelmed palate. The simple effort of adding a second cheese instead of just cutting open another bag of mozz not going unnoticed.
Fresh toppings, sausage in particular. Far too many pizza places have become satisfied with the idea of using frozen nuggets that they call sausage. Never settle for anything less than the real thing.
Besides the traditional pizza, there are stuffed pizzas (like an actual pizza pie) and the very popular spinach or plain calabrese (very similar to a large calazone).
The sauce deserves it's own mention. It deserves it's own place on the menu (also used for the pastas. The cheese ravioli is another favorite). Smooth and sweet. It is the only time I have every asked for extra sauce on a pizza. The simple joy of mopping up any extra sauce left on a plate with an edge of crust is a pleasure I don't take for granted.
This sauce that I dream about. This sauce that makes me hate other pizza parlors for not being able to simulate. My desire so strong that I feel the need to go all the way to Roseville just to satisfy my urges.
The fact that I would sell my TV like a crackhead to get a large pepperoni, extra sauce, extra crispy.
But I digress.
The staff has been there for a long time. Some are actually family of the owners. The servers are no-nonsense and are there to get you your food and drink. Miller Lite and MGD are your on tap (and only) options.
It is a small location that can fill up quickly. As far as I know, it is the only Aurelio's location outside of Chicago, a point that they take pride in. This is a place with the sole goal of making it good, the way it has always been made.
It is a little bit pricier for the food. A large (16 inch) pizza pepperoni pizza running $18.50. Don't let the price dissuade you, this isn't Dominos. This isn't some franchise (well, techincally, it is since there are 43 locations around the country, most of which being in Illinois. But there is only 1 in Minnesota) that will just pop up and churn out pizzas, worrying more about advertising than taste. This is a local, family run business that has survived in an all-but-dead strip mall for decades.
There is a reason for that. You need to find it out for yourself.
It is my guarantee to you that if you go to Aurelio's and it isn't some of, if not the, best pizza you have ever had... I will hate you. This is Mother's Milk and don't you dare speak bad about my momma. F***ers.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Beer and Eating at Acapulco's
In the foul year of Our Lord, 1971, Hunter S. Thompson found himself cruising down The Strip in Las Vegas. First in a huge red Chevy Convertible, then later in a White Cadillac Convertible. His assignment was journalistic, however his quest was for The American Dream.
Whacked out on a list of drugs that has become something of a lore and benchmark for the hipster generation that envied his freedom, Thompson believed that Las Vegas held the secret to what The American Dream has become. Amongst the gaudy pink neon and wall to wall shag carpeting, somewhere, there had to be traces of it. There was no way it could have been lost within the gap of a single generation.
Whether he was actually able to find The American Dream is up for discussion, more importantly was the quest. The idea that somewhere out there was the culmination of hard work and degradation that this generation can scarcely fathom. The idea that it is waiting to be found.
I took such a question. And somehow, it brought me to Acapulco. The one in Coon Rapids. You can drink the water there. Acapulco Restaurante Mexicano (also located in Blaine, Maplewood, Stillwater, Woodbury, New Brighton and Ramsey).
Of course, my question is far from the perception of The American Dream. It is something closer to the Midwestern Hallucination. Regardless, there is a lot of food and huge beers.
The service is fast. Scary fast. Perhaps to cover up the lack of linguistic skills amongst the wait staff, perhaps because they want to get you in and out as fast as f***ing possible.
Sit down and you get chips and salsa. Don't ask, they will just bring it. Want more? Just ask. They don't care.
Want something to drink? The margaritas are good, but the beer... sorry, I just passed out there for a second. Dos Equis on tap? Always a bonus.
34 ounce glass beer mugs? Even better.
34 oz frosted mugs of Dos Equis lager for $4 any time of the day? What did I do right in life to deserve this? If I thought Mexico was like this for real I would hire my own coyote to head south of the border.
Or just take a plane. But I hate flying. And I like water.
You could do an appetizer, but only if you aren't planning on having an entree. The portions are mammoth and worth a separate trip just to indulge a little bit.
While my typical dinning partners tend to go straight for either the Creamed or Wet Burritos (which in name sound filthy and perverse) I gotta go with the pork. If you are going south of the border and you are dining in Minnesota, you have people from Mexico and Central America in the kitchen. They do pork and they do it great.
The Puerco en Chile Verde (pork in green chile sauce) is fall apart tender and delicious. Enough so that I just drooled on my laptop. Probably the least offensive stain to date. Served in a pool of green sauce that is far less visually pleasing than I tend to prefer, I quickly damn my eyes and dig in. The melding of tomatillo sauce with the wonderful pork fat creates a kind of gravy that must be ingested to be believed.
It also comes with tortillas, beans and rice, but it could easily be a stand alone meal.
