Inhuman Eating Machine

IEM Session #16.8

2011-05-17T15:52:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(Continued from 16.7)

Eating Day: March 19, 2011- one final time

SATURN CAFE- 2175 Allston Way, Berkeley- 10:03pm- Cobb Salad - $9.50

Except for Herbivore, none of the salad session's stops had catered specifically to the nonsensical sensibilities of vegetarians. Herbivore seems to target Berkeley's affluent meat-free populace. They attract a clientele composed largely of socially-conscious middle-aged women who have undoubtedly paid great sums so they can look natural, yet slovenly. The de facto uniform of most of the diners at Herbivore seems to come straight from Chico's. Saturn Cafe, on the other hand, draws a different class of vegetarian. Herbivore tries to look like an upscale place where one could entertain an important cruelty-free potential business client. Saturn, on the other hand, is cut from the same pretentious bolt of hipster cloth as Rudy's Can't Fail. The merits or deficiencies of Saturn's food notwithstanding, I felt more embarrassed within its confines than if I had gone stag to Chuck E. Cheese on a Friday evening.

The polished chrome and naugahyde booths and formica tables at Saturn have become so de rigeur at modern eateries, I can forgive these faux-retro fixtures within their restaurant. In fact, these accouterments have become as run-of-the-mill as the red and yellow color scheme at McDonald's. The look has ceased to invoke any bygone era, the same way the PT Cruiser no longer reminds anyone of a 1930's gangster getaway car. I am less forgiving, however, when it comes to other aspects of Saturn's decor. The walls surrounding the open kitchen are festooned with pro-looking graffiti that was possibly rendered by a dignitary from the local hip-hop culture in an effort to lend authenticity to an establishment that drips with phoniness. To add even more "street cred," another wall at Saturn is emblazoned with a Che Guevara quote, "At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love." Oh brother. That kind of mishegos is just beyond the pale. That dead commie would have taken one look at this place and blown it up by attaching plastic explosives to the dozen or so futuristic, apron-clad mannequin torsos hanging from the wall. To top it off, there are Loteria cards affixed to the surface of the tables; a clear attempt to co-opt "edgy" Chicano culture. If all these gewgaws weren't enough, the wait staff at Saturn looks like the cast of a video for a band that would have sounded dated ten years ago. With the quirky waitresses sporting traditional tattoos and ugly footwear and a clientele heavy on lesbian poseurs, the whole scene is like a bit from Portlandia, but even more unfunny.

I could have gladly ignored all of these sickening embellishments, however, if only the salad wasn't such a fiasco. My family kept a kosher home when I was growing up, so the only way I could enjoy bacon or sausage in the house was by eating ersatz vegetarian analogs, usually products of Morningstar Farm. One would have thought that fake bacon technology would have advanced by leaps and bounds since the 1970's, but the counterfeit pork product on Saturn's cobb salad was identical to the abominations I remembered from my days in grammar school. The strips still had the texture and appearance of a manila folder printed with bacon-esque stripes. The taste is a liquid smoke overdose that continues unabated in one's urine for several days after consumption. From eating at vegetarian Chinese restaurants, I know for a fact that artificial chicken need not call to mind the salty foam matchsticks I found on my salad at Saturn. Other than the fake meat on the salad, the rest of the ingredients (avocado, tomatoes, hardboiled egg, and blue cheese crumbles) were unremarkable and the bowl was a little heavy on romaine, as opposed to the mixed greens. For $9.50, the least they could do is use some fancy greens and pilfer quality fake meat from a Chinese restaurant.

I slogged through the Saturn salad, but due to its smaller proportions, it required only a fraction of the time I needed to polish off its predecessor at Chick-A-Pea. I even made room to taste some of the Turkish Coffee ice cream Kelly had ordered. That stuff was out of this world. I have heard Saturn makes a great milkshake, too, so I might visit this ridiculous place again when/if I do a milkshake session.

When we finally arrived home, Kelly noticed my outstretched abdomen and screamed at me in horror, as if I was suddenly missing a limb. She demanded that I put a stop to this nonsense ASAP, lest I rupture my duodenum. While I understand her qualms with my mission, she must acknowledge my calling- my devotion to you all. Fear not. I will continue this pursuit as long it remains fun and as long as my stomach allows me.

When I woke the next morning, my stomach was in pain like after no other session before. For sheer volume, I reckon the salad session was ahead of all previous outings, although most of the salad ingredients were mostly water. My stomach had been stretched beyond its limits and appropriately sore, but it also felt empty. I had clearly aspirated most of the session's contents in my sleep, either via breath or flatulation. Consequently, I was starving the next morning, especially after emitting a rectal spray that approximated a fermenting bowl of Chef Boy-R-Dee ravioli. Completion of this session was never in the slightest doubt, especially since there are a few salad purveyors open late in the evening, but the repercussions I experienced were definitely unexpected. In the post Bin-Laden era, only a fool underestimates lettuce.

TOP 2 SALADS:
Actual Cafe
Chick-O-Pea's

Coming June 14: Inhuman Eating Machine #17- Bibimbap

IEM Session #16.7

2011-05-10T10:02:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(Continued from 16.6) Eating Day: March 19, 2011- again.

CHICK-O-PEA'S- 1926 Shattuck Ave, Berkeley- 8:44pm- Chick-O-Pea's Salad - $7

Photo by Tigerlily

When I started the salad at Herbivore, I ate with almost the same vigor as very early in the session. I slowed down as I worked my way through that disappointment, but I never approached the sensation of distension I had experienced after the Smart Alec's salad. I was now roughly as full as I was prior to the salad at Maoz. This was apt, because I was about to eat at Chick-O-Pea's, a place with a very similar m.o. as Maoz, except in a non-chain package.

I have known about Chick-O-Pea's since they opened a couple of years ago, yet I was reluctant to try the place. Something about my perception of their business model had put me off of them. Perhaps it was their cutesy name, which I assume was derived from Jodi Foster's nonsensical wild-child utterances in her role in Nell. Maybe I found all of their grandiose statements about organic this and eco-friendly that a bit much for a falafel joint.

"Chick-O-Pea’s aioli is made fresh daily and we use only free-range organic eggs. We use rice oil for our deep frying and virgin olive oil for our dressings. Chick-O-Peas' mission is to bring an eco-friendly alternative to the disposable foodservice industry and bring social awareness of the need to maintain our environment. Our disposable products such as cold cups, lids, cup carriers, containers, clamshells, cutlery, plates, bowls and lunch trays are currently purchased from manufacturers and suppliers of 100% biodegradable and compostable (disposable) made from PLA (corn), high heat tolerant CPLA, Bagasse ( sugarcane) and recycled paper pulp."

Don't get me wrong. This stuff is all well and good. It just irritates me when eateries feel the need to blow their green health-horn in my face. It's the restaurant equivalent of a girl who wears a chastity ring just to brag about her virginity. Finally, I think Chick-O-Pea's location adjacent to the Gourmet Ghetto had me convinced that they would be unduly expensive and/or pretentious. I should not have stayed away so long, because the reality of Chick-O-Pea's is quite different than what I had envisioned. Since the salad session, I have eaten here (to go) on half a dozen occasions. I still get embarrassed saying the establishment's name, though.

Like Maoz, the Chick-O-Pea's salad is part full-serve, part self-serve. To start, they give you a plastic-like clamshell container that already holds a small bed of mixed greens. After you have paid, they fry up two large, made-to-order falafel balls. You build the rest of the salad at their do-it-yourself salad bar. As with Maoz, the items on the salad bar are Middle Eastern/Mediterranean-inspired, but Chick-O-Pea's offerings are generally far more flavorful than the relatively unadorned salads at Maoz. A few of the items on the Chick-O-Pea's bar are always present, but others seem go in and out on a rotating basis. On the day of the session, I chose a sizable heap of pickled cabbage, pickled peppers, pickled beets, seasoned cucumber salad, and lobio, a garbanzo bean salad in vinaigrette. I looked up lobio on Wikipedia. It apparently comes from the Republic of Georgia and usually contains kidneys beans, rather than garbanzos. Although I don't know how authentic this version is, it was certainly a zingy salad with a good deal of cumin, a little garlic, and maybe some citrus. It would make a great alternative to taboulleh on a falafel plate. All the other salads were equally delicious. Best of all, the falafel here is as good as the balls at Maoz. Once again, they are highly crunchy outside, well-spiced, and moist inside. And they're big. If Chick-O-Pea's has a good pita, the falafel sandwich here is undoubtedly stellar. There are also several squeeze bottles of dressings/sauces available for topping your salad. Unfortunately, they are unlabeled, so I can only guess what the bottles contain. I am quite certain that one of the bottles is a tahini sauce and another is yogurt-based, but I have no clue about the others, except for the harissa (Middle Eastern hot sauce.) I loaded up on harissa, which made the already-vibrant salad even more exciting.

About halfway through the salad, I slowed to a crawl. It was a miracle that I was able to finish this thing. I made the salad far bigger than I should have. At one point, I sneezed hard, probably due to the peppery ingredients in the salad. The force of the sneeze was so great, it nearly caused me to projectile vomit all over the restaurant. I had to close my mouth quickly to prevent the chunder. After this episode, I continued to plod through the salad one tiny bite after another until I was finally finished. I was nearly as stuffed as I was after the Smart Alec's salad, but this time, there was no beckoning turd on the horizon. Worst of all, my ears were now stuffed up, as if I had just disembarked from a twelve-hour flight. This sensation lasted until the following morning. Were my Eustachian tubes filled with lettuce? I expected to lose my equilibrium once I arose from the table to walk from the car. Luckily, I was able to waddle to my auto and attempt a final entry before calling an end to this foolish venture.

IEM Session #16.6

2011-05-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(Continued from 16.5) Eating Day: March 19, 2011, duh!

HERBIVORE- 451 Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley, 7:20pm- Large Green Salad - $7.50 + $1.50 for Grilled Tofu add-on

Photo by Tigerlily

After Smart Alec's colossal salad and the out-of body defecation experience it triggered, I knew a lengthy interlude in my journey was imminent. I drove home somehow, which was probably not a safe endeavor, as the colon explosion I had undertaken at UC left me spent like I had run a triathlon in a kevlar track suit. I was falling asleep at nearly every traffic light. When I finally made it to the couch, I assumed catatonia for several hours straight. When I arose, I felt reasonably ready to resume the session. My distended abdomen had all but returned to its normal state and I even had slight twinges of hunger returning. I would meet up with Lily again in Berkeley for the final few stops of the expedition, accompanied by my wife.

I had only been to Herbivore once before, but exclusively to order a vegan chocolate cupcake from their bakery, which was shockingly delicious. I was a vegan myself in 1980's. Back then, vegan pastries were as dense as a gold brick with the consistency of dry steel wool. Due to some secret cruelty-free technology they've discovered, however, Herbivore has managed to make a cupcake that rivals the real McCoy. The salad here was another story. I was somewhat surprised that Herbivore had a single salad that qualified for the sub-$10 cost ceiling, because from the outside, this place looks really expensive.

In the years since I quit the ranks of vegetarianism, my former cohorts have apparently made more changes than simply acquiring the ability to make edible baked goods. In 2011, it would seem that not only do vegetarians not believe in eating animals, they don't believe in prompt service, either. It took 15 minutes for somebody to take our order and close to half an hour to receive our food- a period they made even more interminable by playing Fugazi "Waiting Room" over their sound system. Are you kidding me? Why is it that Negro Spirituals recorded in the fields circa 1920 sound less dated than 1980s-90s alternative rock? I will take this opportunity to once again disavow any connection I ever had to said music. It is bad and you and I both know it, nostalgia be damned.

The salad looked good. I will give it that. It consisted of bean sprouts, julienned beets, avocado slices, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, and about half a dozen small pieces of grilled tofu. The whole megilla was served on a bed of romaine and mixed greens. I opted for creamy hemp salad dressing on the side. I have never smoked marijuana before for several reasons, many of which are ridiculous. However, if reefer tastes anything like this dressing, I am quite certain that abstaining was a good choice. The stuff tasted like aspirin. Other than the analgesic flavor, I detected no other seasonings. This was easily the worst salad dressing I have ever tasted. I thought I had dodged a bullet by ordering the dressing on the side, but the greens were somehow equally acrid. It was almost a month before Passover. I had no interest in eating bitter herbs. (Look up the reference, goyim!) I saw no spinach in the bowl, but my teeth felt gritty like it does after eating a spinach salad. Most of the other toppings were fine, but the tofu was worthless. The pieces had grill marks, but the tofu possessed none of the smoky flavor you associate with grilled food. In fact, the tofu had no flavor whatsoever.

