这张图片和中国一点关系都没有！

Few things in this world are more Done Here, Buddy than the Asian Chicken Salad. The points of discussion on this topic are, no doubt, endless. Yet, I thought it worthwhile to bring the primary issues of concern to the forefront. For starters, the title of this Americanized creation is as culturally ambiguous as its ingredients are indigenous to its “so called” Asian heritage. Take a moment to contemplate the absurdity of generalizing a dish intended to represent the flavors, spices, ingredients and cultures of Asia’s 53 nations. You heard it right the first time, folks: one salad for 53 nations. Further complicating the issue is that the salad is often referred to as the Chinese Chicken Salad. News flash, people: Chinese Chicken Salad is about as Chinese as Gary “the rat” Gaetti. Still not convinced? You’re Done Here, Buddy will offer a reward of five Chinese Chicken Salads to the reader who is able to find one on the menu of an Asian or Chinese restaurant. You’re probably thinking to yourself how improbable such a feat is, as everyone knows that these salads are predominately ordered by female graduates of Big Ten colleges at generic sports bars. Alright, guys. Remember this: don’t make the mistake and order the California Roll of salads.

Last night, I made my way to Cesar in Berkeley, CA’s “Gourmet Ghetto.” After surveying the critically acclaimed menu known for its Spanish tapas, I decided on a bocadillo of “Manchego and greens” to which I fortuitously  added Jamon Serrano. Now, I’m the kind of guy that loves Manchego and Jamon Serrano as much as Hernan Cortes enjoys pillaging an indigenous population, so you could imagine my excitement when the server complimented my request. Accompanied by a Grey Goose Martini, I waited in anticipation for the entree as my mouth began to salivate. Several minutes passed and the waiter returned with my sandwich. Once placed before me, I noticed something horribly odd about the bocadillo. The so-called “greens” were, in fact, a Popeye sized lump of sauteed spinach. I took one bite and promptly placed the stringy pound-and-a-half of vegetation on the sidelines. After all, I anticipated a sandwich full of Spanish goodness. What I got instead was a mound of Done Here, Buddy.

With flavors as delicate as Manchego and Jamon Serrano, one might expect a simple salad of mixed greens gently tossed with a balsamic vinaigrette ... Not a pile of poopy Done Here.

Why is the word "speed" here?

What, exactly, is Monsanto?

Is it a multinational corporation headquartered  in Creve Coeur, Missouri that dominates the world’s food market? Is it a company that aims to exploit innocent farmers and the mind & bodies of consumers everywhere? Is it a company that is officially and utterly Done Here, Buddy?

Or, as states its website, is Monsanto an agricultural company that applies innovation and technoloblah to blah around the blah while producing blah blah blah blah?

Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser’s newest film, Food Inc., would have you believe that  these “so called” industrial food pioneers, and receivers of repetitious Liberal D, are definitely faking the funk on a nasty dunk. You might be asking yourself, which dunk is Monsanto faking? Well, one thing’s for sure, it’s definitely not the windmill. But, contend the movies co-directors, it may have something to do with Monsanto being the world’s leading producer of genetically engineered seeds. Then again, Monsanto’s doneness is also rooted in its regularly screwing over of small, independently owned farms. Perhaps the real answer to this question has nothing to do with the proceeding hypotheses and has everything to do with the fact that Monsanto’s current CEO shares a name with famed British Actor, Hugh Grant.

If you’re still not convinced that Monsanto is Done Here, Buddy, remember this. The cream cheese Shaq spreads on his bagel is definitely pure organic.

–Sweater Guy

A recent glance through an undisclosed friend’s Facebook page got me thinking about sushi and why it is always the default meal choice for birthday dinners. Let me preface by saying that I have twice been to Tokyo, am an avid lover of “the sush,” and nothing excites me more  than a fresh landing strip of Uni straight to the facehole.  That said, it seems like every time someone’s birthday rolls around, sushi becomes the go-to dinner of choice. Let’s analyze this from a couple of perspectives: 1) Sushi, while amazingly buttery and always spot-hitting, isn’t necessarily the best eating style for large groups. As much as I love my girlfriend’s best friend, do I really want to drop 50 bones so that all I get is a meager piece of a California Roll? 2) Let’s think about all the other amazing options that are out there: Chinese food, bowling, having a house party where you get black-out drunk and make a pass at one of your best friends. Now, that’s a party.