This food ain't exactly Mexican. It's somewhere on the spectrum just a few notches above what Leeann Chin's and P.F. Chang's are to Asia food. But it is familiar in the way that we as Minnesotans view Mexican food. And there is a lot of it. And it is cheap. Really cheap.
Huge food. Huge beer. Low prices. All a wonderful mixture that makes the impending date with the toilet and the inevitable hemorrhoids worth it all.
As Hunter Thompson looked out upon Las Vegas he waxed poetic, "you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark- that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back." His mind connecting the visual splendor with the metaphorical disappearance of the hippie subculture.
As I stand, awkwardly in the parking lot of the Coon Rapids Acapulco Familia Restaurante, my stomach filled far beyond capacity with pork, chips and beer, I look out to my surroundings. Strip malls and highways. The product of consumerism and democracy.
And with the right kind of antacid you can almost feel Mexico right here in Minnesota. Indigestion, heart burn and an impending hangover. And you didn't even need a passport.
Whacked out on a list of drugs that has become something of a lore and benchmark for the hipster generation that envied his freedom, Thompson believed that Las Vegas held the secret to what The American Dream has become. Amongst the gaudy pink neon and wall to wall shag carpeting, somewhere, there had to be traces of it. There was no way it could have been lost within the gap of a single generation.
Whether he was actually able to find The American Dream is up for discussion, more importantly was the quest. The idea that somewhere out there was the culmination of hard work and degradation that this generation can scarcely fathom. The idea that it is waiting to be found.
I took such a question. And somehow, it brought me to Acapulco. The one in Coon Rapids. You can drink the water there. Acapulco Restaurante Mexicano (also located in Blaine, Maplewood, Stillwater, Woodbury, New Brighton and Ramsey).
Of course, my question is far from the perception of The American Dream. It is something closer to the Midwestern Hallucination. Regardless, there is a lot of food and huge beers.
The service is fast. Scary fast. Perhaps to cover up the lack of linguistic skills amongst the wait staff, perhaps because they want to get you in and out as fast as f***ing possible.
Sit down and you get chips and salsa. Don't ask, they will just bring it. Want more? Just ask. They don't care.
Want something to drink? The margaritas are good, but the beer... sorry, I just passed out there for a second. Dos Equis on tap? Always a bonus.
34 ounce glass beer mugs? Even better.
34 oz frosted mugs of Dos Equis lager for $4 any time of the day? What did I do right in life to deserve this? If I thought Mexico was like this for real I would hire my own coyote to head south of the border.
Or just take a plane. But I hate flying. And I like water.
You could do an appetizer, but only if you aren't planning on having an entree. The portions are mammoth and worth a separate trip just to indulge a little bit.
While my typical dinning partners tend to go straight for either the Creamed or Wet Burritos (which in name sound filthy and perverse) I gotta go with the pork. If you are going south of the border and you are dining in Minnesota, you have people from Mexico and Central America in the kitchen. They do pork and they do it great.
The Puerco en Chile Verde (pork in green chile sauce) is fall apart tender and delicious. Enough so that I just drooled on my laptop. Probably the least offensive stain to date. Served in a pool of green sauce that is far less visually pleasing than I tend to prefer, I quickly damn my eyes and dig in. The melding of tomatillo sauce with the wonderful pork fat creates a kind of gravy that must be ingested to be believed.
It also comes with tortillas, beans and rice, but it could easily be a stand alone meal.
This food ain't exactly Mexican. It's somewhere on the spectrum just a few notches above what Leeann Chin's and P.F. Chang's are to Asia food. But it is familiar in the way that we as Minnesotans view Mexican food. And there is a lot of it. And it is cheap. Really cheap.
Huge food. Huge beer. Low prices. All a wonderful mixture that makes the impending date with the toilet and the inevitable hemorrhoids worth it all.
As Hunter Thompson looked out upon Las Vegas he waxed poetic, "you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark- that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back." His mind connecting the visual splendor with the metaphorical disappearance of the hippie subculture.
As I stand, awkwardly in the parking lot of the Coon Rapids Acapulco Familia Restaurante, my stomach filled far beyond capacity with pork, chips and beer, I look out to my surroundings. Strip malls and highways. The product of consumerism and democracy.
And with the right kind of antacid you can almost feel Mexico right here in Minnesota. Indigestion, heart burn and an impending hangover. And you didn't even need a passport.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Elite Breakfast Found In Osseo
Waking somewhere around the borders of Maple Grove and Osseo, Minnesota I am immediately struck by a sense of disorientation. How did I get here? Why here of all places? Was that former Tampa Bay Buccaneer Super Bowl winning coach Jon Gruden driving the cab last night?