Kelly and Lily both enjoyed their meals, and all the portions here were larger than I thought a place like this would serve. I just don't see any reason to eat here. If I am trying to eat healthy, I don't need the kind of pretentious vibe a place like this exudes. I'd rather eat a bag of carrots and an orange and spend an hour on a treadmill. Yes, Herbivore have fake meats coming out the wazoo, but they also have a full bar. And you can bet your ass the ersatz meat here is only slightly less deadly than the animal flesh it impersonates after they fry the wheat gluten and add seasonings straight out of a laboratory. Health food, my eye.

In 1990, I might have deemed Herbivore a godsend, as long as I stayed away from the pharmaceutical-grade salad dressing. However, this was the same period when I was a proponent of the shitty music they played during my session visit here. That can't be a mere coincidence.

IEM Session #16.5

2011-04-26T04:13:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(Continued from 16.4)

Eating Day: March 19, 2011, of course

SMART ALEC'S INTELLIGENT FOOD- 2355 Telegraph Avenue, Berkeley, 1:55pm- Superior Chef Salad - $6.95

Photos by Tigerlily

This was the salad stop I was dreading. If anything was going to break me on this session, it would be the salad here. Their entry is almost identical to the salad just up the street at Cafe Intermezzo, but Smart Alec's offers more dressing choices, more protein add-in options, and wheat berries as a default salad topping. Smart Alec's also offers some kind of freebie to students that bring in a good report card. Alec's is not a chain, as far as I can tell, but it somehow has a very chain-y feel to it. This is probably due to the pro-looking wall menu and their emphasis on their air-cooked fries, which seem like the domain of an enterprising multinational bent on capturing students seeking healthy dining options. Unlike Intermezzo, which has a very Berkeley-looking staff that undoubtedly smells of cumin, the counter girls at Smart Alec's always look they could have been extras in an Avril Lavigne video. While the hippies at Intermezzo actually make the salads, Smart Alec's food is prepared by Spanish-speakers in the back (like at almost every other restaurant in the Bay Area.) It is strange that two establishments that truck in identical food offerings (sandwiches and massive salads) can have such completely different "vibes," even though they are only two blocks apart.

Other than wheat berries, the Smart Alec's Superior Chef salad contains romaine, corn niblets, tomato slices, carrot coins, edamame, alfalfa sprouts (aka "the splooge of the plant kingdom"), an entire hardboiled egg, half an avocado, garbanzo beans, and croutons. Plus, you get your choice of protein from a list that includes grilled chicken, roast turkey, sliced turkey, hummus, a veggie burger, baked tofu, and a hamburger patty. I opted for the burger, as it seemed charred beef might counteract the roughage's imminent digestive "corollaries." The patty was easily a quarter pounder. Although it was overcooked for my tastes, it was relentlessly juicy and flavorful. I considered it a great addition.

It is hard to tell from the photo, but the salad here is absolutely behemoth. The thing weighs well over 2lbs, possibly 3lbs. Most sane people will make three or more meals out of this concoction. In the Mountain or Central time zone, where cole slaw is considered a health food, the Superior Chef would be enough salad to feed an entire family reunion at a rented picnic area in a city park. While the ingredients of Alec's salad are not up to the organic, seasonal, locally-grown, heirloom pedigree of some of the salads I ate earlier in the day, there is no denying that the Superior Chef is a great buy. Compared to a salad you'd receive at a steak house in the Midwest, it is absolutely a masterwork of modern greenery construction. The multitude of textures belies the fact that you are "just eating a salad." It is beyond comprehension that this salad is thrice the size of some I ate on this session, while ringing up as the least expensive offering of the journey. I don't care if the ingredients on the Tomate salad were grown in a monastery in the San Joaquin Valley and hand-delivered to the restaurant's door by the monks. There is no justification for their salad to cost $2.55 more than the Smart Alec's offering.

A salad of such proportions is a wonderful gift in most applications, but it was a tribulation during this session. I correctly assumed that finishing this salad would result in the skin surrounding my abdomen nearing laceration. I am sure my midriff has stretch marks with this salad's name on it. What I did not bargain for was the intense jaw pain I experienced eating this beast. All the chewing had left my entire face throbbing, as if I had been suckerpunched. Unlike certain session meals, it would have been ill-advised to try and swallow the salad with only a perfunctory chew. I had to thoroughly chomp every bite, lest I become a Heimlich Maneuver candidate. It took me at least an hour to finish this vegetable leviathan. Smart Alec's would be as far as I could eat for a while.

I was beginning to feel occasional violently effervescent episodes below my belt. Since Smart Alec's boasts one of the only restrooms on Telegraph Ave. accessible to customers, I decided to avail myself of their facilities, even though the urge to discharge had not yet reached DefCon 5. Despite the sign on the bathroom wall admonishing, "Do not use more toilet paper than you need. Toilet has a tendency to overflow," the bowl was filled with a massive mound of TP and excreta. I suspected the assemblage was going nowhere without considerable attention I was unwilling to devote in my condition. Regardless, I jostled the wad a little with the plunger and then flushed, hoping the commode could manage the massive volume of filth. Instead, the accumulation just rose in the toilet, resting millimeters from the rim. Fearing the worst, I fled the lavatory.

This failed attempt at plumbing took quite a few minutes. My fecal necessity was now becoming crucial. First, I bandied the idea of going to Lily's place a few blocks away to sully her bathroom. This notion was dashed, however, because Chris had already lit back there to perform the very same function! Lily suggested we go to Barrows Hall at UC where KALX is located. The building is only a few blocks away from Smart Alec's, but I had tremendous difficulty completing this walk with my contents intact. I had to stop every few steps to clench. This trek was as agonizing as when Christ was led on foot to Golgotha dragging his own cross. This whole affair showed me, though, that my sphincter control seems to have increased at my advance age. In the past, I wouldn't have made it across Bancroft without a leg full of excrement, yet I reached the campus restroom with my boxer briefs relatively unscathed.

I flung myself upon the throne and set to work immediately. The job, a conglomeration of pretzel logs marinating in original-flavor Gatorade, was finished almost instantly. I sat there panting from my ordeal. Hunched over, I noticed that there were thousands of ants walking on and around the wall inches from my left foot. Normally, I would have leapt from the stool in terror and burst from the stall without regard for wiping or pants-fastening. In my condition, though, I could do little but watch the ants go about their business and drift closer into a rectally-induced coma.

IEM Session #16.4

2011-04-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(Continued from 16.3)

Eating Day: March 19, 2011, what else?

MAOZ VEGETARIAN- 2395 Telegraph Avenue, Berkeley, 1:15pm- Salad Box w/Ice Tea- $8.00

Photo by Tigerlily
Three salads down. Nothing. Combined, the first trio of salads weighed at least 2 lbs., I'd reckon, but I may as well have eaten three pretzels. They just had not registered yet. I knew I had some serious contenders to come, but this voyage seemed even easier than I could have imagined.

I had wanted to try Maoz for a while since I spotted the joint while walking from Amoeba to Rasputin's in the midst of a dollar record sojourn. Yes, Maoz is a chain. They're an international chain, even, with stores in both the U.S. and Europe. In most cases, a chain this big would have fallen outside of the scope of the IEM by-laws, but the next closest Maoz to the one in Berkeley is roughly 3,000 miles away. I decided I would allow it in the session.

Maoz has kind of a weird system. If I came here on a day when I was in a hurry, I was grumpy, or I didn't feel like dealing with a restaurant's unique food formatting and policies, I might have walked out without ordering. The whole set-up seemed unnecessarily confusing. The "salad box" works like this. You start out with a round plastic bowl, not a box.) The bowl comes with a bed of lettuce (50/50 romaine and greens) and five falafel balls. Then you get a choice of a few different add-ons. I chose hummus and avocado. These steps are assembled by the counter guy. After he finishes this part, he hands you the box and then you can add more things from the salad bar. You can add all that you want into the bowl on a single trip. They make it abundantly clear that this is not an all-you-can-eat buffet-type salad bar a la Fresh Choice. So, you had better pile it on during your lone trip to the salad bar. If I was eating eight salads in a single day, I could have piled on an ungodly amount of salads into that box, but I decided to keep it plentiful but sane. The bowl had no more than a pound of plant matter inside. A fair amount, I felt. To the aforementioned ingredients I added the following salad bar items myself- carrot salad, beet salad, coleslaw, veggie salad (carrot coins, cauliflower, etc.), tomato wedges, sliced onions, and yogurt sauce.

If Maoz would have been around during the falafel session, it would have destroyed the competition. Today, only Oasis and another place I stopped later on the salad session are in the same falafel league as Maoz in the East Bay. The balls are extra crispy and seasoned correctly. The falafel were cooked to order here, still hot and crunchy on top of the salad, like the world's greatest crouton. The hummus was okay, but still somewhat out of balance. I've said it before. Getting the perfect garbanzo:tahini:garlic:lemon juice ratio is nearly impossible.

The salads from the self-service bar were gorgeous with their vibrant hues, but they tasted like their core vegetable without any zim or zam. And the yogurt "sauce" was just liquid yogurt. I could not taste anything in there other than plain old yogurt. I know they have spices at Maoz. The falafel was a taste explosion. Why dish up such neutral-tasting salads? Perhaps they don't want the falafel to be upstaged. I can understand this line of thinking, but it would take more than a little vinegar and black pepper on a beet salad to overpower these mighty balls. Maoz is worth a return for the falafel alone, but I may have to employ some of their other dressings if I try the salad box again. The falafel stifled its supporting players like Lee Marvin showing up on an episode of Hogan's Heroes.

After the Maoz salad, I felt only a slight semblance of a trace of fullness setting in. Gas had not even begun to develop in my entrails. I was riding high in the saddle. Unfortunately, the next stop was the 500lb. gorilla in the room.

IEM Session #16.3

2011-04-05T08:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 16.2)

Eating Day: March 19, 2011, yet again

NEW AMSTERDAM COFFEE- University Avenue, Berkeley, 12:12pm- The Big Salad- $7.25

Photo by Tigerlily

After a trip to the ill-conceived Emeryville Target store to purchase batteries, Lily and I ventured to the heart of downtown Berkeley. If Tomate is quintessential old-time Berkeley and Actual is North Oakland personified, then New Amsterdam is a prime example of the sort of establishment so prevalent in the vicinity of UC Berkeley. Tomate was populated by older types with frizzy hair and wide-wale cordurorys who have undoubtedly done time as Cal faculty. New Amsterdam, however, has a grad-school vibe to it. Their key demographic surely consists of teaching assistants who are enrolled in programs that are sufficiently esoteric to make any future career aspirations futile. There is a lot of soccer paraphernalia strewn about the place and there is always some kind of soccer-related programming on the television behind the counter. There are murals on the inside walls that depict what I assume to be the Netherlands. Perhaps the owner is from Holland. Or maybe the soccer theme is naught by a ruse set forth to give the illusion of worldliness.

In case you had forgotten, the session took place on a cold, gray, rainy day- the stuff of Natalie Merchant songs. Salads are not a meal that engenders warmth, so I was even more sensitive to the act of pure barbarism delivered upon me by a steady stream of customers who came in and out of the New Amsterdam to place coffee orders. These 20-somethings repeatedly exhibited an utter lack of regard for human life, leaving the front door open several inches. This offense allowed excruciating blasts of storm to enter the room, making me even colder than I was before entering. Who does such a thing? Why not pull the door completely closed? These devils seemed to be perpetrating this deed intentionally. It was not difficult to merely pull the door a few more inches to its rightful resting place. Is this what "acting locally" is all about? This travesty forced me to become fixated on the frequently ajar door, leaping up to close the door myself, when necessary.

Luckily, I soon became aware of the two guys sitting in the front table and forgot about my imminent frostbite. I assume these fellows were both video game designers. By their tone, I gathered that they had just met and they were on a business luncheon. They seemed to be trying to one-up each other with their brilliance. In a single sentence, I heard one of the nerds utter the words, "coalesce," "crux," and "gestalt." He seemed astounded when his compatriot appeared to understand the words' definitions. If these future billionaires weren't enough, I was seated across from the least-convincing transsexual/transvestite in history. In his/her early fifties, this character was dressed in Riot Grrrl garb, circa 1992. With the high Doc Martens, torn fishnets, and Abe Vigoda-esque bags under his/her eyes, this tranny made Dame Edna look like Christina Aguilera.

