Welcome back to the weekly roundup here at Eating Our Words, where we're already rigging our rooftops up with traps and buying ingredients for our famous reindeer chili.
We started the week off like we do most days around the holidays: with a big-ass box of wine. No, YOU'RE making a scene, you stoobid peesashit. Leemee lone.
Recovery time: a heaping slab of chicken fried steak is still one of the best ways to bounce back from a hangover. It may take more than that to convince your significant other that you don't really find them "torturous and inadequate," but at least you won't have to do that with a splitting headache. And remember, proper etiquette for post-binge apologies is no less than four hours after you've regained consciousness. Unless, of course, you immediately start drinking again, in which case your friends and family are already used to it. Sadly, miserably used to it.
We can't pretend we're the only scintillatingly charming witticists up in this piece, and so we've finally started to reward you guys for your better contributions. We're still not handing out any awards to people who leave comments like "FARTFUCKING SHITCOCK," but we hear they're crazy about that kind of thing over at Rocks Off.
Is it really possible for desserts to be better than sex? You be the judge, but we're going to try out the "Bacon and Chocolate Chip Fluffernutter" tonight, both the dessert and the position. It'll have to wait 'til after we've roused from our extensive food coma, more than likely induced by more than simply food. Miley Cyrus isn't the only one who can get down with some salvia divinorum.
It's the holidays. Unless you're a deliberately contentious heathen who has declared War on Christmas and Therefore America, you've been buying presents for your loved ones, every single damned thing on their lists, which means you need to figure out ways to save money. Well, not to worry: there are a lot of terrific happy hour deals around town, and even some places that rate a visit from the big man himself, Santa Claus. Santa Claus, the reason for the season, was born in a manger at the North Pole and delivered gifts and miracles to the people of the world before being betrayed by the Easter Bunny and crucified on a candy cane cross by liberals. God DAMN it, I love Christmas.
I also love the Moon Tower Inn, one of the greatest places in Houston. The hot dogs cost about as much as they do at the ball game, but unlike the dogs at the ball game, they'll start a party in your mouth that you'll wish will never end. It's like eating Andrew WK. We far prefer being pleasantly surprised by places like Moon Tower to being disappointed by other over-hyped restaurants. Or overused, trendy foochebag terminology.
Alfa Capri is sinisterly delicious, thanks to the mysterious people coming and going and constantly dropping off money. Maybe there's an innocent explanation, but we know that many Houston restaurants are hotbeds of crime and corruption, and on that note, we have some good news: Monica Pope was finally apprehended. Our long city-wide nightmare is finally over, and at last we can move on. Uh... to far lesser restaurants, most likely, since her places were always awesome. Damn. (Actually, she didn't go to jail, but you see sometimes we like to be silly in this here column, perhaps you've noticed.)
Finally, we got into two food fights this week: battle dahi puri and battle veggie burger. And of course there was that incident with the boxed wine, but we were told by the police that it doesn't count as a "food fight" if you try to shank someone with a broken beer bottle. News to us!
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