All my favorite restaurants need to come to me

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Sorry about not posting more often; I could give you a bunch of excuses, many of them reasonable, but let's just say I've been flaking and leave it at that.

As most of you know, Lopez and I just came back from a two-week stay in New York City, and it was fun, incredible, beautiful and grimy, exhilarating and exhausting. I'll put together a better report later, but for now let me tell you about the most fun restaurant I've probably ever been to.

A few blocks from where we were staying, on the hazy borderland between the Lower East Side and Greenwich Village, there are four tiny Indian restaurants side-by-side and stacked on top of each other, so there are two on the basement floor and two on top of them. The person we were renting an apartment from told us to ignore the guys trying to usher you through their particular door and recommended the top-left. That turned out to be Milon.

Glancing in the windows later, I'm guessing the other three eateries are similar, but I can tell you Milon is maybe about six and a half feet wide and maybe 15 feet long (not including the kitchen). Tables are crammed along the sides, leaving a narrow strip that is like a runway for the waiters that need as much poise and flexibility as your average model. And the ceiling - my God, the ceiling - is low and covered with red chili pepper lights, garland, twinkle lights and every other gaudy doodad ever strung on a wire. Going hand-in-hand with the disco fever dream is Indian dance music blaring non-stop from unseen speakers hidden somewhere in the tangle overhead.

It was completely awesome.

I'm a big guy, and my overcoat itself is a monstrous beast to be tamed, so you can imagine what settling in to our table was like. But once we were sitting it was comfortable, cozy even, and the service was attentive and top-notch. And the food itself was delicious, fresh and flavorful.

Eating at Milon is definitely an experience, an event as much as a meal. Lately it seems that whenever me and Lopez travel we end up finding one restaurant that we fall in love with and wish we could go to on a regular basis, dragging our friends there so we can spend hours eating and talking and hanging out. In New York, Milon was that restaurant.

OK, before I go completely into my old restaurant review mode, here are some pictures. Keep in mind that I took these, 1. without a flash, and, 2. pretty much at eye-level and from the very rear of the place. I had to duck when I walked through the place, so I'm not exaggerting when I say it was small. But again, it was cozy, not claustrophobic (shit, there I go again - pictures!).

Chico's vs Chuco's: FIGHT!!

It was bound to happen sooner or later; Chico's Tacos in El Paso is suing Chuco's Tacos in Austin for trademark infringement.

For what it's worth, the guys at Chuco's (fellow El Paso homies — represent!) must have know they were cutting it thin, what with the name, the tacos and (arguably) the logo.

But even though Chico's might be an El Paso institution, they don't have a lock on flautas submerged in a thin chile sauce. And like I told Lopez!, Chuco's is what Chico's would be if Chico's gave a shit about quality. It's not the same as Chico's — what could be? — but it's pretty good and I do get a jones for them a lot like I do for Chico's, so I hope they push through this BS and keep rocking the taquitos.

The Statesman has the story and one of the guys from Taco Journalism is quoted toward the end, so go give it a read, fellow El Pasoans, and let me know what you think.

Dammit — now I want some taquitos!

Honestly, a fire was probably just a matter of time

I know it will never — and probably shouldn't — happen, but if newspapers gave their reporters some sort of prize for best quote of the week, Zahria Torres would've been the winner.

This is from a story about a fire and some unruly customers at one of the restaurants of legendary El Paso chain, Chico's Tacos:

"We understand the sacrifice they had to make leaving possibly a double order of Chico's Tacos with extra cheese behind, but when an emergency response agency asks you to evacuate, including firefighters and police officers, it's usually because it's an emergency," said Lt. Mario Hernandez, the spokesman for the Fire Department. "So hopefully they'll realize this morning that they overreacted a little bit."

When you're interviewing someone, every now and then you get this moment where there's a part of your brain screaming, "This quote is GOLD!" And if you're from El Paso, this quote is even better (you can tell that cop knows what he's talking about ... oh, he knows).

The whole story is pretty funny actually, and for you lazy mugs out there it's also short, so go read the whole thing before it's lost to archiving.

Photo lifted from Interstellarlass' Flickr site

Some random thoughts

• Like a big, hairy baby, a lack of sleep makes me cranky.

• So the national economy is collapsing under its own weight, so badly people are finally beginning to at least whisper the word "recession" out loud. It's going to get worse before it gets better, the average citizen is going to suffer the brunt of the downturn, and the government and banking industry are still trying to act like they're trying to save a burning building even though they provided the matches and oily rags. And I'm wondering if there's an accidental silver lining in all this: Before the economy became the Big News (what do you mean people are dying in Iraq? Afghanistan who?), there was a disturbing rise in Administration rhetoric about Iran. Sabres were rattling and experts were actually coming out and saying, desperately, "No! Bad!" but it didn't look as if anyone was listening. Now the Administration is forced to pay attention to something else. Here's my question: Did the failing economy save us from war with Iran?

(At least temporarily. I'd predict that as soon as the economy improves, or at least stabilizes, we'll be hearing more about how scared we're supposed to be of people who speak Persian. It'll be a non-starter, but still — the Administration's nuts.)

• I've got some really good friends, and I feel very lucky about that.

• That Tribeca coffee at Einstein Bagels? That's pretty good stuff right there.

• My wife is also awesome.

• I just found out that this blog is the first result if you Google "worst soup flavors."

• I haven't gamed (RPG) in something like two months. Why have the 12 Gods forsaken me? Why?!?

• If I could, I would totally grow a big ol' handlebar mustache.