I could have sworn that I had told the guy at the register that I wanted to eat my salad in the restaurant. Nonetheless, it arrived in a square cardboard box, similar to a Chinese food container, but without the whimsical Asian characters on the side. New Amsterdam's "Big Salad" comes stock with romaine, seasonal greens, cucumbers, and red onions. Then you get your choice of 3 additional items from a list of about 20 vegetables, legumes, cheeses, etc. Some kind of meat was also available, but that cost extra. I ordered artichoke hearts, avocado, and seasoned chickpeas on mine. I have discovered in my travels that you get far more roughage when you order a big salad to eat-in than you when you get the salad to go. If I was a cheating man, I could have saved myself some agony and ordered all of the salads to-go after New Amsterdam mistakenly gave me my salad in a box. But I do not cheat my readers! The salad was heavy on the romaine, with just a hint of the seasonal greens, but there was a good deal of cucumbers and the add-ins I had chosen. The avocado was at the perfect level or ripeness and the artichoke hearts were tender with a slightly vinegar-y zing. The seasoned chickpeas didn't really seem very seasoned, though, unless New Amsterdam's idea of "seasoning" means salt. I remembered to get the dressing on the side this time. It was a slightly sweet offering, which was surprising for a dressing that was supposed to be smoked paprika. The dressing wasn't bad by any means, but it tasted kind of store bought, even though it probably wasn't.

The salad here was definitely acceptable, but I was somewhat disappointed. On my sole previous visit, the salad here made a very positive impression on me. I am not certain what happened, so I can only blame the fact that they erroneously gave me the salad to-go. Perhaps they were trying to send me a message.

P.S. Restaurateurs, please stop putting lemon slices into pitchers of water. A fresh slice of lemon on the side of a glass is fine. But when lemon wedges sit for hours in a pitcher of water, the water does not taste of citrus. It just tastes bitter and dirty.

IEM Session #16.2

2011-03-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 16.1)

Eating Day: Again, March 19, 2011

ACTUAL CAFE- 6334 San Pablo Avenue, Oakland- 10:40am- Real Big Salad- $7.00

Photo by Tigerlily

Like Tomate, this place had a similar rustic, bohemian bent, except it was appropriately more North Oakland than Berkeley. The clientele was younger than at Tomate. There was a framed t-shirt on the wall reading, "Oakland, CA- Dyke City." The counter lady who took my order had a thicker beard than I have. There was a bike rack (bicycle docking station) on the wall inside the restaurant. As usual, there were lots of sad-looking women who seemed far too mature to have borne the toddlers on their knees. The seating is long, communal, Oliver Twist-style wooden tables and benches. Best of all, there was a sign near the cash register proclaiming weekends as "laptop free." As far as I am concerned, the only thing worse than people loitering at cafes on their laptops is a cafe that tries to appear high and mighty by banning said devices two days a week. In general, Actual Cafe is not the type of place I would normally spend an entire meal on my own volition, but the $7 pricetag for the "Real Big Salad" was a welcome sight. Sadly, I was unable to repudiate this establishment out of hand.

True to its name, this salad was almost twice the size as the Tomate salas. It was built on a bed of mixed greens, with nary a leaf of romaine in sight. The greens were topped with a goodly amount of pickled vegetables (I detected cauliflowers and zucchini), currants, avocado, and toasted almonds, plus some shaved parmesan. Actual offered a choice of three different fruit add-ins: pears, apples, or strawberries. I figured that the berries were the best of these three choices, as they are a relatively "high-percentage fruit," with close to 70% of strawberry specimens being of good to excellent quality. Conversely, pears and apples hover around 50% or lower, depending on variety. The mustard vinaigrette was wonderfully zesty and added some bite to the salad. Even though I really enjoyed the dressing, I was glad Actual did not ladle it on with a heavy hand, as I had forgotten to specify to the bearded lady that I wanted my dressing on the side. It was as if they had read my mind and had administered the correct amount of vinaigrette for my taste.

Under normal conditions, my distaste for the atmosphere and clientele of Actual Cafe would deter me from spending measurable amounts of time on its premises. Food notwithstanding, I would rather sit unnoticed in a filthy noodle outlet in the Eastlake district while the staff and customers look at me suspiciously for daring to cross their threshold. I am not yet sure whether I love Actual's salad more than I hate their conspicuously "progressive" ambiance. If I am ever able to visit on a day when laptops are permitted, however, perhaps I can enjoy their delicious bargain salad immersed in wi-fi pornography or an episode of Murder, She Wrote, unencumbered by the trappings of North Oakland artisanal chumpitude.

IEM Session #16.1- You Don't Make Friends with Salad

2011-03-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

I am calling the new format of Inhuman Eating Machine (IEM) a singular success. I published seven entries on seven consecutive Tuesdays- unprecedented regularity in the history of this blog. A couple of naysayers claim that there was more drama in the original format. They feel that the new installment plan eliminates some of the tension present in the previous saga-like configuration. I can understand this assertion, but I have to humbly disagree. The new format is here to stay, my friends. Climb aboard the modern bandwagon of my tales of crapulence, lest ye be left behind.

Let me explain why I feel the new format is a good fit for IEM. Firstly, I am a big fan of episodic adventure stories, be it a three-part account of the Brady Bunch in Hawaii, or a season-long story arc about the Ice Princess diamond on General Hospital. Breaking a story up into episodes leaves me coming back for more to see whether or not Vincent Price viciously disembowels Greg, Peter, and Bobby, and whether Mrs. Garret and Natalie get into a nasty three-way with George (Clooney), the handyman. Also, the installment approach is the only possible way for me to publish IEM on a regular basis. It parses my burden into manageable chunks. I have discovered that I can compose one entry per week with little difficulty. I don't want to curse myself, but with the new format, I can sincerely envision publishing a consistent stream of IEM sessions- one stop per week, a new session every 7-8 weeks. If you prefer to get your IEM in one massive dose, I suggest you wait eight weeks before accessing the blog in order to digest the entire session all at once.

From the previous 15 sessions of IEM, one might make the supposition that I eschew vegetables in favor of fat-laden-carbohydrate-and-greasefests. Yes, in a perfect world, I would probably eat fried starch and meat 5 meals a day for the rest of my life, possibly "forgetting" about the existence of the healthier fruits of the earth. In reality, though, I actually eat quite a bit of roughage. Between IEM sessions, when I am usually trying to maintain or lose weight, the bulk of my diet consists of vegetables. On some days, I eat enough vegetables to get the USRDA of said food group for an entire city block. Alas, vegetables just do not satisfy hunger the way bread or grain or Hot Pockets do. I could eat an entire farm before reaching the satiety I feel after downing a single 20" pizza. Lest it be said that I eat vegetables only out of health obligations, I want it to be known that I actually enjoy almost every vegetable. There must be a vegetable I don't like, but I can't think of one. I gladly eat vegetables as a side order or as a main course. I will even eat them when they accompany something far sexier and flavorful. I would happily devour a colossal pile of steamed cauliflower, even if it shared a plate with a chicken fried steak the size of a manhole cover. If vegetables are served, I am glad to have them- and do not ingest them as a mere health regimen component. After 15 sessions of eating foods containing enough oil to run a city bus for a week, I decided to do a session paying tribute to salad- vegetables in their most obvious setting.

Before I moved to the Bay Area for the third time in 1996, I imagined that people here must be eating salads for every meal. I soon realized that, while there are indeed salads available at many restaurants here, they generally play a supporting role, just like in the rest of the country. The salads here tend to have more exotic ingredients than you'd find in Sheboygan, but in most East Bay locales, you can't really make a full meal out of a salad, especially if you are a disgusting pig like I am. It was actually quite a challenge to compile a sizeable list of eateries who seemed to have an entree-size salad, a "big salad," if you will. If you recall, there are two episodes of Seinfeld where the big salad appears. In the "Big Salad" episode, George becomes irate when he doesn't get adequate credit for paying for Elaine's big salad. In "The Soup," Elaine is upset that she can't get a big salad at Reggie's after the gang can't go to their usual hangout (Monk's), due to George's bumbling.

(Outside of Monk's)
Jerry: We can't eat here anymore, 'cause he took a waitress out for a walk.
George: What's the difference? Let's go to Reggie’s.
Elaine: Reggie’s? I can't eat anything there.
George: It's the same menu.
Elaine: There's no “Big Salad.”
George: They'll make you a “Big Salad.” What do you think, they're the only one that makes a “Big Salad”?
Elaine: All right. Let's go, to Reggie’s.

(At Reggie's)

Jerry: I'll have the turkey club without the bacon.
George: And I'll have the bacon club without the turkey.
Elaine: Can I have a big salad?
Waitress: A big salad?
Elaine: You see?!
George: [irritated] Just tell them what you want. They'll make it for you.
Elaine: It's a salad, only bigger, with lots of stuff in it.
Waitress: I can bring you two small salads.
Elaine: Could you put it in a big bowl?
Waitress: We don't have big bowls.
Elaine: All right, just get me a cup of decaf.
Waitress: We have Sanka.

With a pedigree like that, how could I NOT devote an entire session to eating salads with lots of stuff in them?

Eating Day: March 19, 2011

TOMATE- 1998 San Pablo Ave., Berkeley- 9:44am- Simple House Salad w/Tri-Tip (Full) $9.50

Photo by Tigerlily

Before I began this session, I found myself more than 10lbs. heavier than usual. I could tell you that I have been eating unwisely lately, due to new obligations at school and work. I could explain that the session occurred only two days after a St. Patrick's Day party where I ate my weight in corned beef and colcannon. Or, I could use the old standby, "I was retaining water because of my period." Unfortunately, the truth is I am just a disgusting individual who finds it hard to stop eating anything that is not nailed down. With my brain more occupied these days than at any time in the last two years, it was very easy for me to take my eyes off the scale and really let myself go, but if I wasn't such a slave to my stomach, I could have kept myself in check. I probably should have postponed this session until I got back to a reasonable weight, but after seven consecutive weeks of posting IEM, I felt I owed it to you all to keep the streak alive. I rationalized my salad gorging by explaining both of the following to myself:

"They're just salads. It's not like I am doing a session on MILKSHAKES!" (Coming soon!)
With any luck, 90% of the plant-based food ingested during the session will exit the premises of my gastrointestinal system with 24 hours of the session.
If the salads don't jettison themselves in the timely manner I predict, I can always starve myself after the session.

The session began on what seemed like the 943rd consecutive day of rain in the Bay Area. I know I shouldn't complain about a little inclement weather a week after Japan was destroyed and irradiated, but I live in California, where seven days without sunshine seems like an eternity. People commit suicide here for far less. On a cold and rainy day, salad was the last thing I wanted to eat, but the die was already cast. I had been planning the big salad session for months and had done extensive research on the subject. It was far too late to switch the featured food of the session. I picked up my friend Lily, who had decided she wanted to come along and videotape my sojourn. She had accompanied me with her camera on two previous IEM sessions. The first time, along with Chris Anderson, she created the epic torta video. Next, she shot the pupusa session. Footage from that session wound up in D. Silva's Inhuman Eating Machine documentary, which recently screened at the SF Indiefest film festival. I am grateful that she has found it worth her while to provide yet another visual document of my mission.

Tomate is located in an industrial district not far from the Berkeley Marina, populated by warehouses and the galleries of local artists/artisans. The cafe is very "Berkeley" in both its design and clientele. The majority of the customers were middle aged or older; mostly clad in earth tones and sandals. There was ambient electronic music playing softly in the background. The bulletin board was packed with flyers for various causes and performances, like every other cafe in Berkeley. The ceiling has high exposed rafters, which is a nice design feature, but very hard to heat, so I was shocked to find Tomate so warm inside. I was even able to remove my coat, which would have been a near impossibility at any restaurant within the Oakland city limits.

The salad came in an 8" diameter bowl; its contents packed about 2" deep. The base was heavy on the romaine lettuce and light on the fancy mixed greens. The greenery was topped with red onions, cucumber slices, radish coins, shredded carrots, tomato wedges, and alfalfa sprouts. You may remember that I have an aversion to alfalfa sprouts, because they smell exactly like fresh semen. Under normal conditions, I would have ordered the salad sans-sprouts, but for this vege-centric session, I felt it my duty to eat everything they gave me. The vegetables were the bed for what I reckon was no more than 3 ounces of grilled tri-tip beef. The meat was juicy, marinated, and still warm, but a little overdone for my tastes. I took the balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side, like I would for all the salads, provided I remembered to make this specification when ordering. Tomate's vinaigrette was quite good- heavy on the balsamic and garlic added conservatively.