I remember a maniacal Chucky Doll-like sneer in the rear view mirror as I asked over and over again if he would please turn up the volume on the radio because they were "playing my song". Just to be yelled at over and over again that the radio wasn't on.
Had he sunk so low that he was forced to be a hack in suburban Minnesota? Had Mezcal been the best choice to chase down my whiskey shots? I fear that the answer to both of these questions is yes.
In desperate need of sustenance, my options are limited at this God awful time of 10:30am on a Sunday morning. My most immediate and apparent options being McDonalds or Perkins. Not feeling like adding to my stomach pains I pass on the former. Not feeling like dining with people that just minutes earlier were praying for my soul as they teetered tenuously on the edge of the grave, I reject the latter.
There it is, like an oasis (or as close to it as a Minnesotan who has spent less time out of the state than he has mowing the lawn can get), a third option. Just a sign: Lynde's Restaurant & Catering. Semi-full parking lot, no wait. Good sign. I inspect closer. Is that a full bar? Better sign. I dive in.
As I sit down I am reminded of something the bard Oscar Wilde once said, "Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast." So please, bare with me.
My own encounters with the family eatery/greasy spoon being limited to franchise chains and historical landmarks, this place doesn't sound familiar. All the better.
Their breakfast menu is pretty big. About a dozen different options for omelets alone. Pancake stack options and a variety of the more traditional breakfast combinations. My stomach being in no mood for surprises, I opt for the Eggs, Spuds & Porky ($6.95). The following is the transcript from my order with a young male server sporting a jester tattoo on his forearm.
"Get you something to drink? Water? Mich Golden Light?"
Clever, but also possible as for the entire month of September there is a 2 for 1 beer special ALL DAY EVERY DAY.
"Water... coffee... bloody mary, please."
Upon his return with my devilishly red concoction sure to be the hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-me-while-humping-my-leg (which he informed me was with the top shelf/only shelf vodka they had) I ordered. The following conversation occurring in a rapid fire succession.
"Eggs, Spuds & Porky."
"How do you want the eggs?"
"Over medium"
"Hash [browns], fries?"
"Hash."
"Sausage, bacon."
"Sausage."
"Patty or links?"
"Links."
"Zip code? Just kidding."
Not too often you see a young male server in a small family restaurant, let alone one that seems to have a sense of humor. Bonus points. I never expect good service at breakfast. To me, good service at breakfast is just over compensation for something. Like a short man driving an F-150 and parking accross three spaces at Target. F***ers.
The Bloody was spicy. Wonderfully spicy, but not overpowering. By nature, I am not a Bloody Mary kind of guy. The only good use for tomatoes in my mind is ketchup. The only good use for vodka is to drown those damn emotions.
For this, I will definitely make an exception. Spicy and strong. Much needed.
The snifter of beer was not. I cannot help but flash back to 10 hours earlier. There is a large glass Boot involved. Oh God, there are two of them. And I have emptied them both. Nausea follows and is sedated by the presentation of what could be considered too much food for one person.
The portions are huge. A 12-inch oval clay plate, two eggs, cooked perfectly, a massive amount of hash browns covering the remaining portion. So much so that the four triangles of toast have to be set on top of it all instead of on the edge. It would seem that empty space is not wanted here.
Ikebana, the art of Japanese flower arranging, is all about minimalism. The idea that the empty space is just as, if not more, important than the occupied space.
Ikebana is not welcome in this kitchen. I dig it.
Here is how breakfast works: make it good and plentiful. Stick to the basics. Make them good and in large amounts. This is breakfast. Save the fancy stuff for dinner, when the smug of downtown Minneapolis is thick enough to make one think we are in deeper waters of larger food cultures.
I don't need Gruyere cheese in my omelet. Not that I wouldn't eat it, but because it is just too much effort. Good food can stand on its own. The real staples of breakfast in American haven't changed that much in the last 50 years. There is a reason for that.
I look around at the people quietly consuming there food. The single pancake that actually covers the entirety of the plate. The giant fluffy omelet. The Biscuits & Gravy that I seemed to have completely missed on the menu. Damn it. Next time. And there will be a next time.
It's quiet in here. Very quiet. I'm not used to that. I realize that there are moments when there actually seems to be a hush across the restaurant. It wasn't a time of quiet reflection. It was a place filled with happy consumers enjoying their food too much than to prattle on about having to get to Kohl's for the Labor Day specials.
I have to pay and leave or I will stay, watching the flat panel TVs until I have room for lunch. Or until a time that my gut rot goes away and I can take advantage of the 2 for 1s.
Besides, I need to go get my medical alert bracelet changed to say, "If found drunk or unconscious, please bring to Lynde's Restaurant & Catering at 209 County Road 81, Osseo, MN 55369-1544."
