Fry me a river
Well, I’ll be dead soon. I just finished a pork tenderloin sandwich and fries at Drafter’s across the street from my office in downtown KC. I was doing so good, too, eating oatmeal and bananas and oranges and spinach and other salady-ass crap. I even finished a mealy Gala apple today. It tasted fine, but had the texture of pudding mixed with drywall dust. I ate it because, dammit, fiber is my friend.
But I ate lunch. Not green beans and a Slim Fast, like I've had every other day this week. Although I discovered I like Slim Fast Chocolate Peanut Nougat snack bars well enough. No, today, I ate lunch. A client needed tagline ideas, and my first couple dozen were forgettable (apparently), so we went to the bar for bar food, bar smells, and bar ideas. No bar drinks, but that’s another bar story. My first round ideas wouldn’t have sucked if I’d had drinks. Anyway, we went to Drafter’s to work. And eat. I ate, and now it’s time to blame.
I blame Henry County, Illinois. Growing up in the self-proclaimed (and come to find out not necessarily accurate) Pork Capital of the World, you can’t help but love pork. Ok, I’m sure there are plenty of grouchy vegans from County Hank, but let’s keep moving forward, here.
I also blame The King’s Table, a restaurant where I worked while in high school. I don’t remember their names, but we had two female chefs who tipped the scales at a good 550 pounds, and their food showed why. Holy cats, they could cook. They’d pound a fat chunk of real pork tenderloin flat with that brand of pure mean hatred you can only find in a chef. A little breading, a quick fry, and they served up a sandwich that’d make you weep openly.
The chefs both quit and the moron owners started buying frozen cardboard disguised as tenderloins, the place burned down and I joined the Air Force. OK, there’s some stuff missing in the middle there, but you get the picture. Good tenderloin.
I’ve tried every deep fried pork tenderloin sandwich I’ve encountered since then, with mixed results. And after a week of bunny food, I saw Drafter’s tenderloin today and I caved. I’d been good, too. Well, except for the loin chops I grilled at Arrowhead Sunday, which were nicely doused with enough sweet, sticky Fischer & Wieser Texas 1015 Onion Glaze to tar a roof – freakin’ yum.
But now it’s over, I ate a bunch of fried stuff, and I’ll be dead soon. What really sucks is the tenderloin needed more seasoning (plain ol' black pepper is a good thing, people). Good fries, though.
Comments
Well, as John Maynard Keynes once said: "In the long run, we'll all be dead." Of course we can't all be Dead. DeadHeads, maybe, but we all can't be Dead. There isn't room enough in the band for all of us. Hell, there isn't even room enough for Jerry anymore. He's dead. A dead Dead. Pigpen's been a dead Dead longer, though.
Eating and I have had a long relationship so I know something about it. The old joke:"I'm watching my weight...I've got it out where I can see it" applies here. The relationship between food and joining the military seems to be rather universal. You quit the restaurant business and joined the Air Farce. I entered high school at 300 lbs (good for football...hockey, not so much). My basketball coach (yes, I played center) put me on a diet and I was down to 185 when I graduated---just in time to be given a choice of joining the Navy or getting drafted. In 1967 the choice was easy. I still hate that coach. And so I take my anger and hatred out at the table. Take that, Freud!!
Posted by: Doc | November 15, 2005 12:21 AM
The Dead are full of dead. Keith and Brent are dead Dead, too. I'm pretty sure they all died from fried food, too.
I actually quit several hundred jobs between the King's Table and signing on the dotted line (which wasn't dotted at all).
You should have joined the Air Force - we have the best chow. Unless you're a submariner, and somehow I don't think you're USS Sea Tiger material, even with your Tony Curtis good looks and pleasing demeanor.
Posted by: Pat | November 15, 2005 10:22 AM