This was supposedly a full-sized entree salad, but unless you're a Berkeley goofball, Tomate's offering is not large enough to constitute an entire meal for anyone who has reached the age of majority. If I wasn't in the midst of a session, I would have been furious with the relative scantiness of this salad. $9.50 is steep for any salad, unless it is loaded with fried chicken, seafood, or a whole steak, but charging such a hefty sum for a sprinkling of meat atop what is scarcely more than a side salad- that is an atrocity!

It would become clear throughout the session that "big" means very little when you discuss the big salad. Unlike a quarter pounder, which must actually contain 1/4 pound of beef (weight prior to cooking), "big" is in the eye of the beholder. A gluten-free Berkeleyite coming to lunch after a high colonic and a game of ultimate frisbee might find this salad substantial, but to the right-thinking people of the real world, there is nothing big about the Tomate simple house salad, other than the price.

IEM Session #15.8- The BBQ Beef Wrap-Up

2011-03-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

Apparently, some IEM readers wanted a list of the BBQ joints I felt were the best. At first, I was gonna say, "Read the damn blog! Which places sound the best to YOU?" I give the people what they want, though, so I have acquiesced and provided you with a Top 3 and Bottom 1 list.

Keep in mind, BBQ around here is inconsistent, especially the meat component of the BBQ. A place with good product today could be iffy tomorrow. And vice versa.

TOP 3 BBQ Beef Sandwiches (On April 29, 2010)

1. Elve's

2. Maggie Ray's

3. Tomm's

Last Place:

Old South

If you want to read the whole damn episode at once, here are links to all eight stops in chronological order.

IEM Session #15.7

2011-03-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.6)

Eating Day: For the last time, April 29, 2010

TOMM'S- 3446 Market St- 6:54pm- $5.99

EVERETT AND JONES- 3700 E. 12th. St- 7:19pm- $8.60

I dropped Vinnie off at MacArthur BART. He had apparently had his fill of watching someone old enough to be his father eat barbecued beef. I think he chose wisely, as I was now filling my surroundings with a veil of gaseous despair. The stench was reminiscent of the time I inadvertently left a Quarter Pounder under the seat of my car, where it sat to ripen for a fortnight. Vinnie is a young man, a bon vivant, a man about town. He has better things to do than subject himself to the odors of a geriatric fellow-traveler with gluttonous tendencies.

I was able to complete the Phat Matt's sandwich without too much difficulty, but afterwards, I knew I had to pause again. I was now forced to corral two more sandwiches and take them home to finish later once a modicum of space was freed up in my innards. I had to complete the session before the witching hour, when the only bbq available in town would have been a McRib. I apologize that this method has become a staple of most of the sessions. I realize that taking meals to go, rather than eating them in the restaurant where they were purchased, reduces my chances of witnessing the life-changing scenarios that often occur within a restaurant. But what choice do I have? I am but a man; mere flesh and blood and stomach acid. I can only eat so much. When tasked with the completion of eight meals in one day, I am exposed to the same mortal shortcomings that you are. I simply cannot put away food non-stop while on these excursions. I gorge and I rest. Gorge and rest. These resting periods can last for hours, depending on the day, the food, and portion size. But as I rest, my options start to shrink. Due to the East Bay's hatred of nocturnal dining, at a certain point, ALL of my choices for a featured food will disappear entirely. At 10pm, my appetite may be fully restored, but the point will be moot, because at that hour, there are close to zero options afforded to Oakland gourmands. One can only stockpile during the daylight hours like the Ant in Aesop's Ant and the Grasshopper. Otherwise, come the wee hours, there will be no food available. Starvation will ensue, and the session will be lost. For true comparative purposes, I always try to take at least a taste of each to-go meal immediately after ordering, to ensure that I can experience the food in ideal conditions. I will not penalize an establishment's food for becoming coagulated before I am able to finish it.

If you recall, I had stopped at Tomm's around 10am. It was supposed to be the first stop of the day. Unfortunately, they had no bbq beef available at that time. I wasn't holding my breath when the girl behind the counter said they would have brisket later in the day. I had recently tried Tomm's for the first time. On that visit, I ordered the Jumbo Pork sandwich. It was a god-send. It was huge. It was cheap ($4.69 for a massive sandwich.) It was very Memphis-esque. From that visit, I had high hopes that Tomm's would be a major contender in the bbq beef sweepstakes.

When I returned to Tomm's, almost nine hours after my visit in the morning, I was pleasantly surprised when the girl behind the counter recognized me and said, "We finally have brisket!" Other than the flagship Everett and Jones near Jack London Square, Tomm's is the largest bbq restaurant in Oakland. But it is haphazardly decorated with a lot of space gone to waste. For no apparent reason, there is an old cruiser-style bicycle perched over a massive bank of soft drink coolers- coolers that are only 1/4 filled with drinks. There are also some motel-style paintings here and there and a plastic plant, which a friend described as, "The only plastic plant I've ever seen that looked like it was about to die." Yes, the inside of Tomm's is drab and uninspired. The shop's appearance belies no trace of effort. It has the kind of look you'd expect at a wholesale operation where customers don't come around. But I didn't come there for the atmosphere or to impress gentiles.

The brisket here is as consistent as the pulled pork. I opened up the yellow wrapper and I found a massive pile of beef topped with an even larger pile of coleslaw. I was distended beyond comfort, but I took a single bite of the sandwich so I could sample the creation while it was still warm. The slaw would have been too soupy served a la carte, but it complemented the meat perfectly, soaking into the beef and adding a nice level of tangy creaminess. The meat was a thing of beauty- smokey with lots of crispy ends throughout and a good degree of oily juiciness mingling with the slaw dressing. The bun was a pedestrian store-bought sesame burger bun, but at least it was fresh. The bbq sauce isn't exactly a showstopper here. It's neither sweet, nor hot, nor highly-seasoned. But it doesn't get in the way, either. En toto, Tomm's sandwiches are in the upper echelon of the East Bay bbq world, but the iffy sauce keeps it from reaching perfection.

Everett & Jones, on the other hand, are sauce masters. And they know it. E&J's sauce is sweet and smokey with notes of paprika throughout and just the right amount of garlic. The hot bbq sauce is actually quite spicy on occasion. The sauce is so renowned, that they even sell the stuff at area supermarkets. But they rest on the laurels of their sauce the way the New York Yankees rub their 27 championships in the faces of the world, even during the years the Yankees have a lousy season. There is absolutely no consistency among E&J branches and not much of it within the same location. There is no pulled pork here, but the beef and ribs here are a crapshoot. (Mitch claims that the E&J hot links are always stellar, but I never order those at a barbecue joint, as they don't seem to require the pit expertise needed with pork or beef or ribs.) E&J seems to think that we should just be grateful for their sauce, even if they give you rubbery pieces of what could have been a Pomeranian, along with stale wheat bread. They could at least provide bigger portions of the mysterious offal-like meat, but they generally serve a mere few sinewy strips swimming in the famous sauce. Yes, the sauce is a world-beater, but even it was unable to disguise all of the connective tissue in the Styro container they gave me during this session. My mandible had to work overtime after I took a small bite in the car on the way back home. One might think you'd be more likely to receive low-rent meat at E&J outposts in the hinterlands, but I've had some funky-ass gristle from both the "fancy" location in Jack London and the E&J on San Pablo in Berkeley.

When I arrived home, I was still stuffed, but I knew I'd be able to eat soon. And with less than a pound of sandwiches remaining to polish off, failure was out of the question. After about an hour, I returned to the toilet and produced a single offering- an oblong scat sculpture in the shape of a souvenir mini-football. With the sauce fused with the cold meat and slaw on the Tomm's sandwich, the whole congealed affair was easy to eat- firm like an individual pecan pie. It was gone in less than a minute.

The E&J sandwich, however, was a little more work. It wasn't really a sandwich, but the commonly-seen meat-with-a side-of-wheat bread swimming in sauce. There wasn't much meat, but the excess fat and cartilage was rough work to finish. (I think E&J may be getting their meat from the same place where Pho restaurants get their adventurous cuts.)

My hunger was back, but for how long? Gristle be damned, I had to seize the opportunity. After it became too arduous a task to chew many of the challenging pieces of "meat" I had received, I devised a brilliant strategy. I began taking spoonfuls of sauce and small pieces of the tendon-y stuff and swallowing the whole thing whole. This was how my mother used to get me to take aspirin as a kid, except she used grape jelly instead of barbecue sauce. In a few minutes, the whole unappetizing thing was gone. I didn't even choke to death, due to the lack of chewing. My apologies to the many E&J devotees I know, but I refuse to talk about E&J in the hushed tones you seem to feel it deserves. Until the meat at E&J is as consistent as their sauce, they get no special treatment from me.

The food was gone well before 10pm. I probably could have put down at least three more sandwiches before midnight- if only such a possibility existed in the East Bay. On an Inhuman Eating Machine gorging session, I went to bed not fully satiated! A travesty! New Oakland Mayor Jean Quan needs to get on the stick and create some sort of business incubator that enables me to make a pig out of myself after 9pm. A single IEM session would stimulate the economy so much, an entire elementary school could provide Reading is Fundamental (RIF) for a week.

NEXT WEEK- IEM #16 begins- The Big Salad!

IEM Session #15.6

2011-03-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.5)

Eating Day: Yet again, April 29, 2010

PHAT MATT- 3415 Telegraph Ave.- 6:20pm- $8.00

I took the remains of the Old South sandwich back to Mitch and Clark's place. Vinnie, Mitch, and I sat on the couch watching a marathon of Tool Academy. As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I kept wondering, "Why can't they bring back The Pick-Up Artist?" We sat in silence for close to 3 hours in total when I began to get antsy to return to the session before every bbq joint in the East Bay closed its doors before I had a chance to visit eight establishments. Unfortunately, I was still quite full and in no condition to eat additional sandwiches. After another few minutes, kismet sent a shockwave through my guts. It was as if I had swallowed a taser set to "auto-fire." I was doubling over in pain. I rushed to Clark's bathroom, disengaging my belt and pants as I ran.

I began my bombardment before I could fully mount the seat. A mix of brown foam spewed forth like the Red Sea drowning the Egyptians in The Ten Commandments, along with a trio of graven images. The resulting product brought to mind three self-immolated Russ© troll dolls drowning in roast beef gravy. This was a fecal spectacle to behold, but its slushy nature did little to relieve the pressure in my internal beef bag. I was slightly less stuffed than before I had initiated my onslaught, but I knew I would be unable to eat with much vigor. Regardless, I had to take advantage of this brief interlude from utter agony.

Phat Matt's recently took over a space with a long bbq pedigree. For many years, this storefront was the site of an Everett and Jones location. I ate at that particular E&J branch a mere three times or so, but it always struck me as one of the weaker E&J outposts. In addition to some very inconsistent meat, the place was almost always empty. Oakland had clearly decided there were far better E&J restaurants to visit. After Everett and Jones had left the building, the place was vacant for a couple of years. For a few months, it was the home of Smokey Blues, a bbq spot that tried to go "upscale." Like the Jack London Everett and Jones, Smokey Blues had a full bar and live music on some nights. On my sole visit to Smokey Blues', the meat was cold and incredibly fatty and the sauce was unremarkable. I intended to give them a chance to redeem themselves, but they closed before I could return.

The space was empty again for a year or so before Phat Matt came in. Apparently, Phatt Matt's modus operandi is to provide many different regional bbq styles. They have Memphis-style pork ribs, "N. Carolina- style pulled pork," "marinated tri-tip" (California), and Texas-style brisket. On the surface, this concept seems a noble undertaking, but it is usually a bad idea to try and do too much in the bbq biz. It's hard enough to get one style of bbq right, let alone four. According to their menu, Phat Matt's is run by a couple who have been married for 20 years and partners in barbecue for six. The dude (Matt) runs the smoker and the wife (Charlotte) runs the front of the house. Charlotte, who calls everybody "sweetheart," seems genuinely glad to be running this business. If you live anywhere outside of Oakland, it might seem strange to mention this fact. In Oakland, though, many mom-and-pops are staffed by people whose demeanor says, "I'd rather have a root canal than converse with and serve food to strangers."

I greatly appreciated Charlotte's sunny disposition, but the brisket sandwich she brought me was a letdown. The sauce was cold and tasted mostly of garlic. I like garlic in bbq sauce, but it shouldn't be the predominant flavor. Next, I noticed that the thick-cut brisket was dry and not juicy in the least. It was gamey-tasting and lacked any trace of smoke. It was so gamey, in fact, that the gaminess even overwhelmed the garlic-laden sauce. The whole mess was served on a flattened hamburger bun that looked as if it had spent time in somebody's back pocket. If they last long enough, I will eventually give this place another chance. The proprietors are too enthusiastic to be dismissed out of hand. Perhaps they're just getting their sea legs. My next visit might yield better beef and sauce. And it's possible they excel with the other regional bbq styles.