Is it really that good? The food sure as f*** is. The service isn't anything special (there were moments when it was a bit slow), but who goes to a restaurant for the service? Probably some prick food critic that is just looking for something to slam.
I have had a lot of breakfasts all over this state and to say one breakfast is the best isn't really possible. It is particularly tough when you are talking about the basics of eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, etc. However, Lynde's has a few things on their side:
- A full bar with great deals and a great Bloody Mary
- A big menu that results in even bigger portions (it took a lot of effort to finish breakfast and I have cleaned off plates at Gastov's with relative ease. Those damn Boots are another matter.)
- Great prices (the most expensive thing was the 8oz Steak & Eggs for $9.95. Three of those pizza sized pancakes are less than $6.)
My feeling is that there is no "best" breakfast in Minnesota. There are just the Elite places that become institutions unto themselves. And Lynde's is definitely one of them. And they did it without nuance, without gimmick and without pretension. High marks across the board and definitely worth the trip.
Now, how the f*** do I get home?
I remember a maniacal Chucky Doll-like sneer in the rear view mirror as I asked over and over again if he would please turn up the volume on the radio because they were "playing my song". Just to be yelled at over and over again that the radio wasn't on.
Had he sunk so low that he was forced to be a hack in suburban Minnesota? Had Mezcal been the best choice to chase down my whiskey shots? I fear that the answer to both of these questions is yes.
In desperate need of sustenance, my options are limited at this God awful time of 10:30am on a Sunday morning. My most immediate and apparent options being McDonalds or Perkins. Not feeling like adding to my stomach pains I pass on the former. Not feeling like dining with people that just minutes earlier were praying for my soul as they teetered tenuously on the edge of the grave, I reject the latter.
There it is, like an oasis (or as close to it as a Minnesotan who has spent less time out of the state than he has mowing the lawn can get), a third option. Just a sign: Lynde's Restaurant & Catering. Semi-full parking lot, no wait. Good sign. I inspect closer. Is that a full bar? Better sign. I dive in.
As I sit down I am reminded of something the bard Oscar Wilde once said, "Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast." So please, bare with me.
My own encounters with the family eatery/greasy spoon being limited to franchise chains and historical landmarks, this place doesn't sound familiar. All the better.
Their breakfast menu is pretty big. About a dozen different options for omelets alone. Pancake stack options and a variety of the more traditional breakfast combinations. My stomach being in no mood for surprises, I opt for the Eggs, Spuds & Porky ($6.95). The following is the transcript from my order with a young male server sporting a jester tattoo on his forearm.
"Get you something to drink? Water? Mich Golden Light?"
Clever, but also possible as for the entire month of September there is a 2 for 1 beer special ALL DAY EVERY DAY.
"Water... coffee... bloody mary, please."
Upon his return with my devilishly red concoction sure to be the hair-of-the-dog-that-bit-me-while-humping-my-leg (which he informed me was with the top shelf/only shelf vodka they had) I ordered. The following conversation occurring in a rapid fire succession.
"Eggs, Spuds & Porky."
"How do you want the eggs?"
"Over medium"
"Hash [browns], fries?"
"Hash."
"Sausage, bacon."
"Sausage."
"Patty or links?"
"Links."
"Zip code? Just kidding."
Not too often you see a young male server in a small family restaurant, let alone one that seems to have a sense of humor. Bonus points. I never expect good service at breakfast. To me, good service at breakfast is just over compensation for something. Like a short man driving an F-150 and parking accross three spaces at Target. F***ers.
The Bloody was spicy. Wonderfully spicy, but not overpowering. By nature, I am not a Bloody Mary kind of guy. The only good use for tomatoes in my mind is ketchup. The only good use for vodka is to drown those damn emotions.
For this, I will definitely make an exception. Spicy and strong. Much needed.
The snifter of beer was not. I cannot help but flash back to 10 hours earlier. There is a large glass Boot involved. Oh God, there are two of them. And I have emptied them both. Nausea follows and is sedated by the presentation of what could be considered too much food for one person.
The portions are huge. A 12-inch oval clay plate, two eggs, cooked perfectly, a massive amount of hash browns covering the remaining portion. So much so that the four triangles of toast have to be set on top of it all instead of on the edge. It would seem that empty space is not wanted here.
Ikebana, the art of Japanese flower arranging, is all about minimalism. The idea that the empty space is just as, if not more, important than the occupied space.
Ikebana is not welcome in this kitchen. I dig it.
Here is how breakfast works: make it good and plentiful. Stick to the basics. Make them good and in large amounts. This is breakfast. Save the fancy stuff for dinner, when the smug of downtown Minneapolis is thick enough to make one think we are in deeper waters of larger food cultures.
