Welcome back to the weekly roundup here at Eating Our Words, where we've only recently discovered that there is a vegetable called "rocket" and it is not nearly as awesome as it sounds. It's supposed to taste like adventure and wonder, not like bitter spinach.
We started the week off right with a Beer Experiment competition, which is always a great start to the week, even if they did reject my Beer-Battered Gummi Bears entry. And after I went to all that trouble to figure out how to make the bears retain their bearly shapes even in the deep fryer (I had to use tiny bears made out of plastic).
As always, we provided a glimpse into the heart of the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo, and at the many deep-fried treats clogging it. We also took a look into the future to see what further blasphemies could conceivably be headed our way. It ain't pretty.
We had to stick up for our fair city which didn't really get its due in credit for influencing Mexican food. And let's face it: to Houstonians, Tex-Mex IS Mexican food. And I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. I had authentic interior Mexican food while I was in New York City. It was a burrito, but they put carrots and radishes and garden shit like that in it. No, thank you. Beef, bean and cheese, please. And don't skimp on the hot sauce, you Yankee scum.
Hubcap Grill was a busy little bee this week, hosting a We Don't Particularly Yike Lelp Party, receiving a mixed review from a Dallasite / Scotsman, and the owner absolutely losing his shit over said review from his Twitter account, comparing himself to Axl Rose. Ricky's a good dude, and I say this with the utmost respect: don't associate yourself with Axl Rose, sir. Remember, of all the people Axl insulted and threatened, he never actually stepped up and fought one. Except for that time when he jumped on an audience member. Not a role model, that Axl Rose.
Nabisco has been making that same mediocre cookie filled with shortening for 100 years now, and we listed some of our favorite varieties throughout the years, although I notice we've unfortunately omitted our favorite limited edition Depression-era Oreo flavor: Dust and Tears. It was the only cookie both endorsed and protested against by Woody Guthrie.
Speaking of cookies, what does your choice of Girl Scout Cookie say about you? I'll tell you what my choice says about me: I shouldn't be eating them a sleeve at a time if I want to live to see 40.
There's a pretty neat Mexican-Korean food truck hanging around outside Hughes Hangar on Washington so that they can experience the joy of deciphering orders made by drunken brosephs while enduring the haughty attitudes of the dickheaded doormen. Seriously, guys who decide who gets into clubs are just bad, bad people. Always.
Finally, the internet in general got taken down a peg for snorting derisively at a small town excited to finally get an Olive Garden. Ugh, haven't those provincial hayseeds ever heard of gastro-scientology? It's the new molecular cooking fad where the dishes simultaneously nourish your body and cleanse you of your Thetans.
And don't forget to vote for the worst barbecue in Houston. I am personally going to be among those ripping the violators some new assholes, so make sure the 'cue is extra bad. I'm told I'm funnier when I'm grumpy.
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