I have never understood the popularity of chicken wings. The majority of the ones I have tried are just masses of fried dough swimming in a hot or sweet sauce. Sometimes there is even a wad of what looks like chicken meat on the inside.
This Sunday, Super Bowl watchers will consume 1.25 BILLION chicken wings. PETA reports 600 million chickens are killed just to satiate football fans for one day. I’m not a card-carrying PETA member, but of all of the animals we consume, chickens get the shaft. And it makes me crazy when people refuse to eat red meat because they consider the action unethical, but have no problem eating chicken. Especially when you can do a little research and make better choices of the meats you do choose to consume. However, there is nothing good about chicken wings.2 Comments »
All of your senses should be aroused when a plate of food is set in front of you. Before you take one bite, you’ve already eaten the dish with your eyes. The presentation of a dish is important. My eyes shut, my shoulders slump, and I breathe a heavy sigh each time I spy a dessert, entrée, or appetizer that has been assaulted with squiggles, swirls, dots, and curly cues of sauces, frostings, or oils forced through a squeeze bottle. Chefs, a little goes a long way. Not only is it outdated, it makes me think you are trying too hard to sell what is underneath. What started with the Hostess Cupcake (Halloween costume idea!), should stop now.
What presentation style turns you off?16 Comments »
In conjunction with July’s Best Suburbs issue, I’m traveling to 10 different ‘burbs in the DFW area for a semi-weird cross-city food tour. I’ll be documenting all my finds in these ‘Burbalicious posts that’ll be peppered throughout June and July (and August). If you feel like your suburb deserves a shot at some SideDish love, email me and I’ll ask my Magic 8 ball if I should go. Last week, I went to Mansfield.
It’s already August and I’m way past my deadline for Suburb #10. Well, here it is, in all it’s shining glory. I end these ‘Burbalicious posts by going to Garland, eating at the one and only Furr’s Fresh Buffet, and conducting a non-scientific study of buffet eaters.
Don’t judge and jump if you dare to continue.5 Comments »
I am addicted to Shark Tank. And because I am too lazy to jump through the hoops to get on the show and present my idea, I’m using the power of my pudgy fingers to reach you. Let’s pick and roll:
I walk on the set of Shark Tank. “Daymond John, you are so out,” I say. “Barbara, if I wanted to sell my cellulite-reducing sous-vide hot dog you’d be my best friend, but I’m keeping it to myself. You’re out.”
I watch the other sharks glance around, really scared at this point, and go for the kill. “Kevin, don’t even open that ugly mouth. You’re out. Robert, you can buy me dinner after the show but, for now, you are dead to me.”
Cameras swing: Close-up of Cuban. Music swells.
Mark. We live in the same city. We love the same teams. More importantly, we eat in the same restaurants. Last night, our city’s finest chef, Bruno Davaillon of the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek, lost Best Chef in the Southwest at the James Beard Awards in New York City to a young chef in Austin who appeared on Top Chef. It has been 18 years since a Dallas chef won this title. We need a local version of Shark Tank geared towards Dallas restaurateurs. That way, you and I can work together to tighten up our game and turn it around. We have the talent, we need the exposure. And that exposure shouldn’t have to come from the Food Network or Bravo.
I propose we put together a panel of experts and ask restaurateurs to pitch their ideas BEFORE they decide to sink their life savings into an upscale seafood and sushi restaurant in a bad location. Let’s kick the steak house wannabes to Fort Worth. Mark, I’m asking you to invest whatever it takes to help us bring the talent of the Dallas restaurant community to the international scene. In exchange, I offer you fifty percent of my idea. Oh, and you can keep the Mavs.
Looking forward to hearing from you,
Nancy12 Comments »
After further investigation (read: Facebook stalkage), I found this donut with the caption: “Our very own Gay bar.”
If you missed this episode, boy do I feel sorry for you. Bev kicked a lot of @$$.
Crazy BRAVO, I guess, was tired of hot-weather Texas and decided to see if the Top Chefs (Paul, Bev, Sarah, and Lindsay) could survive in the frozen tundra of British Columbia. They might as well have been in Siberia. All the chefs, sporting longer hairdos from a couple months off, immediately start hating on Bev the second they reconvene inside Whistler Olympic Park. Sarah’s resolution to “be a really nice person” (… right) turns into a big flop and outcasts Bev from the start. When the final four meet the judges again, Padma begins to explain their elimination challenge, The Culinary Games, which is split into three parts. At the end of each round, one person must die. (Kidding, kidding. Too bad this isn’t “The Hunger Games.”) The winner of each round wins $10,000 and a guaranteed spot in the final three.
Let the games begin!5 Comments »
My plea: I can’t write it, sing it, dance it, or say any better than Neil Sedaka. You can help save Nana by writing your stories about your experiences at Nana. Put on your go-go boots and come-a come-a, down dooby do down, down to the comments.
As I was writing the post about Michael Costa getting evicted from The Office Grill, Teresa Gubbins at PegasusNews received a press release from Costa. The Spin Doctor begins with: “In case you didn’t get the memo…” Oh my…jump.
UPDATE: I received a voice mail from Richard Chamberlain. “Michael Costa worked for us briefly 16 years ago,” he said. “In his release he insinuates he is associated with us and that is not the case.”14 Comments »
In August 2008, I traveled to Savannah, Georgia where I dined at Paula Deen’s restaurant Lady & Sons. We ran a post titled “Paula Deen Wants to Kill You.” I wrote:
I can still smell the rancid butter that hit us in the face when we walked in the door. I’ve got to find the pictures I took of the food I ate–everything was dripping in butter. I remember the chicken pot pie was big enough for four and almost everything was fried. OK, she admits she’s “not your cardiologist,” but she really is contributing to the delinquency of dieters. The night we went, at least 75 per cent of the diners were beyond overweight–they were obese. It was sad–like people watching at the slots in Vegas–everyone was gambling with their lives.
Last week Paula Deen confirmed the rumor: she has Type 2 diabetes. I wonder how many of her dedicated fans also suffer from Type 2? This really chaps my sass because two members of my family didn’t have a choice: they both were diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when they were young. They have to continually monitor their diet and control their blood sugar. However, Ms. Deen, and other people who put on blinders and continue to fill their body with fat and sugar, had an option. Like not eating a burger made with Krispy Kreme donuts. It’s now rumored that Deen may become the spokesperson for Novartis, a company with a drug designed to treat diabetes. If she personally profits from developing Type 2 diabetes (Hey yáll, I’m your endocrinologist!), I’m going to go berserk. I can already see the talk show circuit lighting up. It makes me sick.81 Comments »