I don't need Gruyere cheese in my omelet. Not that I wouldn't eat it, but because it is just too much effort. Good food can stand on its own. The real staples of breakfast in American haven't changed that much in the last 50 years. There is a reason for that.
I look around at the people quietly consuming there food. The single pancake that actually covers the entirety of the plate. The giant fluffy omelet. The Biscuits & Gravy that I seemed to have completely missed on the menu. Damn it. Next time. And there will be a next time.
It's quiet in here. Very quiet. I'm not used to that. I realize that there are moments when there actually seems to be a hush across the restaurant. It wasn't a time of quiet reflection. It was a place filled with happy consumers enjoying their food too much than to prattle on about having to get to Kohl's for the Labor Day specials.
I have to pay and leave or I will stay, watching the flat panel TVs until I have room for lunch. Or until a time that my gut rot goes away and I can take advantage of the 2 for 1s.
Besides, I need to go get my medical alert bracelet changed to say, "If found drunk or unconscious, please bring to Lynde's Restaurant & Catering at 209 County Road 81, Osseo, MN 55369-1544."
Is it really that good? The food sure as f*** is. The service isn't anything special (there were moments when it was a bit slow), but who goes to a restaurant for the service? Probably some prick food critic that is just looking for something to slam.
I have had a lot of breakfasts all over this state and to say one breakfast is the best isn't really possible. It is particularly tough when you are talking about the basics of eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, etc. However, Lynde's has a few things on their side:
- A full bar with great deals and a great Bloody Mary
- A big menu that results in even bigger portions (it took a lot of effort to finish breakfast and I have cleaned off plates at Gastov's with relative ease. Those damn Boots are another matter.)
- Great prices (the most expensive thing was the 8oz Steak & Eggs for $9.95. Three of those pizza sized pancakes are less than $6.)
My feeling is that there is no "best" breakfast in Minnesota. There are just the Elite places that become institutions unto themselves. And Lynde's is definitely one of them. And they did it without nuance, without gimmick and without pretension. High marks across the board and definitely worth the trip.
Now, how the f*** do I get home?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Great Minnesota Food Orgy
Porcine Testicles.
Don't worry. Life is circular. It will make sense later.
Let me explain, when I first sat down to write this article I had written a deeply introspective and dramatic open that had me delving into what professors in Cultural Studies refer to as a sense of place. It was lovely. Trust me.
Then I ate so much fried food that my sweat was thick and translucent, no doubt packed with delicious transfats.
Besides, this is about the Minnesota State Fair. We need to steps things up and change the way that we look at the traditional. This is a Food Orgy. Get with it.
And much like a real orgy, there is nothing pretty about this. It isn't sexy and streamlined filled with beautiful people sharing in a beautiful thing. This is reality. It is fatty and sweaty and filled with people that are there to fulfill some desire that has been left void since childhood. And when it is over you will feel sticky and a little remorseful. Yet you will do it again, because now you are an Orgy-guy.
Pronto-Pups. Milk shakes. Pork Chops on-a-stick. Corn on the Cob.
Garrison Keller once said that "sex is good, but not as good as fresh, sweet corn." Mrs. Keller must be so proud. I'm not sure if Keller hasn't been doing it right, but it is just f***ing corn. The stuff that seems to have a permanent line at the Fair is also just f***ing corn. It is good, but not sex good.
"You didn't get the corn? Oh my god you need to get the corn. The corn is so good. I just love the corn. The corn is so sweet. I get the corn every year."
Yeah, I get corn every year, too. It is about a quarter an ear at the store. I also throw it on a grill and put butter on it. Same f***ing thing.
Let's move on already and dive into the new grease on the block.
Deep Fried Fruit
This was actually the first thing that I had at the Fair this year. I went in with an empty stomach and an open mind. What I got was a kabob of fruit covered in a single coating of batter handed too me looking much like a Pronto Pup. First bite was pineapple. The soft smooth consistency of the fruit complimented by the fatty crunch of the batter. It tasted like a pineapple pie.
The next taste was pear. This was far less suited to deep frying. The sandy, firmer texture of the pear was not complimentary and did not seem to have interacted at all with the frying process.
Next was a cherry. Again, somewhat of a disappointment. Simply a maraschino cherry surrounded by batter. Not much to say there.
Grape. Not great. Even though it has a thin skin, the fruit is too dense to have any combination with the batter.
Then was a banana. Much better. The already soft texture slightly melting from the heat of the oil created a much more pleasing texture that mingled with the batter in ways that the firmer fruit had not.
Finally was strawberry. Though this was a firmer fruit, the flavor and taste was more conducive to the battering and tasted much more like a fruit pie.
Overall it was okay. Nothing special. And if given the choice again, I would have taken the option to select my own fruit. Sticking with strawberry, pineapple and banana.
