PInk Grapefruit

When I have the tremendous privilege and pleasure of enjoying breakfast in a diner I like to order multiple beverages: both coffee AND juice. If it's an extra-special steak and eggs treat, I'll get a third beverage: ROOT BEER or some other sweet fizzy soda pop.

My juice of choice? GRAPEFRUIT. But first I have to ask, "is your grapefruit juice pink or ???"

All too often these days, they proudly and confidently reply, "PINK!" Like, of course that's the only reason a person would ask. Because they cannot stomach REAL grapefruit juice and need that pansy-ass barbie-pussy pink sweet watered-down tasting bullshit. And almost everyone these days defaults to this blasphemous half-assed fake fruit concoction.

But when *I* hear them say "PINK!" I'm like, JUST FORGET IT. I guess I'll just have orange juice. And even then, you're going to get some pulpless, no-meat, thin, watery shit, but at least it still tastes of some acid.

It really pisses me off, how difficult it is to even find REAL YELLOW-Y STRONG-ASS GRAPEFRUIT JUICE in stores. Instead it's all this flaccid pink-in-plastic sissy-ass shit.

I WANT MY MOUTH TO PUCKER, FUCKERS! GET IT RIGHT!

WHY EVEN PUT THAT PINK SHIT ON A MENU?!?

DON'T ORDER GRAPEFRUIT JUICE IF YOU DON'T LIKE GRAPEFRUIT JUICE!

Give these fuckers who want pink grapefruit juice fucking HI-C or kool-aid or some other watered-down pastel-colored crap.

*****

There should be diners for people who like real food. Hard-boiled egg types of fuckers who want actual blood pudding, dill pickles, and pulpy sour-ass JUICE.

I'm so sick of people mocking folks who don't want to eat stuff with wheat fillers or who are lactose intolerant and don't want milk or butter added to EVERY MOTHERFUCKING THING AUTOMATICALLY, but these same bullies making fun of people who understand most adults don't produce enzymes to digest milk BECAUSE WE'RE NO LONGER FUCKING BABIES are the same immature crybabies who want their food SO FUCKING BLAND as to be nutritionally void user-friendly ultra-familiar CRAP. Oh, you want your steak WELL-DONE and your grapefruit juice PINK; I get it. You have no palate and you can't be trusted with resources - you will just ruin all of the best things, like actual FRUIT JUICE and BLOODY ANIMAL FLESH. Do you want mommy to cut your crust off for you too, you fucking picky brats?

That also brings me to the subject of "home fries". Why would I go to a diner to get potato wedges? NO. I want SHREDDED HASH-BROWNS. FRIED.

If you can't make hash browns, don't even bother offering breakfast in your restaurant. You can't be trusted to fry an egg or fry a burger or fry ANYTHING. I don't want your shit if you don't have SHREDDED GOLDEN HASHBROWNS. And not like an oblong McDonald's potato puck (though AT MCDONALD'S, I am okay with those). Shred the fucking potatoes and fry the fucking potatoes in SHORTNING (not butter) and you should be able to get them crispy WITHOUT DREDGING THEM IN WHEAT FLOUR, you cheating lazy-ass dumb fucks.

Here's the deal: when I order steak and eggs I want the whole experience. The yolks running all over my crispy-on-the-outside shredded hashbrowns, dragging bits of medium-rare or actually-rare meat through all of it. Washing it down with coffee, grapefruit juice and root beer: all kinds of potent contrasting flavors and textures. YUM YUM YUM YUM.

If you can't appreciate that, stick with cans of spaghetti-o's or whatever soft "food" you're into AT HOME.

Ding Dongs & Better Desserts

My birthday was on Tuesday so I've allowed myself a few disgusting treats, namely chocolate susans (those white cookies from Safeway with turd-swirls of chocolate frosting on top) and a box of Hostess ding dongs. Oh, and some Russian Caravan tea sweetened with sugar (I normally try to steer clear of caffeine and, lately, simple sugars).

Aside from the normal guilt (and discomfort up-to/including migraines) I get from eating total crap, I feel horrid about buying SHITTY desserts. I mean, if I'm going to splurge I really would prefer to get really high-quality desserts. There are a number of good bakeries in town, two of which SOMETIMES have Pain au chocolat. The problem is they only have it in the morning, are closed before dinnertime, AND MY WILLPOWER IS AT ITS LOWEST WHILE MY DESIRE IS AT ITS PEAK AT NIGHT.

Pastries and warm bread and chocolate aren't things I want to schedule in advance into the loathsome morning (not that I don't enjoy eating those things in the morning, I just don't *crave* them then / am thoroughly capable of resisting them at a time of day when swallowing food sometimes makes me want to vomit). I want doughy, gooey, sweet, melty and chewy deliciousness AT NIGHT. When I'm in bed with my girlfriend watching overwrought BBC dramas. When it's dark out with no light to distract me from the flavors in my mouth. When I'm setting the stage for my favorite part of the day: the time when I SLEEP.

Sigh. Food is the *only* thing that makes me wish we lived in Manhattan. Seriously.

Giant Tortillas

I hate giant so-called "burrito" gauge tortillas. I wish I could enforce a no-giant-tortillas-in-the-house rule. EVER. There are a plethora of tortilla sizes to choose from at the store, and the only one that should ever gain entrance into our house is the small/mediumish taco-sized tortillas. NO MORE GIANT TORTILLAS EVER! GAHHHHH!

One problem with giant tortillas is they are impossible to fully, uniformly heat unless you possess a fucking half-stovetop-sized GRIDDLE. Or if you're one of those crazy people who heats tortillas in the OVEN (or an even crazier person who will happily eat a stiff, fridge-cold tortilla). I am a stovetop tortilla-warmer, preferring to warm mine to toasty pliability in a skillet. I detest seeing a giant tortilla outsizing a frying pan, crinkling up around the edges, not getting HOT around the edges. God almighty, spare me that torture. What if I were to try to make a quesadilla? What then? Then cheese wouldn't properly melt around the outside!! Thank god I'm lactose intolerant, otherwise I would REALLY be screaming.

Giant tortillas also ruin my ability to guiltlessly overeat. If you do fill one of those monster tortillas with meat, legumes and vegetables, you know you have before you an entire meal encapsulated in ONE tortilla; you can't fool yourself into thinking you've only had half or one-fourth a portion. If you go back for a second and/or third helping of filling shrouded by giant tortilla, you KNOW you're a gluttonous hog and there's no excuse for it except for your own greedy appetite. With small tortillas you feel totally legit starting out with two or three, then going back for two or three more. Twice. Or three times. And you can tell yourself that THEY WERE REALLY SMALL TORTILLAS!