But what if Matt's is a victim of a barbecue curse particular to 3415 Telegraph Avenue? They may never figure out how to make stellar barbecue in that building if it was built on the site of an ancient Indian burial ground or a vegan outhouse. If a curse precludes them from success in this building, they might consider a move elsewhere in order to excel at their craft. I suggest the next tenants of this address consider opening a nail salon, a weave shop, or a Korean restaurant. It would take a lot more than a common curse to stop these Telegraph Ave. stalwarts.

IEM Session #15.5

2011-03-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.4)

Eating Day: April 29, 2010, yet again

OLD SOUTH- 4115 Concord Blvd, Concord- 2:22pm- $6.50

My gut was seriously taxed, yet I felt I had least one more portion of meat in me before I would be forced to take myself out of the game for a while. Concord is not geographically far from Alamo, but it is a world away from Alamo and its fancy-pants counterparts, San Ramon and Walnut Creek. Concord is full of trashy girls and tweakers and heshers and middle class families dressed without flair. There are plenty of "ethnics" here, too, so the prospects for good bbq here didn't seem as unlikely as in Alamo.

Old South is in an older strip shopping center. In urban settings, you generally don't expect much from eating establishments in strip malls. In the 'burbs, though, strip malls are everywhere, so you're as likely to find interesting grub in a strip mall as in a free standing eatery with "character." In fact, a lot of suburban strip malls are now so old and decrepit, they're starting to become "vintage" themselves. Old South is a clean, orderly place, with dated (not vintage) decor. The proprietors are black folks. They were playing good R&B. The brisket sandwich was the second cheapest I encountered. All of these elements boded well for an "authentic bbq experience," but if this is what authentic bbq entails, you can keep it, because this was some shoddy meat. It was cut too thin. It was more like a Steak-Um than brisket. And it came on a french roll that was far too crusty for this super-thin meat. You couldn't tell where the bread ended and the meat began. Old South's sauce was the hottest I ate during the session. I like my bbq sauce ludicrously spicy, so this should have been sufficient to garner some serious points from me, but with barbecue sauce, you should be able to taste something other than hot- even when the sauce is excruciating. Where was the garlic and paprika? Where was the sweetness?

A few bites into this sandwich and I was stopped in my tracks. I simply could not eat another bite. Beefy daggers were impaling me from within. This lackluster barbecue did nothing to spur me on to conquer my fullness. When I felt what I thought were nascent fecal twinges, I availed myself of Old South's clean, one-person restroom. I was hoping to clear enough space to allow me to finish the sandwich here and maybe even make one more attempt in Concord. I strained as I read an old copy of Jet with Steve Harvey featured on the cover. With Steve's help, I coaxed out roughly one tablespoon of a substance that was the color and consistency of store brand strawberry preserves. This minor seepage did nothing to allay my fullness. In fact, the stress exerted on my exhaust pipe made me feel even more miserable than before I had tried to take care of business. Clearly, I would have to take the Old South sandwich back to Oakland and work on it later.

During my sojourn to Contra Costa, the whitest of white barbecue joints soundly beat a place that seemed as genuine as any spot I might encounter in the depths of East Oakland or Memphis. This incident is proof that great barbecue is not the provenance of any race or class. It can be produced by anybody with the love of the meat. The most translucent of Caucasians is capable of making great barbecue if he has a mind to do so. Conversely, a bbq shop in the ghetto is not afforded any advantage in the game. If they do a half-assed job, people will know about it. There is no affirmative action when it comes to smoked meat. Rosa Parks did not move from the back of the bus so she could eat second-rate barbecue.

2011-02-22T09:00:00.000-08:00

IEM Session #15.4

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.3)

Eating Day: Yes, STILL April 29, 2010

NOTE: All locations in Oakland unless specified otherwise.

MAGGIE RAY'S- 3206 Danville Blvd, Alamo- 1:45pm- $8.95

I was starting to get somewhat full- a little earlier than I had expected. My unemployment pants were straining to hold in my gut, but as of yet, I was not in any considerable pain. It was no time to slow down. We arrived at Looney's new location on MLK and even exited the car, but when we got to the door, I decided I wanted to give myself a brief respite and take the drive out to the Contra Costa suburbs. I was hoping that 30 minutes on the road might clear a little space in my beef-hole. NOTE: As of today, I still have yet to try Looney's. Let me know if you think it's worth a visit.

Alamo is the richest, whitest, suburb in very rich, very white, south-central Contra Costa county. My hopes for quality 'que in this town were slim. I imagined sauce pilfered from Chili's baby back ribs ladled over sliced beef inspired by an elementary school cafeteria. It is true that I have a penchant for food made by the oppressed masses of America. This is mostly because it's a good way to get a cheap meal. My reverse snobbery obscures the fact that it is occasionally possible for Whitey to make delicious "real" grub within spitting distance of a booming metropolis. Maggie Ray's is clean- too clean- for a bbq joint. It looks more like a bistro, complete with al fresco dining and a smooth jazz soundtrack on the back patio. I decided to forego this scene and get my food to-go from the counter in the front of the building and eat it on the sidewalk. The decor in the front room had a lot of contrived, distressed, old-time kitschy replicas- the kind of accoutrements you'd find at a Cracker Barrel or T.G.I. Friday's- including a faux-retro poster advising that meatless diets are dangerous. It was all geared to look funky, yet safe, for the locals. I anticipated this set-up a harbinger of imminent crumminess.

Maggie Ray's barbecue was expensive, but it cost no more than Uncle Willie's in "gritty" downtown Oakland, so the price shouldn't be seen as a reflection of Alamo's sickening affluence. And the meat came with a romaine lettuce salad and a corn cake (with real Niblets inside!) You would not find either of these high-end sides at an urban barbecue establishment. But authenticity be damned, since both of these items were delicious. The corn cake was moist with just the right amount of sweetness. And the salad had a tangy vinaigrette. I ordered the "sandwich" portion of brisket (rather than the "barbecue specialties" portion), but the sandwich came with neither sliced cheapo bread, nor the sandwich roll they usually provide here (they were out.) Hence, I received the corn cake. The meat is what really shocked me here, though. The brisket was cut in long slices and resembled the thick, hand-cut pastrami one finds at Katz's and other kosher-style delis in New York. And they did not skimp on the portion. There was no hot/mild sauce option, but what they served was a good mix of sweetness and slight heat. Ladled sparingly, the light saucing was the perfect complement to the stellar brisket. It provided just a touch of added moistness without interfering with the taste of the meat, which would have been excellent on its own. The meat was juicy, tender, and perfectly smoked, requiring zero gnawing.

I was flummoxed. Stuffed to near misery now and experiencing near-deafening borborygmos , I could not believe that I had received bbq beef of this caliber in such an enclave of assholery. I had contact with only one person at Maggie Ray's- a pretty, well-scrubbed blonde. For all I know, however, the place may be run by former sharecroppers who use generations-old recipes to create these carnivorous delights. This is all immaterial. I don't care if Maggie Ray's is run by a Mormon CPA from Idaho. Whoever is cooking that meat knows what s/he is doing. There IS a time for keeping it real, but when you want good barbecue, your mouth is the only arbiter of quality- even when the experience seems less then genuine.

I don't see myself making too many trips all the way out to Alamo just for brisket, even delicious brisket. It's a bit of a drive from Oakland and the stuff does cost a little more than I want to pay. But if I'm ever hungry in this part of Contra Costa and I have some money burning a hole in my pocket, I can think of few places in the region where I'd rather eat.

IEM Session #15.3

2011-02-15T06:00:00.000-08:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.2)

Eating Day: STILL April 29, 2010

ELVE'S- 3214 Martin Luther King Jr Way- 12:42am- $7.99

Two sandwiches down and I wasn't the least bit full. I was looking forward to going to the new Double D's. Located at the very beginning of International Blvd., Double D used to be housed in what can be best described as an office for a hoarder who works from home in his own filthy chaos. There were stacks of junk and paper everywhere and lots of faded pictures on the wall. The owner would pass you your order through a slot in the metal door without any revelation as to where the food actually came from. The bbq in that place was consistently good; it was served in large portions and everything cost $5. Recently, Double D moved around the corner into the long-abandoned Casper's location on 1st Ave. Double D, formerly a take-out window only, now boasts a counter, tables, and an expanded menu. Prior to the session, I had eaten at Double D once or twice after they had relocated. The meat, although gristly, was still quite good and still $5. When I came here during the session, however, I had a rude awakening. The owner had instituted some ridiculous changes. Gone are the $5 orders. He now sells all the meat by the pound. No plate meals. No sandwiches. All meat is now sold by the pound. "Like a deli," the guy said. It sure as hell isn't $5/lb, and unlike a deli, he wouldn't sell less than a pound of meat. This restriction may have been instituted temporarily because the owner didn't have a scale yet, but it's ludicrous notwithstanding. People want meat, man! Eyeball it or something until you get a goddamn scale. If this is how Double D is going to operate, I don't need them anymore. I can understand why the guy might have to raise his prices, due to the increased overhead, but I don't need to go through all of that rigmarole just to get a little meat and sauce with a couple of slices of crummy wheat bread.

With Double D's off the table, I went and picked up Mitch to accompany Vinnie and me on some stops in Eastern Contra Costa County. He suggested that I first try Elve's. I was completely in the dark about Elve's. I had driven by hundreds of times and had no idea it was a bbq place. I guessed that it was a soul food joint specializing in overpriced fried chicken, like Nellie's in a smaller space and a crummier neighborhood. Elve's does have fried chicken and fish and some other soul food classics- all priced much more reasonably than Nellie's or that fancy-pants "California" soul food place on Mandela, which I want nothing to do with. Although they have a rather expansive menu (burgers and corn dogs, too!), Elve's specialty seems to bbq. How could this place have existed for so long without me knowing about it? I felt ashamed.

The proprietor at Elve's is a happy sort who moved much faster than your average Oakland bbq proprietor. This, paired with a couple of old video game machines, made me even more disappointed in myself for being ignorant of Elve's for so long. It's a small space and primarily a take-out establishment, but there are a few tables to eat-in, too. For 50 cents more than the cost of the lunch special at Chef Edwards, I got a big pile of saucy beef, beans, AND potato salad. And instead of the usual crap-slices of Dollar Tree 2/$1.00 wheat bread, Elve's serves their meat with buttered, griddled bread that approaches Texas toast territory. The meat was deeply beefy; seasoned, but not so much that it detracted from its corpse-like delectability. And there were little to no excess fat formations or connective tissues to be found. The sauce was thinner than the first two entries. While it wasn't as sweet or spicy as Edwards', the sauce complemented the beef perfectly and it tasted great on the bread and potato salad.

It takes a brilliant person to get the right balance between meat and sauce. One must not upstage the other. The two components must exist in a perfect symbiotic relationship. Where one has a weakness, the other must excel. The perfect sauce:meat duo works together as well as Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Burns and Allen, and Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. Elve's knows the secret. On their own, neither the meat nor the sauce here would be remarkable, but together, they harmonize to form something magical. I anticipate many future visits to Elve's to atone for my former ignorance of its existence.

IEM Session #15.2

2011-02-08T06:00:00.000-08:00

Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines

(continued from 15.1)

UNCLE WILLIE'S- 614 14th St.- 11:37am- $8.95

Willie's opened while I was working downtown, but their lunch prices were much higher than Chef Edwards, so I never bothered checking them out. The old decor was something to behold. One of the walls had murals that featured crudely-painted likenesses of both Martin Luther King, Jr. and Ronald Reagan. Those masterworks were rendered either by a mental patient, or by somebody born without arms. Willie's has long since been renovated, possibly after undergoing a management change, as the word "Texas" used to appear in the name of the restaurant. These days, the interior is appointed with a big-screen TV (tuned to ESPN) and a painting that blatantly rips off Ernie Barnes' "Sugar Shack," a piece best known from the credits of Good Times.