Deep Fried Pigs Ears
These were interesting to say the least. They were really more like pig ear french fries. In fact, I think that was what they were called. Not to be mistaken with the chocolate covered pigs ears, which seemed to be given out in very small amounts for the same cost ($5).
The pigs ears french fries come out looking much like over cooked french fries. They aren't particularly crunchy. They are a bit chewy, more like a cross between a pork jerky and a french fry. They come with Famous Dave's BBQ Sauce (as it is found at the Famous Dave's Stand), great for dippin'.
These seem more the fare of the Lord-Of-All-Things-Piggy Mr. Anthony Bourdain of No Reservations and Kitchen Confidential fame. However, if you are looking for something new and porky, these are worth a shot.
Deep Fried Cheese and Bacon Mashed Potatoes
You need to find the Potato Man & Sweetie stand just south of The Midway. This is the best of the new food at The Minnesota State Fair. Four deep fried balls of mashed potatoes with bits of bacon and cheese in the middle. Then skewer it on a pointy stick. And well worth the $5.50.
You will be asked what you want for a side. If I remember correctly the options are BBQ sauce, ketchup, sour cream, sweet & sour and gravy. Pick gravy. These are mashed potatoes. PICK GRAVY! I don't care if it is 90 degrees and humid. This is comfort food at it's finest.
It truly makes me wish the State Fair was open in the middle of winter so that this might be enjoyed more completely for the comfort food it is. I might drink less when there was snow on the ground. Of course, I would be morbidly obese. But at least I wouldn't have so many hangovers.
Each bit both tender and crunchy with flecks of joy in the form of bacon and cheese. The only down side being the realization that with each bite there is less left to eat. Eventually it was all gone, and I was sad.
Cubana Torta
Thank God for sandwiches in the middle of a fried food bender. Thank God I can at least have some fried pork on it so that I don't go into full remission. I love Tortas and the idea of some pork, ham, chipotle mayo, jalapeno, avocado, lettuce and tomato sounded too good to pass by. Manny's Torta stand seemed to be the land in an ocean of fryer oil.
I was upset. I didn't want onions (hence my not mentioning them) and when requested a lid was lifted off a heating tray, a pre-wrapped sandwich was passed back to a cook, who looked around like a guilty ventriloquist dummy.
This is just speculation, but I can only imagine that he was only scrapping the onions off and re-wrapping. The sandwich was very good, but very small for $5. Maybe, maybe a 4-5 inch sandwich. A real shame for such a tasty sandwich.
Camel on-a-stick
Found at the Global Market stand in the International Foods bazaar, this one is interesting. Perhaps it was my being naive, but I was expecting something more along the lines of chunks. Instead it was much more like ground beef. Though, it was a little gamy.
The first bite was a bit strange. The consistency and the taste didn't match up to anything previously registered in the black hole that is my palate. It comes with either a spicy or a mild sauce. I chose spicy. The woman ahead of me in line asked how hot the spicy was. Our vendor responded without missing a beat, "I dunno, about 85 degrees."
A smartass after my own heart.
The spicy was a bit tangy at best and help to moisten a meat that seems to be a bit dry by nature. It was an interesting experience.
Bored? Want to enjoy a bit more colorful and diverse venue by which to eat? Make a stop by the International Market. It's not the best thing on a stick, but it is an original for a Minnesota Boy.
Grilled marshmallow, chocolate and banana sandwich
This was the last of the new food I tried and not something that I had planned on trying. That is until I had heard that The Minneapolis Star Tribune had called it the best of the new in 2010 Fair food. A challenge.
The real challenge was finding it by name. Where as many places will go so simple as to name their stand after the food they serve (like Deep Fried Fruit), Moe & Joe's Coffee is primarily a coffee stand.
For $4, it was worth a shot to pack a little bit more on top of a list of food three times as long as what I have already reviewed. I would have preferred it to be deep-fried, however, grilled works.
The marshmallow seemed to be marshmallow fluff. The chocolate seemed to be chocolate syrup. And there were sliced bananas. Throw on a little butter from the griddle and you have yet another food as advertised thanks to it's very name.
F*** the Star Tribune. This is the best of the new food? A sandwich I could make on a hot plate with the s*** I have in my cupboard? Use a real marshmellow. Use some real chocolate. Fry the f***ing thing!
To be fair. None of this is the fault of Moe & Joe's. It is one of three sandwiches on a list of about 20 items. It is just a little something different.
F*** you Star Tribune for going out and telling people to go and try something that was thrown together just for the hell of it all. And to say that is the best of the new foods in 2010? Maybe you need a new monkey to take over your food reviews.