All I’m saying, guys, is that we can do better. Let’s start to think out of the Bento Box on this one.  The Gods of Edo have spoken and their claim is pure and true: the sushi birthday dinner is Done Here, Buddy.

Does anybody actually like these things? Are we actually convinced that they a are viable low-carb option even though they taste like the leftover’s from last night’s budget corporate banquet? The next time you ponder whether or not a wrap is a suitable lunch option ask yourself these questions: 1) Do I like stale tortillas? 2) Does the tortilla which “wraps” the other ingredients have any trace of its Mexican heritage? 3) Do I like to eat things that are both stale and crusty? 4) How much better does a burrito / taco / turkey club /  shawarma taste? 5) If I like to eat wraps, does that make me totally Done Here, Buddy?

The point is that these so called “wraps” are terrible. They always fall apart and have some wack gimmick like a red-pepper tortilla with an innovative hummus you’ve never heard of. The irony here is really quite special: people think that eating wraps is actually a healthy low-carb option. But, more times than not, the ingredients in these shit bundles are typically all processed and definitely unnatural. Just how Done Here, Buddy are wraps? Have a look at the following image.

Oh, God.

The following link will direct you to a site that should be banned everywhere: http://www.wrapzone.com/

Pastrami Sandwich, Manny's Deli: Chicago

I would like to preface today’s post by pointing out that I am a proud son of Chicago, the city that American Poet Carl Sandburg described as the:

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of wheat,
Player with Railroads and the nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders

Renowned for inventing the Skyscraper and other decadent delicacies such as Deep-Dish Pizza, Italian Beef Sandwiches, Vienna Beef Hotdogs and, of course, the McJeff (shout out to my boy Jeff Barzan*).  It is safe to say that when Chicago goes, it goes big.  Keeping this in mind …  Roughly six months ago, I relocated from the greatest city in the world to Oakland, California…

… Three months ago, on the eve of Passover–the Jewish Holiday which commemorates the Exodus from Egypt–my good friend and roommate Arlen Ginsburg and I headed to Saul’s Restaurant and Deli in North Berkeley to dine on traditional Jewish delicacies.  Now, my days of eating Matzos for a week straight are long gone. God, if you’re out there, please forgive me.

That night, I definitely felt the hunger within. When the waitress came to our table to take my order, I asked which would be more filling: the Cobb Salad (which, it turns out, was no longer available) or the Pastrami Sandwich.  Now, the menu has two different pastramis, one that is small and one that is large. I ordered the large with one slight change. Instead of getting rye bread, I asked for challah, which I believe makes for a superior culinary experience.  When the plate was served, my face dropped in astonishment at the meager portion which lay before me. Being from Chicago, I am used to such culinary institutions as Manny’s and the 11th St. Diner, places that understand the meaning of “piled high.” The two pieces of Challah bread were literally separated by three pathetic and limp slices of pastrami. I asked two different waitressess to confirm that I had ordered  the large. Both replied that, since I had ordered my sandwich on challah (which is a wider bread and a totally bullshit response), it gave the appearance that there was less meat on the sandwich. I was astonished once again.  I finally requested to speak with the Manager as there was no way that I was going to pay $12.95 for six slices of pastrami.  To my bewilderment, the MANAGER had the exact same response.  During my bickering contest with the manager, I even mentioned that I have been eating pastrami for “a long time now” and there was no way that this met the criteria for a  $13 sandwich.  I finally got my way and was charged for the small, but, not before deciding to never again step foot in such a horse-shit establishment.

After reviewing the play three months later, the call on the field stands–Saul’s Restaurant and Deli: You’re Done Here, Buddy.

* To learn more about the McJeff and other heart-stopping culinary delicacies in the Chicagoland area, check out Titus Ruscitti’s Blog Smokin’, Chokin’ and Chowing with the King @ http://chibbqking.blogspot.com/