Here's Barnes' original:

Here's the knockoff (not by Barnes):

We were here mere minutes before the lunch hour, so I was shocked to find Willie's deserted, save for one woman eating solo. The prices are no longer out of step with Chef Edwards, so Willie's should have been more crowded than this. The lack of clientele didn't seem promising, but the meat was actually decent. The brisket was shredded in long pieces, rather than the small chunks I received at Chef Edwards, and there were a lot of crispy ends. The portion was slightly smaller than Chef's, but the meat was somewhat leaner than Chef's, so it definitely a mixed blessing. The sauce was a touch non-descript. Neither as hot nor as sweet as the Chef's sauce, Willie's sauce was simply less flavorful in general- totally acceptable, but not noteworthy. If the meat was richer and more deeply-seasoned, the subtle sauce would have worked, but Willie's meat was also on the understated end of the spectrum. A bolder sauce would have provided a better compliment. I ordered a side of collard greens. They were the star of the show here- heavy with bacon/pork flavor and absent the grittiness or bitterness often present in this dish. I have one other qualm about this meal. The ubiquitous 2-slices-of-whole-wheat-bread-in-a-baggie included the heel from the loaf! Yes, the heel! From some crummy off-brand loaf you'd buy at a liquor store or find in the cafeteria of a nursing home. I realize the heel tastes exactly the same as all the other crappy slices in a cheapo loaf, but nobody wants the heel of shit quality bread. It is just bad form. Throw the heel away, for chrissake. You will not miss it. If you truly think that serving heels is what will keep your business afloat, you've got a faulty business plan, chum.

I have no problem with this place, per se, but I see no real reason to eat here or at any unmemorable BBQ joint, for that matter. Bay Area BBQ is just too expensive to settle for mediocrity- unless the joint has an "outsider artist's" rendering of Ronald Reagan on the wall next to MLK's calming visage. I can excuse a lot of missteps in the midst of that kind of genius.

IEM Session #15.1- On 'Que and Off Cue

2011-02-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

I am through making grandiose excuses for publishing so infrequently. The long and the short of it is, I am just a slothful, lazy, individual with little motivation to write. I do not have a burning need to write about myself. When I finally finish writing up the account of an Inhuman Eating Machine (IEM) session, I feel relieved to be done writing, but I don't NEED to do it to achieve emotional catharsis. In that aspect alone, I am unlike a 13 year-old girl. I do, however, feel that I have a calling to share with my fellow man my experiences dining on a shoestring; and to describe my travails of overeating. I wish there was an easy way for me to telepathically transfer to my readers the accounts of my journey. I suppose there is some way I could get a camera and videotape the sessions, but let's face facts. I am a mushmouth. A fomfer. I speak like Bob Newhart with a mouthful of marbles. And I am a jittery type with less than photogenic qualities. Alas, IEM will remain a written-only exploit for the foreseeable future until I am able to find "people" who can make me look presentable to the camera.

It has been almost nine months since I last posted an IEM session. If I am going to continue this endeavor, I NEED to post on a regular basis. You, dear readers, deserve it! But what can I do to get my ass in gear and write? I figured out that part of what keeps me from writing is the fact that these sessions are LOOOONG. When I look at the scribbled notes of a session, I procrastinate when I mull over the prospect of turning these notes into long-form descriptions. I know it will take days to churn out the finished product. This apprehension keeps me from ever getting started. It just seems like too much. It reminds me of when my parents would force me to clean my room before they would allow me to watch TV. (I assure you, this happened very seldom.) The pile was so massive, I would sometimes stare at the heap for what seemed like hours before lifting a finger.

Lucky for both of us, I recently came up with a brilliant idea (with the help of my wife) that will slightly alter the format of an IEM session, but should enable me to release sessions on a very regular basis. Here's the plan. As you know, each IEM session is comprised of at least eight stops within a single day. In the revised IEM format, I will still eat all eight meals within the same day, but I will now simply PUBLISH ONE STOP PER WEEK, until the entire escapade has been posted. It will now take eight or more weeks for a single session to be fully posted. In this serialized format, you will have a little bit of IEM each week to satiate you until the thrilling climax, which will inevitably end with me in gassy agony. By reducing my writing load to one stop per week, the chore should seem much less daunting. Even an inveterate layabout such as myself can piece together a mere one thousand words on a weekly basis, rather than having to come up with the word diarrhea needed for the full session. If I cannot produce a weekly blog under these constraints, it is clear that I have no business in the blogosphere. In fact, I have no business associating with other homo sapiens. I make no promises. I have failed you before. This new path seems walkable, though. I think I can do this. I hope I do not let you or myself down. Starting with this installment, keep an eye out for IEM postings every Tuesday, unless I inform you otherwise. With your encouragement and/or hassling, I see no reason that we cannot eat together every week.

As one may suspect after reading IEM #6, In Memphis, you cannot throw a rock without hitting a barbecue joint, most of which are better than anything the Bay Area has to offer. While the Bay Area does have its fair share of BBQ joints, they are nowhere near as ubiquitous as in the South, they are often overpriced, and very few carry pulled/chopped pork. By neglecting to serve this dish, Southern BBQ purists might go as far as saying that these establishments do not sell BBQ at all. Down there, many say that "barbecue" is seasoned smoked pork shoulder with or without sauce. All the other stuff sold at BBQ joints may be delicious, but it is NOT BBQ. Well, this is not the South. Here, as in much of the non-South, we call burgers and hot dogs on an outdoor grill, "having a barbecue." And we will put BBQ sauce on any meat and admit it into the BBQ family. The word has a completely different meaning here and is much less restrictive.

But what's the deal with the lack of pork BBQ here? Why is beef king in California? I did a little poking around a few years ago and found three main reasons:

The Central Valley of California is a huge beef producer (evident to anyone who has ever driven to LA on the I-5.)
California is not a major pork producer.
The majority of African American families (the people who run most BBQ places) in the Bay Area originally came from Texas. Texas, unlike the rest of the Southern states, primarily uses beef brisket in their BBQ.

Rather than lament the lack of pork BBQ here, I decided to investigate the BBQ beef options in the East Bay. I chose the beef (usually brisket) "sandwich" portion, when offered, which usually consists of sliced smoked beef with sauce, some kind of bread, and a small side order. If there was no "sandwich" available, I chose the small brisket plate. (I would be required to eat the meat and bread only.) I still wish there were more quality traditional pork BBQ sandwiches available around here. Along with cemitas, Italian subs, pork tenderloins, and kosher-style pastrami, BBQ pork forms "The Big 5" sandwiches of my fantasies. These are sandwiches you cannot get in their correct form in the Bay Area, no matter what the proprietors and local idiots purport. I would not let the lack of pork BBQ deter me from enjoying the East Bay beef, though. BBQ in its truest sense may be virtually unavailable here, but you can get saucy beef without too much effort. And that is nothing to cry about- in theory.

Eating Day: April 29, 2010

CHEF EDWARDS- 1998 San Pablo Ave.- 10:52am- $7.49

I rose at 9am. There was no reason to get up any earlier than that because nobody serves BBQ any earlier than 10am- and it would be against my principles as an unemployed person. After producing a fecal disappointment that resembled the handle on an alligator briefcase, I left for Tomm's, the only BBQ place in the East Bay that opens pre-10:30. I arrived there shortly after ten, but the counter girl informed me they did not have any beef ready. "Come back later. We should have some this afternoon." Things were not looking up.

When I worked in downtown Oakland, Chef Edwards' old location was my favorite place in the vicinity to eat lunch. In those days, Chef's was a mere lunch counter with about eight stools and a couple of tiny tables on the side. Chef did most of the work, but he had a few elderly and/or confused staffers there to take (and then forget) your order and slooooowly place wheat bread slices into styrofoam containers. Occasionally, one of these characters would even be allowed to hack at the smoked meats, which usually resulted in a hail of fat shrapnel. The old place was only a block from the Greyhound station on the opposite side of the street. The clientele were generally office/city workers, though, rather than aggressive derelicts from the neighborhood asking for handouts- at least during daylight hours. There was often a line during the lunch rush, so it could take well over an hour to eat there. It was best to visit the original Chef Edwards on days when your boss was out of the office, so you could eat at a leisurely pace. Most bbq places in the East Bay have brisket, chicken, links, and ribs only, but Chef's is one of the few places here that specializes in BBQ pork sandwiches. At the original location, you could get a heaping pile of pork or brisket, 2 slices of bread, potato salad, and a canned soda for $5 during lunch hours. Or you could get a smaller portion of pork topped with coleslaw on a hamburger bun for about $3.50. That sandwich, known as the "Piggly Wiggly," was as close to Memphis BBQ as you could find in the East Bay. Chef's pork was always tender; sliced, rather than pulled or chopped. The sauce was divine; sweet, but not overly so and well-seasoned. And the "hot" version of the Chef's sauce was actually hot every time, unlike certain places where the sauce varies by thousands of Scoville units on each visit.

About 5 years ago, Chef closed the doors of the original store to make room for the "urban renewal" going on in that area. The entire block is now comprised of condos and office buildings. Before he closed, Chef Edwards announced that he would soon reopen in a new location on San Pablo Ave., two blocks towards City Hall from the old place. The new place didn't appear for at least a year after the demise of the original locale. When it finally opened, it was met with mixed feelings (at least by me.) I was certainly glad to have the Chef back, but I wasn't crazy about the new decor. It has a "fifties diner" theme that is even more forced than Johnny Rockets. This move was obviously taken to make the place seem more upscale. Gone were the mental defectives working behind the counter. They would not fit in at the new and improved establishment. There was still a lunch counter, but there were now several more tables at which to eat and table service was now provided. These cosmetic changes were fine, I decided, as long as Chef's quality 'que remained. The lunch specials and Piggly Wiggly are still on the menu, albeit at a significantly higher price than before the closure. Despite the price increase, everything seemed okay with the Chef in his new digs.

Once the store re-opened, I ate there about 3 times in a one-month period. The first time, they were out of pork. The second time, the pork was cold (some of the inner pieces were actually a little frozen.) The third time, the pork was back to the greatness of old, but there was much less of it than before. Not a good omen. I went back a couple months after that, and they were now serving pulled/chopped pork instead of the sliced. This change would have been fine with me, but the meat was fatty. After that point, I didn't go there too frequently. When I did, however, I was usually satisfied. Chef seemed to have found his way back to where he used to be, but there were occasional slip-ups that would never have happened in the old dilapidated shack of yore. I never knew what to expect when I visited. There just was no quality control anymore. While the sauce was still a constant, the pork was always prepared a little differently than the previous visit and the portions varied considerably. At a Mel's Diner wannabe, you expect a little bit more than these kinds of shenanigans. I never gave up on Chef's, mostly because I did not know of a suitable substitute, but I was clearly disappointed with the results of his "upgrade."

It had been almost a year since I had last eaten at Chef's when I embarked on the IEM BBQ beef session. While I almost always order the pork here, I will occasionally get the brisket and have been generally pleased. I had high hopes that Chef Edwards might reign supreme once more- in the beef category- when I arrived at Chef's before 11am, accompanied by Vinnie from Pittsburgh. The new Chef Edwards also serves breakfast, so I expected the restaurant to still be crowded with patrons eating eggs and pancakes, but the place was practically empty. Just to be sure, I asked if I could get barbecue this early. I was in luck. The lunch special, which is now $7.49, still includes meat, bread, and a soda. There have been some changes to the special's parameters, though. You now get your choice of a side, rather than a default cup of potato salad. The sandwich is now on a buttered sesame hoagie roll, which is topped with slaw. The slaw is fluorescent yellow and seemingly mayonnaise-less like the slaw at Payne's in Memphis. And the soda is a bottomless fountain soda, rather than the 12oz cans they used to provide. These were all changes I could live with. While the terms of this session would not require me to eat the sides, I decided I would eat at least some of the side dish I received whenever stomach space allowed. I opted for beans, thinking the fiber might advance the bread and meat to a propulsive exit. I received a rather large cup of them and ate at least 2/3 of the portion. They were quite spicy with a goodly amount of ground meat and onion mixed in. They seemed like something you might eat on a camping trip. The hoagie bun was an acceptable change, I guess, but I suspect the extra breadiness was a ploy to serve less meat- while still giving the illusion of offering a "big sandwich." I'd rather just have a big pile of meat along with plain old sliced bread or a standard hamburger bun. At least the slightly toasted roll tasted fresh. The hot bbq sauce was sweeter than I remembered, but still pretty spicy. The brisket was cut into large chunks, rather than the shreds I remembered. The meat was fattier than optimum, but flavorful and not overly-smoked, and with a substantial bark to it.