... I need to calm down. I'm food drunk. Pronto Pup. Brownie with whipped cream and fudge. Cheese curds. Deep fried pickles (delicious, by the way and cool in their "blackjack dealer" way of taking money). Garlic fries (with about a pound of minced garlicky deliciousness). Jumbo 1919 Root Beer Float. And of course, the milk shake.
The Gopher Dairy Club has without a doubt the best milk shake in the world, or at least the world that is Minnesota. And please, don't be like the woman in line ahead of me and ask if they serve malts. Just shakes. Glorious shakes that even a lactose intolerant guy like me will endure explosive diarrhea for.
Enjoying each spoonful of the cool, smooth goodness. Walking through the livestock barn, the smell being nothing in comparison to the glory of this Fair staple. The cute little piggies. The bleating little goats. Losing myself somewhere between gastronomic pleasure and the wonder of life.
There it was. Minnesota's biggest pig. 1450 pounds. I marveled at him. The shear mass. The excess of life. A near metaphysical moment.
At that moment my wife (shut the f*** up, I could have a wife) said, "Look at his balls." Huge.
Look at his balls indeed.
Next Blog: Best Breakfast in Minnesota
Don't worry. Life is circular. It will make sense later.
Let me explain, when I first sat down to write this article I had written a deeply introspective and dramatic open that had me delving into what professors in Cultural Studies refer to as a sense of place. It was lovely. Trust me.
Then I ate so much fried food that my sweat was thick and translucent, no doubt packed with delicious transfats.
Besides, this is about the Minnesota State Fair. We need to steps things up and change the way that we look at the traditional. This is a Food Orgy. Get with it.
And much like a real orgy, there is nothing pretty about this. It isn't sexy and streamlined filled with beautiful people sharing in a beautiful thing. This is reality. It is fatty and sweaty and filled with people that are there to fulfill some desire that has been left void since childhood. And when it is over you will feel sticky and a little remorseful. Yet you will do it again, because now you are an Orgy-guy.
Pronto-Pups. Milk shakes. Pork Chops on-a-stick. Corn on the Cob.
Garrison Keller once said that "sex is good, but not as good as fresh, sweet corn." Mrs. Keller must be so proud. I'm not sure if Keller hasn't been doing it right, but it is just f***ing corn. The stuff that seems to have a permanent line at the Fair is also just f***ing corn. It is good, but not sex good.
"You didn't get the corn? Oh my god you need to get the corn. The corn is so good. I just love the corn. The corn is so sweet. I get the corn every year."
Yeah, I get corn every year, too. It is about a quarter an ear at the store. I also throw it on a grill and put butter on it. Same f***ing thing.
Let's move on already and dive into the new grease on the block.
Deep Fried Fruit
This was actually the first thing that I had at the Fair this year. I went in with an empty stomach and an open mind. What I got was a kabob of fruit covered in a single coating of batter handed too me looking much like a Pronto Pup. First bite was pineapple. The soft smooth consistency of the fruit complimented by the fatty crunch of the batter. It tasted like a pineapple pie.
The next taste was pear. This was far less suited to deep frying. The sandy, firmer texture of the pear was not complimentary and did not seem to have interacted at all with the frying process.
Next was a cherry. Again, somewhat of a disappointment. Simply a maraschino cherry surrounded by batter. Not much to say there.
Grape. Not great. Even though it has a thin skin, the fruit is too dense to have any combination with the batter.
Then was a banana. Much better. The already soft texture slightly melting from the heat of the oil created a much more pleasing texture that mingled with the batter in ways that the firmer fruit had not.
Finally was strawberry. Though this was a firmer fruit, the flavor and taste was more conducive to the battering and tasted much more like a fruit pie.
Overall it was okay. Nothing special. And if given the choice again, I would have taken the option to select my own fruit. Sticking with strawberry, pineapple and banana.
Deep Fried Pigs Ears
These were interesting to say the least. They were really more like pig ear french fries. In fact, I think that was what they were called. Not to be mistaken with the chocolate covered pigs ears, which seemed to be given out in very small amounts for the same cost ($5).
The pigs ears french fries come out looking much like over cooked french fries. They aren't particularly crunchy. They are a bit chewy, more like a cross between a pork jerky and a french fry. They come with Famous Dave's BBQ Sauce (as it is found at the Famous Dave's Stand), great for dippin'.
These seem more the fare of the Lord-Of-All-Things-Piggy Mr. Anthony Bourdain of No Reservations and Kitchen Confidential fame. However, if you are looking for something new and porky, these are worth a shot.
Deep Fried Cheese and Bacon Mashed Potatoes
You need to find the Potato Man & Sweetie stand just south of The Midway. This is the best of the new food at The Minnesota State Fair. Four deep fried balls of mashed potatoes with bits of bacon and cheese in the middle. Then skewer it on a pointy stick. And well worth the $5.50.
