This Week in Deliciousness

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Welcome back to Eating Our Words, where the words came back a little on us last night. That's acid reflux for you. Eat an entire package of shortbread and then pass out while doing a handstand and you'll wake up chokin' on them words. I dunno. This is stupid.

We started the week off in a bit of a tizzy over some alleged unpaid tips within the Ruggles empire. Is it still "alleged" if the dude admitted to owing the aggrieved at least $15,000? What I don't get is how that stuff goes on for as long as it did. I worked for a suspicious, untrustworthy kitchen owner for all of three weeks before I figured out he had almost certainly spent my paycheck on cocaine. Don't linger in these positions, kids. That's how wage theft becomes a $30 billion a year problem, $18 billion in the last two years in Houston alone. Good God Almighty. But no, Rick Perry, by all means you keep right on concentrating on how bad all the little WASP kids have it in school around Christmastime thanks to the gay soldiers who kill Christmas with their gayness.

It's an insanely complex undertaking to ship wine in Texas. It's so confusing, you can't even really follow the money. Who would benefit from so much chaos and confusion? There's got to be some kind of Lovecraftian horror behind all this. And most things in Texas politics, come to think of it. How depressing. I need to just lay in a pile of scrubber duckies for a while. OR OTHER GIFTS. Sometimes I am simply too tired for a proper segue.

The Modular is a kickass food truck that serves bone marrow, and that's all you need to know in order to school a Houston-hater. Or you could take 'em by the Capitol until they're all fancy-shmancied out.

We listed the top five gifts for the baker in your life. Next week: the butcher and the candlestick maker.

Our nightmares can now prominently feature characters from the creepiest food commercials of 2011, particularly Kid With a Gusher For An Eye. I know they tried to make it an inoffensive shade of blue, but listen to me, Gushers: anything shooting out of an eyeball is goddamned gross. It's like they've never seen "Cannibal: The Musical." Although that kind of thing on a food server would definitely warrant a walk-out.

This week, one of us ate the fugu. Holy crap, is that ever brave. Especially to me, who, being allergic to fish, would be killed twice as hard. Still, I'd rather eat that than a taco called the "Dirty Sanchez." Come on, guys. I don't care how delicious it is, that's not what I want to think about while I'm eating something with refried beans dripping out of it.

Cute alert: gingerbread doghouses, mofo. Caughtcha nappin'.

We had a lot of good things to say, yet we failed to heap absolute and unequivocal praise upon Liberty Kitchen, so we'll probably be banned from there for life. Dangerously thin skin and extreme, bitchy oversensitivity are terrific qualities in a business owner. Oh well. As long as El Gran Malo has a shrine to fine booze, we'll always have somewhere to go.

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