Chili today, hot tamale

Every now and then I get a craving for something I can only get in El Paso. I don't know if it's because of the cold weather, a hankerin' for cheap beef and grease, or what, but I just got hit with a major craving for a bowl of chili from Big Bun.

Does Big Bun even still exist, El Paso people? If anyone has had the chili recently — or even better, if someone actually goes and has some today — and sends me an obscenely graphic description of the experience, I will both love and hate you forever.


Photo swiped from Mattie & Den's Flickr site

Also, I totally stole this posts' title from Christy.

Cutting the cheese: In which I make a completely sexist observation

Why can't most women cut it?

Wait — let me amend that. Why can't any of the women I know slice?

Specifically, I'm talking about cutting and slicing of the deli persuasion, and I'm basing this on these completely baseless observations: My mom is notorious for literally hacking at blocks of cheese as if she were really lactose intolerant; my wife, Lopez!, cuts at a slant no matter how hard she tries; and every time I go to get some meat and cheese at my office common area after a female co-worker, it looks like a murder scene.

Lemme 'splain that last part. The company I work for deals with a lot of outside vendors, independent companies and service providers that help produce our end product. So, during the holiday season they tend to send us stuff in appreciation of the working relationship we share.

In other words, we get sent a lot of free stuff, most of which you can eat.

I'm new to this department, but since it works most heavily with vendors its' end-of-year booty is legendary. Tins of cookies and popcorn, smoked sausages and cheeses, even smoked salmon and whole spiral-cut hams find their way to the office. It's like heaven, and God is the head manager at a really good Hickory Farms.

Today we received a couple of sausages and blocks of cheese, and that's when I noticed that — like my wife, mom, grandmother and sister — the women I work with apparently don't slice straight, either.

Whuh? Is it because the whole turkey-carving, a-dull-knife-is-more-dangerous, Jim-Bowie-died-fighting-with-a-knife-named-after-himself thing is one of those macho rites of passage passed down from father to son? This theory, of course, doesn't include women who are professional cutters like butchers, surgeons and that girl who tore my heart out in fifth grade. I'm talking about the average woman who seems to leave a ragged trail of destruction and mutilated foodstuffs at cutting boards everywhere.

Of course, I've seen plenty of men who wield a knife as if it were a broom they were using to put out a flaming mouse. But generally, I've noticed this more with women.

So answer me this — do the women you know stink at cutting the cheese?


(Hey guys — Nel here. Obviously, this is meant to be tongue-in-cheek. OK? OK! And ladies, seriously — what did that block of muenster ever do to you?!?)

The Worst Soup in the World

I didn't have much for lunch today, but you know what? That's OK, because the alternative would have been to eat the entire container of Dr. McDougall's Vegan Minestrone and Pasta soup, which is so bad I can't even think of a simile for it.

Vegan food can be good, but maybe that's just the freshly made stuff because I can tell you that this cup of instant soup is so bad that I would not be surprised if you told me the Devil himself squatted over cardboard containers all day just to put this product on the shelves. Is this why you vegans tend to be grumpy? I would be too if this was the kind of crap I had to eat.

And don't get me wrong - this isn't an anti-vegan rant. I eat everything and I've put some truly foul things in my mouth. But this ... good God ... I didn't even pay for it and I feel ripped off.

Lopez and I forgot lunch today, so we borrowed these cups of caca from a coworker (who claims they're "good," by the way). Our first hint of things to come? When Lopez had her first spoonful and said, "Tastes fishy."

Lopez thought the MINESTRONE TASTED FISHY!

It was all downhill from there. The beans and vegetables never rehydrated, and instead became little dried-out bombs of ick. The "flavor mix" tended to hide in the pasta shells, waiting to unleash the full force of the soups' strangely chemical taste. There was something in there that could have been barley, or just as easily could have have been Styrofoam. No, wait - I've tasted Styrofoam, and it wasn't this bad.

In the end I could only eat the broth, and even then it was a struggle. With every bite I became more pissed, as if this soup had personally committed an affront to me and my entire family, and then smacked me in the back of the head with a dead 'possum. Lopez didn't eat much more, and she loves soup.

We shared a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a Coke with "lunch." We later both had a handful of Reese's Pieces.

I CAN STILL TASTE THAT GODDAMN SOUP!

This soup was so bad I felt compelled to warn everyone about it, like it was Attila's horde or an impromptu Yanni concert. If you have the opportunity to eat this soup, I'd recommend you catch a squirrel and then use it to scrape up some unidentifiable roadkill in a toxic swamp instead. It would be better than Dr. Death's Vegan Minestrone and Evil soup.

It would have to be better.

Hey, Pickle!!

Have you ever seen Idiocracy? It's not as good as Office Space, but it's a solid offering from Mike Judge that runs with the premise that society is virtually in ruins in the future because, well, stupid people tend to breed more. And they tend to eat more junk food and energy drinks.

Don't sweat it, stupid people! It's really a statement on our American society in general, since the world basically operates as if everyone is living in a reality show.

Ow. I just hurt my brain.

Anyway, this is all a long way to say this: Earlier, Lopez and I were talking about this, and she said it just supports her argument that Idiocracy might not be that far-fetched.

Ladies and gentlemen, in our continuing quest to bring you the latest in pickle news, I give you what some call:

THE KOOLICKLE

Oh yeah!

Because everyone knows that dill pickles have been crying out for an intensive Kool-Aid injection. And yes, small child, I will try Hot Cheetos and ice cream. At this point, why the hell not?

I just hope I don't go into sugar-shock while eating my Koolickle. Being found with one in my grip - or God forbid, my mouth - might be embarrassing.

Shit. Now I can't stop saying "Koolickle."