You will be asked what you want for a side. If I remember correctly the options are BBQ sauce, ketchup, sour cream, sweet & sour and gravy. Pick gravy. These are mashed potatoes. PICK GRAVY! I don't care if it is 90 degrees and humid. This is comfort food at it's finest.
It truly makes me wish the State Fair was open in the middle of winter so that this might be enjoyed more completely for the comfort food it is. I might drink less when there was snow on the ground. Of course, I would be morbidly obese. But at least I wouldn't have so many hangovers.
Each bit both tender and crunchy with flecks of joy in the form of bacon and cheese. The only down side being the realization that with each bite there is less left to eat. Eventually it was all gone, and I was sad.
Cubana Torta
Thank God for sandwiches in the middle of a fried food bender. Thank God I can at least have some fried pork on it so that I don't go into full remission. I love Tortas and the idea of some pork, ham, chipotle mayo, jalapeno, avocado, lettuce and tomato sounded too good to pass by. Manny's Torta stand seemed to be the land in an ocean of fryer oil.
I was upset. I didn't want onions (hence my not mentioning them) and when requested a lid was lifted off a heating tray, a pre-wrapped sandwich was passed back to a cook, who looked around like a guilty ventriloquist dummy.
This is just speculation, but I can only imagine that he was only scrapping the onions off and re-wrapping. The sandwich was very good, but very small for $5. Maybe, maybe a 4-5 inch sandwich. A real shame for such a tasty sandwich.
Camel on-a-stick
Found at the Global Market stand in the International Foods bazaar, this one is interesting. Perhaps it was my being naive, but I was expecting something more along the lines of chunks. Instead it was much more like ground beef. Though, it was a little gamy.
The first bite was a bit strange. The consistency and the taste didn't match up to anything previously registered in the black hole that is my palate. It comes with either a spicy or a mild sauce. I chose spicy. The woman ahead of me in line asked how hot the spicy was. Our vendor responded without missing a beat, "I dunno, about 85 degrees."
A smartass after my own heart.
The spicy was a bit tangy at best and help to moisten a meat that seems to be a bit dry by nature. It was an interesting experience.
Bored? Want to enjoy a bit more colorful and diverse venue by which to eat? Make a stop by the International Market. It's not the best thing on a stick, but it is an original for a Minnesota Boy.
Grilled marshmallow, chocolate and banana sandwich
This was the last of the new food I tried and not something that I had planned on trying. That is until I had heard that The Minneapolis Star Tribune had called it the best of the new in 2010 Fair food. A challenge.
The real challenge was finding it by name. Where as many places will go so simple as to name their stand after the food they serve (like Deep Fried Fruit), Moe & Joe's Coffee is primarily a coffee stand.
For $4, it was worth a shot to pack a little bit more on top of a list of food three times as long as what I have already reviewed. I would have preferred it to be deep-fried, however, grilled works.
The marshmallow seemed to be marshmallow fluff. The chocolate seemed to be chocolate syrup. And there were sliced bananas. Throw on a little butter from the griddle and you have yet another food as advertised thanks to it's very name.
F*** the Star Tribune. This is the best of the new food? A sandwich I could make on a hot plate with the s*** I have in my cupboard? Use a real marshmellow. Use some real chocolate. Fry the f***ing thing!
To be fair. None of this is the fault of Moe & Joe's. It is one of three sandwiches on a list of about 20 items. It is just a little something different.
F*** you Star Tribune for going out and telling people to go and try something that was thrown together just for the hell of it all. And to say that is the best of the new foods in 2010? Maybe you need a new monkey to take over your food reviews.
... I need to calm down. I'm food drunk. Pronto Pup. Brownie with whipped cream and fudge. Cheese curds. Deep fried pickles (delicious, by the way and cool in their "blackjack dealer" way of taking money). Garlic fries (with about a pound of minced garlicky deliciousness). Jumbo 1919 Root Beer Float. And of course, the milk shake.
The Gopher Dairy Club has without a doubt the best milk shake in the world, or at least the world that is Minnesota. And please, don't be like the woman in line ahead of me and ask if they serve malts. Just shakes. Glorious shakes that even a lactose intolerant guy like me will endure explosive diarrhea for.
Enjoying each spoonful of the cool, smooth goodness. Walking through the livestock barn, the smell being nothing in comparison to the glory of this Fair staple. The cute little piggies. The bleating little goats. Losing myself somewhere between gastronomic pleasure and the wonder of life.
There it was. Minnesota's biggest pig. 1450 pounds. I marveled at him. The shear mass. The excess of life. A near metaphysical moment.
At that moment my wife (shut the f*** up, I could have a wife) said, "Look at his balls." Huge.
Look at his balls indeed.
Next Blog: Best Breakfast in Minnesota
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