Overall, Chef Edwards' brisket sandwich was good. I don't have any significant complaints about it. There was nothing mind-blowing about this sandwich, though. It wasn't transformational. Every meal at the old place was memorable. I would dream about those sandwiches- pork or beef. But this sandwich was merely mortal. I have no issue eating here on an occasional basis, but the Chef has a way to go if he wants to become my default barbecue stop again. The holy grail of East Bay barbecue was no longer a certainty for me.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 14; Issue 1

2010-05-30T12:15:00.000-07:00

May 30 status:

WEIGHT: 178.4 lbs. I have been semi-fasting all week so I could meet my monthly Weight Watchers "Lifetime" goal. I weighed-in this morning and made the goal with 2.6 lbs. to spare- just in time for Memorial Day barbecues. If I weigh less than 190 on Tuesday, it will be a miracle.

CONSUMED ON 5/29: All I ate yesterday was a 40 oz. Coke Slurpee and a standard-size Baby Ruth. This is what a diet looks like.

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like):

A "Prince." Named for IEM donor, Guy Prince, "The Prince" is a single jumbo loaf with a 30% taper. A thing of beauty.
Overcooked Chicken with mole complete with sesame seeds.

EXERCISE: I ran around the neighborhood for 30 minutes. I covered a little over 3 miles, I reckon. Later, I walked from the apartment to the wife's salon in the Berkeley Gourmet Ghetto- 6.8 miles according to Google Maps. Other than a blister on the sole of my left foot and some crotch chafing , I felt fine afterwards.

LISTENING: Gene and Debbe- "Playboy"/"I'll Come Running" 45- (1968) $2.00

I debated whether I should get this 45, as the vinyl looked a little rough in the store. Plus, $2.00 is twice what I like to pay for a 45 in this (or any) economy. The record plays passably, though, so I'm very happy I chose to buy it. I heard "I'll Come Running" for the first time a few months ago on an awesome comp that Jason Morgan had burned. Instantly, it became one of my favorite songs ever- top 25 of all time. Really. I have no idea why this song isn't a household fixture. It should be all over oldies radio. The melody is instantly memorable, the boy-girl vocals are gorgeous, and the groove is insane. I'm not sure whether this song was marketed as a country song (Gene Thomas had cut some solo country records earlier in the 60's) or a pop song. There is some twang here, as both vocalists are Texans, but it sounds a lot more Memphis than Nashville to me and there is no steel guitar to be found. Gene's voice sort of reminds me of a Box Tops-era Alex Chilton (more "Soul Deep" than "The Letter"), while Debbe's girlish vocals would fit Brill Bldg. material perfectly. I cannot imagine ever getting tired of this song. This song needs to be played at weddings.

The flip (I'm actually not sure which is the A-side), "Playboy," isn't as powerful, but it is still pretty great. While Gene and Debbe sing together throughout "I'll Come Running", on "Playboy" they take turns, coming together on the choruses. This song is less groove-laden than the flip and is more sophisticated and adult-sounding, so maybe it was meant to appeal to squares as well as teens. It has a somewhat "exotic" feel, opening with swelling organ and a Hawaiian-esque guitar lead. The whole approach of the song puts me in the mind of a Broadway musical soundtrack, which makes me love it more than I probably would have otherwise.

DONOR UPDATE: I got $10 (Man, You're Awesome donation level) from Rebecca Grunewald. Thanks so much.

Please continue sending donations via PayPal at: alincolnlevy@yahoo.com

IEM Session #14- My Stomach Liked it Better When She Hated Me- Special Ex-Wife Eating Expedition

2010-04-27T13:00:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine Rules and Guidelines

When you regard my youthful visage and infantile demeanor, you may find it hard to believe that I have been married, not once, but twice. It's true. Back in Iowa, where I spent most of my teens and twenties, I was married to a woman with whom I had spent a lengthy relationship. Prior, to "getting involved," we were the best of friends, yet somehow, the romantic relationship didn't turn out as planned. We wed in Iowa in 1993 and moved to Oakland together in September 1996, thanks to a job she had found in Hayward.

I won't go into the details of the 1998 dissolution of this marriage. I will say, however, that I acted like a clichéd male shitbag who went through a mid-life crisis about fifteen years too early. I left my ex with very few friends and no family in the area. (I will call her "Wilda Ablett" here henceforth- she knows why.) She was understandably both hurt and furious with me. I saw Wilda only a couple of times after I had removed my stuff from the apartment. After that, I had zero contact with her, until a few months ago, when she "friended" me via Facebook- our first communiqué in a decade. Wilda moved to another part of the country around 2000. She is now re-married, seemingly very happily, and appears to be better off than she would have ever been with a bum like me shitting in her punchbowl. Since she initially contacted me online, we have kept in touch via very pleasant e-mail conversations. It looks like she really has absolved me from my heinous acts towards her, which occurred almost 13 years ago. Though I still feel terrible for the way I conducted myself back then, I am truly grateful for the forgiveness she appears to have granted me.

Wilda said she enjoyed Inhuman Eating Machine and had a great suggestion for a future IEM session. How about I go around the area eating meals she loved at places she used to like to eat here? She made several meal and restaurant suggestions. Some of her top picks had to be eliminated because they now exceeded the $10 IEM cost ceiling, but we were able to come up with a list of eight meals that were close to her heart for one reason or another. While she is happy where she is now, she said she misses Oakland. The session would enable her to live vicariously through my journey.

Indeed, this session is a little different than normal. I ate a different food at every venue, rather than the same thing at eight places throughout the day. Other than that, the rules were the same and I encountered some of the same obstacles. While most of the restaurants were at places I had previously eaten at one time or another, some of the dishes were unfamiliar, so I didn't always know what to expect.

Thanks to Wilda for helping to make this happen. You remain a classy lady in my book.

Eating Day: January 20, 2010 (All locations in Oakland, except where specified.)

1. PHO ANH DAO- 280 E. 18th St. @ 3rd. Ave.- 10:29am- Bun Bo Hue w/Shrimp- $6.95 & $1 for the Shrimp

Before I left the house, I produced an array of turds that looked like a half dozen mahogany lightning bolts surrounding a chocolate cat skull. The whole scene brought to mind a post-apocalyptic fecal-based Grateful Dead logo. In previous sessions, I would have pronounced such a massive output as a good omen, but I have finally learned that evacuation is not always a barometer for a session's degree of difficulty.

Rather than pay to park on E. 18th St., I parked on 3rd. Ave alongside the recently-renovated Lucky supermarket. As I walked in the rain, I passed a grimy "admiral of the streets." He was wearing a torn black parka that had faux-down filling coming out of every nook and cranny. He was singing "Dixie" in a timbre borrowed from Yosemite Sam.

The area around East 18th Street and Lakeshore function as the de facto gateway to East Oakland. Despite its proximity to beautiful Lake Merritt, I don't see this neighborhood ever gentrifying significantly. There are still too many colorful characters around to scare away the stroller moms. I have a fond memory of a gent shuffling westward on E. 18th with his pants around his ankles, his withered brown member fluttering like a wind sock. This was interesting enough, but the capper was when I noticed he was defecating while he walked. He left several huge logs on the sidewalk in front of what is now the Out of the Closet thrift store. Granted, this was close to a decade ago, but I assure you, the neighborhood has not "gone Rockridge." Last month, while I stretched prior to running around the lake, I spied a toothless woman urinating in the bushes on the 2nd. Avenue side of the Merritt Bakery Restaurant. This occurred about 11am on Saturday morning- a time when the area is teeming with people walking the lake and shopping at Lucky. She smiled at me while she urinated and waved at passersby as she squatted, making no attempt to hide what she was doing. The tradition of public elimination is alive and well in the Eastlake district. Hopefully, kooks like these will keep undesirables from San Francisco from emigrating here.

Pho Anh Dao is the first place I ever tried Pho. Other than the Merritt, Anh Dao was the closest restaurant to our apartment at 1800 Lakeshore. We had no idea what pho was then, but by default, we wound up trying it, rather than venturing too far into the unknown hinterlands of Oakland. For years, Anh Dao was virtually the only place I ever ate pho. The pho here is still good, but the portions have decreased and the prices have increased. In the old days (1996-97), you paid $6 for an extra large bowl at Anh Dao. That size was appropriate only for gluttonous freaks such as myself, as it was large enough to bathe a toddler. In 2010, their extra large bowl is now suitable for consumption by most hungry mortals and it now costs more than $8. Plus, I discovered recently that there is better pho to be had nearby (e.g. Kevin's Noodle House and Ao Sen.) I still have a soft spot in my heart for Anh Dao, though, and was glad when Wilda assigned me to eat here. She picked it mostly because her late step-father really enjoyed eating Anh Dao's pho with tripe on his visits to Oakland. I was not to eat pho on this session, though. I would be eating bun bo hue, which I also ate for the first time at Anh Dao.

For the uninitiated, pho (pronounced like "fun" without the "n" on the end) is a bowl of clear-ish beef broth filled with rice noodles and your choice of various beef and beef by-products. It is probably the single most popular dish in Vietnam and is eaten at any time of day, particularly breakfast. If one chooses a pho variety with flank steak, meatballs, or brisket, pho is quite non-threatening. However, many "Round Eyes" will find some of the other pho offerings on the menu a little disconcerting. I have tried a few of the choices with various offal and other funny-business, and I have to say that I prefer the more pedestrian choices. I recently tried pho with tendon (at Pho Hoa Loa) and I was not into it. The tendon was like eating a beef-flavored Jell-o Jiggler. Bun bo hue (pronounced "boon-bo-way") is also a Vietnamese noodle soup, but it is quite different from pho. Firstly, bun bo hue broth is darker and spicier than pho broth. Secondly, the vermicelli noodles used are made from wheat flour, rather than rice flour. Thirdly, there is a stock collection of meatstuffs used in bun bo hue, rather than a checklist of items from which you can choose. Generally, you will find thin strips of beef and pork in bun bo hue. Sometimes you will also see pig knuckles. Finally, bun bo hue usually comes with a congealed cube of pig's blood.

Because of some of the non-Western elements in bun bu hue, I don't think many non-Asians order this soup. When I ordered it at Anh Dao, the waiter asked me, "Have you had it before?", as if he wanted to ensure that I didn't send it back when I discovered a bunch of weird stuff in the broth. The same thing happened to me a week earlier when I ordered it at Bun Mam Soc Trang (go eat there now!) As usual, the service at Anh Dao was gruff but speedy. My soup arrived in less than five minutes. It was a decent-sized bowl, but only about as big as a medium bowl of pho here. It's possible the richness of the broth makes an enormo-bowl unnecessary. In addition to the usual sprouts, basil leaves, and sliced chili peppers, the condiment plate came with cabbage. The broth was slightly spicy and had all kinds of deep flavors going on that I could not possibly identify. There has to be close to 40 ingredients in this broth. It's like Vietnamese mole. Luckily, it was not too salty. This was my first experience with a pig's foot in this soup. It was a little gristly and there wasn't much meat on the foot, but the taste and texture was not at all unpleasant. The vermicelli was more al dente than what I am accustomed to in this soup and I preferred the noodles in this chewier texture.

The last time I had bun bo hue, it came sans-blood cube. Apparently, Anh Dao sought to right this wrong. They served me a bowl of soup that came not with a blood cube, but with 2 pieces of coagulated blood the thickness and size of a diagonally bisected Kit-Kat bar. The blood Kit-Kat was a little less iron-y than other morsels of coagulated blood I've had before, but it still skeeved me considerably. I broke it up into about 5 pieces, so I could swallow the blood whole without chewing it- allowing it to slither down my throat with little contact with my taste buds. The meat slices were excellent. The pork was mild, like the roast pork you find on a Cuban sandwich, and the beef was very corned beef-esque. The add-on shrimp I had been instructed to order were huge and tender. Five massive shrimp for a buck is not too shabby. As I said, the ingredients of the broth are largely a mystery to me. However, I did detect some anise. This was confirmed when I bit into a seed and got a concentrated dose, which almost caused me to leap from my chair. Whole aromatic spices such as anise, cardamom, and ginger always make me crazy when I bite into them.

The soup was very rich and warming- perfect for a rainy day. I was not too bloated by the broth, but this would have been pretty satiating stuff under regular eating conditions. Wilda had given me free reign to sequence the meals on this session. Alas, soup might not have been the best choice for meal #1. There must have been a ton of MSG in this soup, because I had the makings of a serious eye-ache.

