FRENCH DIP PIZZA

Need I say more?!?

Well, I will, but not too much. First off, Double DD Meats in Mountlake Terrace is the holy land. I recommend that all of my dear readers make a journey. Now, without further adieu, here come up a hearty serving of photographic proof of the crowning achievement of my life to this point. The game has been changed. French Dip Pizza is the next big thing. French Dip Pizza trumps sliced bread in its sleep.

The end. Game over. I'm off to perfect the recipe.

Too Hideous to Love, Too Delicious to Disregard

I am the love child of Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde and Emeril Lagasse. A maniacal man of meat fueled by a twisted mixture of coffee, alcohol and pork products. Propelled by pride and dumb luck I hang on by a thread while normalcy unravels. In the heat of last weekend, delusion and fantasy reached a fever pitch. I was getting weird and my culinary courage had led me down a dark path. It all started with vegetables...

A tornado of technicolor vegetables whirled into my kitchen. They looked oddly beautiful but were clearly dead set on ruining my meat blog street cred. With my reputation in danger of disintegration and my sanity by no means safe I made a desperate lunge for stability. My attempt at stability garnered no results, but I did find some chicken.

Upon introducing poultry to pan I felt comforted. Upon remembering that chicken tastes like chicken I felt reassured. My culinary conscience seemed to be clearing and through the clouds of steam I caught a glimpse of a divine light.

The light was radiating off the subtle sheen of freshly cooked bacon. All seemed right in the world once again. The beautiful combo of bacon and chicken smiled up at me. But then, as if possessed by a health-conscious demon, I made an out of character decision. Instead of throwing all the vile vegetables into the nearest trashcan, I opted to throw them in with the heavenly meat products.

The culinary kaleidoscope I had concocted was a pleasure to behold but the watering down of the dish's meaty content was troubling. I forged forward nonetheless, doctoring up a white sauce. I plunged my colorful creation and its accompanying sauce into a couple crust lined pie pans and after 45 minutes of mad science, my Frankensteinian pot pie was alive!

As I sat down at the table, ceremonial first bite staring me in the face, I reflected on my current situation. -- I'm a meat log blogger. I'm fresh off a decisive 40th post and I'm now breathing life into a vegetable laden monster. What have I created? What have I become? What have I done?! -- But wait! The bite that passed between my reluctant lips was laced with fiery flavor. I melted, I conceded. Be still my beating heart. Assorted unmentionables mixed with a hefty portion of chicken and a bunch o' big bad bacon tasted really freek-a-leekin' good.

In the culinary kingdom taste reigns supreme, which means despite my loyal allegiance to the royal family of meat, exceptions must be made.

You won this round veggies. You were an excellent addition.  

The BIG 4-0

The monkey clinging to my back this past week has been the big 4-0. He snuck up and jumped on, escaped from a captivity of contentment and hell bent on destroying any semblance of emotional stability I may have initially possessed. My ride-along primate partner was my fortieth Meat Log Blog post and with each passing day he became more and more reminiscent of a gorilla. Detachment and despondency overwhelmed. I was lost, questioning the humor my jokes, the merit of my story telling and most of all, the accuracy of my grammar.

I was having a meat life crisis.

Drastic decisions loomed large on the horizon. Do I quit the meat log blog and retreat to a reclusive life? Do I end it all in a blaze of artery wrecking glory? Do I spring for a convertible? All scenarios seemed like realistic options. Just as I was pulling out and dusting off the ol' roulette-wheel-of-sporadic-life-choices my parents burst in, bellowing out their collective voice of reason. They could see the desperation in my eyes and smell the indecisive stench that leaked from my pores. They knew just what to do. My dad had lived through a similar episode and for his, like mine, barbecue was the only viable cure. My parents sprung me from the clutches of my oppressive back-shackled monkey with a short walk to Rainin' Ribs and a mammoth sandwich known in folklore legend as the Big Daddy. A bun piled high with coleslaw, pulled pork, hot links and taste bud tingling "voodoo sauce" brought me back from the brink.

I was rejuvenated, reborn. The magical powers of pulled pork and hot links gave me a new lease on life. My zest for all things Meat Log Blog has been redoubled and I can smell greatness in the air. The first 40 were a warm up; the next 40 will really be a show.


Meat life crises are a serious yet treatable event. If you or a loved one are facing any of these symptoms call tool free at 1(888) HLP-MEAT for anonymous help and guidance from trained professionals.

Imeatation - Not The Most Sincere Form Of Flattery

Frightened Public:

I write to you today with a message of the upmost importance for those concerned with living a healthy life. Soytainly by now you have all heard about Textured Vegetable Protein (TVP) – street names – The Devil’s Hambone, Supper Surprise, Mouth Meth, Tummy Tinglers, Meat Analogue, Soy. This hazardous new chemical has invaded our nation’s kitchens and is eating away at the stomachs and minds of America’s best and brightest. Doctors from across the nation and around the world are running tests and sprinting through evaluations in hopes of determining the true repercussions of this risky new ‘food’. But, while other physicians slave away in the lab, this meatical doctor is prone to publish the facts in their current form. The taste bud torture must end.

Soy, unlike authentic unadulterated meat, does not contain enough saturated fat to be good for you. Saturated fats help to toughen up your heart, making you better prepared to face the emotional grind of everyday life. Without fatty fats, you run the risk of becoming weak, complacent and a total wussy. Worse yet, TVP tricks the neurons in your soyrebrum causing your brain to think that it is receiving all the much need endorphins, serotonin and pleasure enhancers that are found in meat. This can lead to dangerous depletion. A diet devoid of true sustenance and jam-packed with mock meat will lead to emotional breakdowns. That’s a fact. Lastly, and this fact will be especially horrifying for all the animal rights activists in the audience, soy tastes offensive. That alone is not the appalling aspect although, for food lovers like myself, it needs to be considered. The shocking truth is that in order for TVP to obtain a palatable taste, reminiscent meat’s explosive flavor, hundreds of live animals must be squished into a fine dust. Animals are shoveled into a machine resembling a trash compactor; the output from this abhorred contraption is then mixed in with Soy, creating a marketable imeatatation. The truth hurts, the truth shocks, but the truth has an undeniable importance.

Fauxcus on what I am saying, be an informed eater, and don’t let imeatation seep into your diet.