Out of Left Field

Good afternoon my meaty friends,

Do you like surprises?
I do and I don't care if you don't.
I love the way a juicy surprise creeps up on you, blinds you with an LED light, and then pulls your pants down. It's shocking, exhilarating and emotionally toughening (although my previously used blinding/pantsing analogy might not be).

Anyhoo, without further ado, allow me to unsettle you with the unexpected.

I LOVE VEGETABLES.

There, I said it. It feels good to get that off my chest, it has been weighing heavy.

I can hear your pronounced gasps, horrified shrieks and dumbfounded moans leeking through my computer but olive you guys just need to calm down. Before you artichoke me out, at least hear me out. Meat holds a special place in my heart, more specifically as a fatty buildup that calls the pulmonary artery home. In order to counteract the blood constricting affects of a meat bloggers diet, I turn to vegetables to help flush away the plague. Thus, for the sake of mi corazón, lettuce take a short break from ordinary onslaught of animal product puns to appreciate the understated impact of our plant based allies.

I know I must be coming across as a bit of a Beanedict Arnold but I feel that it is high time to squash the beef between pumpkin and pork. Cow, Pig and Chicken are my all-time flavor Hall of Famers but sometimes it's nice to let someone else be the bell pepper of the culinary ball. So just this once, lets turnip the volume and shout to the heavens, "All kale the Vegetable King!"

Lentil next time, I hope you can appreciate that vegetable's are rad-ish!

Thank you for accommeatdating this detour through the vegetable patch. I promise that I will be back to my meaty ways next week but before I go, here's one last veggie-pun:

Favorite NFL Draft Prospect - Manti Tomato

Sprung Break Pt. 2

Surprise! I’m Back!
Spooked yah.

The third act of the Sprung Break Chronicles was a joyous reunion.

As I coasted to a stop at the crest of 168^th and took a safe yet hurried right onto 15^th Ave. I was greeted by the gawky grin of a Shoreline staple point.  Ichi Bento is the wise respectful Japanese Uncle of the Shoreline food family. Uncle Bento doesn’t try to do anything flashy or flamboyant, instead he quietly supplies a sturdy product that satisfies all the rameatfications for excellence. Ichi Bento has made cherished visits to the Mustard Family dinner table for as long as I can remember and in that time quality has never wavered. Thank you Ichi Bento, I hope everyday is a nice day for you.

 

The fourth and final act culminated my Sprung Break with a thunderous crescendo. 

The sandwich that I devoured may very well be the best thing I have ever eaten so please excuse me if I get a bit animeated. On the drive down to Pioneer Square the string section began to pluck lightly in piccicato, I could sense butterflies gathering in my belly. The park and walk towards our illustrious destination was agony; the woodwinds attempted to offer solace. As our Mapquest guided pilgrimage approached Salumi a long line of expectant patrons engulfed us; tense horn stabs mirrored my discontent. The bellow of booming bass increased in frequency and anticipation as we crawled towards the Wicked ‘Wich of the West. With the counter in sight and taunting smells overwhelming, the orchestra’s pace began to spiral upward. Blurred vision, clammy hands and lightheaded giddiness overtook me as I exchanged dollars for doughy goodness chock full of unparalleled pork; the noise was staggering. With financials resolved and weighty sandwich securely grasped in my anxious hands I was finally ready to consummeat my relationship with the Porchetta. The orchestra soared as I clamped into my first bite; cymbals crashed as my chompers tore through artisan bread, French horns howled for vivid veggies, and the harp cried for tender pork. The frantic four minutes of ravenous eating and bewitching music that followed may have the happiest momeats of my life; and, with the final bite safely secured in my stomach, the conductor finally lowered his baton. I, as well as he, took a bow. 

Sprung Break Pt. 1

MEATHEADS!

I'm home for Sprung Break this week and I can tell there is something different. Being out of school and away from Spokane has augmeated my reality.

After only a meatter of hours being back in Seattle I was eye to eye with a flavor giant. Taco Chukis, which crafts Mexican food fit for Enrique Peña Nieto himself, is located in a cramped corner on the second floor of an obscure complex on Broadway Avenue. Finding Taco Chukis is the equivalent of getting to either Diagon Alley or Platform Nine & Three Quarters; it's going to take some magic. I was fortunate enough to know the way so, after casting my best spells and tossing the hobgoblin behind the counter a few gold coins, I was anointed with titillating tacos.

The tacos of Chukis may look small but each one packs an impressive 187 FlavorWatts of tongue twisting, taste-bud tingling, exuberance. For the average adult human 187 FlavorWatts is near an immobilizing level but, my adept chewing abilities, highly trained esophagus and virtuoso stomach made quick work of my formidable foe. Little did they know, Taco Chukis was only the beginning...

Next up, my hombre, Seth "The Flavor Savior" McDonald, approached me with premeatitated genius. Seth, ever the innovator, blessed me with the idea of BACON Cinnamon Rolls. Together, along with Maddie "Princess Pork" Weber, we set to work on shattering the current culinary composition of the meal known as Breakfast.

Our Results: Unfathomable.
FlavorWatts: Off the charts.
Words: Fall short.

An Appointmeat With Destiny

Konichiwa Compadres,

I live under constant pressure to pump out meatingful posts. Fortunately every once in a while a meatsenger from God comes bearing opportunity.

This past weekend my excessively tall and dangerously malnourished roommate returned home from a trip to Seattle. In his frail hands he carried a pristine pressure cooker; the chrome of the pot gleamed with potential and anticipation. As I contemplated the new domestic addition I realized that it was my duty to expand my cooking into the uncharted territory of my housemate's pressure cooker. This was my Meatifest Destiny.

I armed myself with virtuous pork chops and marched towards an unexplored cooker. After browning and lightly seasoning my chops I lathered them in divine sauce and turned up the pressure; five quick minutes later my mission was complete. The pressure cooker had been colonized by Gary Mustard and the purity of meaty ideals was spreading across the great land that I call the kitchen. The final accessories for my pressurized pork were a bath of angelic berry sauce and a dusting of the satisfaction that only comes with fulfilling your destiny.