2. EAST OCEAN SEAFOOD RESTAURANT- 1713 Webster St., Alameda, CA- 11:45am- Siu Mai and Char Siu Bao- $2.20 each; Har Gow- $2.80 (Plus 2 pieces bonus bacon-wrapped shrimp)

When Wilda and I were married, we used to eat dim sum with my parents, who then lived in San Francisco. Dim sum is my father's main non-work-related life interest. He would eat it 3 meals a day if he could. To this day, when he comes to visit, his first stop is generally Yank Sing or Ton Kiang, where he is still recognized by some of the staff more than a decade after he left town. I was pretty shocked when my parents announced they were leaving SF for Florida. How could my father willingly give up so much quality dim sum? The Early Bird Specials of South Florida do not include steamed pork dumplings. Wilda and I would generally eat dim sum with my folks in SF, but when we wanted it in the East Bay, I recall us going to Tin's Teahouse in Oakland Chinatown (now relocated to Walnut Creek.) It appears that, even after years of separation, Wilda and I were still eating at the same places, as East Ocean had also been my Oakland dim sum parlor of choice after Tin's moved to the other side of the hills.

I picked up Clark and we headed to Alameda. East Ocean is a cavernous room on Webster St., but on weekends around brunch time, the place is completely packed and many people wait on the sidewalk and in the parking lot in the back. This was a Wednesday, a little past dim sum prime time, so it wasn't as busy as on a weekend, but it was still pretty crowded. The carts were still coming, but not as furiously as they would have come at 10am. I only needed three orders to fulfill my eating requirement here, but it took close to half an hour for all of the items to arrive. The siu mai (ground pork and shrimp dumpling) were delicate and not at all greasy. The pork flavor had a slight garlic taste with undercurrents of ginger. I am not a big fan of ginger, but the amount used in these siu mai was very agreeable. These dumplings were as good as their counterparts at the major league spots in SF. I could have eaten them all day- like peanuts. The har gow (shrimp dumplings) were also excellent and apparently very fresh. It doesn't take more than a few minutes past steaming for har gow to turn the consistency of shrimp-flavored bubblegum, but East Ocean's wrappers were not in the least bit gummy and the shrimp was still tender. As expected, the seasoning was very subtle, so it tasted mostly of plain steamed shrimp. The char siu bao were decent, but not even close to the quality one finds in some of the top places in SF. The bun itself was doughy, rather than fluffy; they were too small; and the ratio of filling to bun was quite low. At least the filling was delicious- sweet, but not like candied pork. I suppose I should have been grateful to get such slight bao on an eating session, but I couldn't help but crave the bao I used to get on Clement at a take out place around 10th Ave. Those bao were the size of a Big Mac and they were jam-packed with pork.

The orders of har gow and siu mai both came 4 items per order. The char siu bao basket came with 3 buns. Therefore, the dim sum didn't leave me much fuller than when I arrived. I jonesed for the shrimp-stuffed bell pepper, but it never came by on a cart. It was probably too late for that. I considered ordering it off the menu, but it seemed unwise. But then I saw it: bacon-wrapped deep-fried shrimp. I had to try these, even though they were out of the scope of the session and purely a bonus food. I split the four-piece order with Clark. These things were one of the greatest snacks in the history of mankind. Every bite was an explosion of seafood and bacon. These treats deserve to be mandatory on the pu-pu platter of the new millennium.

The bacon-shrimp pushed me over the edge into something approaching fullness, so I knew the going would be slow now. I have zero regrets about eating those morsels of loveliness, though. My experience eating them for the first time must be similar to what childbirth is to a mother.

3. PHO 84- 354 17th St.- 12:37pm- Dau Hu Xao Lan- $10

Something is amiss with this particular entry. Pho 84 was the #1 place that Wilda wanted me to include in the session. She said she used to eat here often when she worked in downtown Oakland and this dish was her favorite. I almost didn't get to use this place, though. When I checked the regular menu, the dish she chose far exceeded the $10 maximum. I later realized that Pho 84 has a lunch menu with a version of the dish that squeaks by under the price ceiling. I think I may have eaten here a very long time ago, but have no recollection of what I ordered. The menus and decor here are fancy-ish and they charge more than $10 for a bowl of regular pho. How can anyone justify prices like that for a bowl of broth, some noodles, and a sprinkling of meat? Pho 84 is open in the evening and on Saturday, but since it's Downtown, where few people seem to go at night or on the weekends, they seem to do most of their business during weekday lunches, serving hoards of office workers from nearby buildings. I suppose people working in the Kaiser Bldg. or adjacent structures don't have time to walk to Chinatown for a $6 bowl of pho on their lunch hour- but still- why pay $10 for a bowl of soup at lunchtime? Luckily, Wilda picked something other than pho for me to eat here. I couldn't pay that much for soup in good conscience, even during a session.

As this was a made-to-order dish, rather than a bowl of pre-made soup, I didn't immediately grimace at paying the IEM maximum. The main ingredient in Dau Hu Xao Lan is tofu. I can see you snickering already, thinking I would automatically discount the dish, due to its bean curd content. Well, you're wrong. Remember, I was a vegetarian for many years and still enjoy tofu to this day- when it is prepared correctly. If the stuff is firm or crispy and seasoned properly, I am a huge champion of tofu. However, I have no fondness for the soft or silken tofu variety, except maybe in miso soup. When soft tofu is cut in large chunks and stir-fried, it's vile. And that's what Pho 84 did with this dish. There were a few big slices of onion, unidentified greens, and a mild yellow curry sauce, but the bulk of the plate was covered with dreidel-sized chunks of white tofu. The sauce didn't have the cojones to cover up the fermented soy taste. When cooking tofu, I find it best to let it simmer a long time to allow the flavor of the seasonings to soak into the bean curd. In this case, that never occurred. And since they were using soft tofu, the texture was super-slimy and difficult to swallow without invoking some gag reflex. Frankly, I found the tofu harder to stomach than the coagulated blood Kit-Kat in the Bun Bo Hue I ate at Pho Anh Dao. And it was far more disagreeable than the tendon in the pho I tried a few months ago. At least the tendon had some beef flavor soaked into it. Adding some of the hot sauce and reducing the chunks of tofu to small morsels made it somewhat more palatable, but this dish really was a wretched experience. There were a couple of times while eating it where I thought I really might chunder, due to the sliminess of the tofu. In fact, I would probably pronounce this the most unpleasant thing I have eaten since the inception of IEM.

This brings up a conundrum. Was this REALLY Wilda's favorite dish? We had similar tastes in food. It seems odd that she would enjoy something so unappetizing. Was she pulling a revenge gag on me by making me eat this horrific entree? Or did Pho 84 change their formula for Dau Hu Xao Lan? That is entirely possible. There is very little quality control in stir-fried Asian dishes- even when ordered repeatedly at the same establishment. I think it has a lot to do with who is cooking, what ingredients they have in stock, and the chef's mood. Really, you can order the same dish at the same place on 3 separate occasions and get 4 different things. And if you order the same dish at a different restaurant, you might get something that is as different from what you expected as a hamburger is from a rutabaga. Sorry Pho 84, but you have been Pho 86'd from my repertoire. Your prices are bad enough, but for serving a dish like that, you should be publicly reprimanded.

4. SWEIS'S GYROS & PITAS- 5800 Shellmound St.- Emeryville, CA- 1:43pm- Hummus ($3.95) and Pita (.90)

I dropped off Clark at home after the Pho 84 debacle. Even he didn't like watching that tofu abortion. When I arrived at the Emeryville Public Market Int'l Food Court, I went straight to the toilet. I had stabbing pains in my abdomen. I was certain I was about to experience explosive diarrhea, spurred on by the greasy tofu. Instead, the result was fully-formed. 'Twas a dead-ringer for an order of Applebee's chicken fingers covered in Thai peanut sauce, complete with a half order of curly fries. This relieved some of the pressure that had mounted after eating all of the tofu and its large rice accompaniment. (The rice was the only thing that allowed me to swallow the entire tofu dish without gagging.)

Emeryville Public Market sounds like it should be a Third World-style marketplace where local growers and vendors sell their wares on tables and blankets. Nope. It's really just a food court. But instead of featuring Sbarro, Orange Julius, and Panda Express, like you find in a mall food court, the Emeryville Public Market has restaurant stalls selling ethnic food from all over the world. There is crappy pizza and Chinese food to be had here, to be sure, but you can also get decent Indian food, workmanlike taqueria fare, serviceable Korean BBQ, so-so Afghan food, mediocre Vietnamese, Jamaican, and Thai food, and a few other things not worth mentioning. There is plenty of seating in the middle of the food court, but eating here is usually not a good idea. The place is cavernous. With 50-foot ceilings and doors on all sides, it's like a wind tunnel. It's freezing to eat in that room, except on the warmest of summer days. Luckily, I had on my heaviest winter coat, a toque, and several layers to protect me from the Nor'easter blowing through the door closest to the movie theater. Occasionally, somebody would walk through that door along with an explosion of wind and rain, even though it was only drizzling outside. Somehow the design of the building amplifies all weather situations tenfold.

Despite its shortcomings, Wilda and I loved the Emeryville Public Market when we first moved to town. Coming from Iowa, it seemed very exotic, as we had very little perspective to tell which of the stands excelled within their own cuisine. Sweis' was the first place I ate a falafel after we moved here. It wasn't as good as some of the falafel I'd eaten in NY, but it was completely adequate. Their gyro was also decent, even though it was really shwarma and not a gyro at all. I also remember loving their hummus in those days. I already considered myself a maven of hummus. I had learned that it was no easy feat to strike the perfect garlic:tahini:lemon juice ratio. 95% of the time, one of these ingredients is out of balance- in Koyaanisqatsi, if you will. Unfortunately, times have changed at Sweis.

It was good I was doing a session, because otherwise, I would have been disconsolate at the size of the portion I received for $4. During casual eating scenarios, I would tend to eat at least five times as much hummus as I received- even as an appetizer. And then I discovered that they have clearly meddled with the formula. Technically, I suppose the crucial ingredient ratio is still "in balance." It is true that none of these elements overpowered any of the others, but that was because I couldn't taste ANY of them. The hummus tasted like plain mashed-up garbanzos with a little salt. It wasn't unpleasant. I like garbanzos by themselves just fine. But that's not what I ordered. The so-called hummus just tasted unfinished. In Sweis' favor, they still use a quality soft pita, not dry or stale like you often find at Middle Eastern eateries in this area. And they actually grill the pita over the open flame where they cook their burgers and kebabs. That bread was fantastic. It would make a great snack on its own with just a bit of olive oil. An order of pita is a mere 90 cents here. And I think that means 2 whole grilled pitas. That's a fair price, but it doesn't make up for such lazy hummus. Who the hell wants to eat lazy hummus while seated on a plastic chair bundled up like they're part of Admiral Byrd's maiden expedition to the South Pole?

Certainly, I have matured somewhat and the luster of the Emeryville Market food court has waned for me considerably since those heady days. Regardless, is it so hard to keep your hummus consistent? Sweis, your new hummus is like "New Coke." Please bring back your "Classic" formula at once.

5. MEXICALI ROSE- 701 Clay St.- 5:49pm- Chilaquiles- $9.05

I could have eaten some more after Sweis', since the portion was so measly, but I was tired of schlepping around town. I figured I should allow more hunger to return, as I knew I had some heavyweight meals yet to contend with. When I finally left for meal #5 of the day, I was terrified. I think I have eaten at Mexicali Rose once since my split with Wilda. Mexicali Rose was the first Mexican restaurant we ever tried in Oakland. In those days, I appreciated their huge portions, even though the food just tasted "heavy" without a flavor punch. Even then, I knew this was not "good Mexican food," but the place had a lot of plusses then. It was open until 4am and the portion:price ratio was superb. I would not go home hungry. After I returned to Oakland in late 1999, however, Mexicali Rose fell off of my radar. I learned that I could get just as much food at a taqueria for less money and with far more flavor. And if I insisted on sit-down Mexican food, I could go to Otaez and pay somewhat less for a place closer to home with similar-sized portions. Hell, even Guadalajara is better than this place. Also, the prices at Mexicali Rose have increased in recent years. What's worse, it's now only open until midnight. Where is somebody supposed to eat now after they procure a bail bond at 3:38am? I don't care if this place has history and it is the oldest Mexican restaurant in Oakland (open in 1927.) In 2010, I see no reason to eat here. The cuisine seems more dated than classic. Yes, it is kind of interesting to eat in a Mexican restaurant downtown where there are zero Mexican patrons and almost the entire clientele is black, but the food at Mexicali Rose just isn't very good. I would go as far as calling it the "Black La Piñata" or the "Indie Chevy's." It's just another place to sit down and get big portions of bland, rube-friendly Mexican-ish food and drink margaritas with the girls from the typing pool. At Chevy's, you might at least get a free sombrero, a cactus garnish made out of a red tortilla chip, and endless flour tortillas from "La Machina."

The tortilla chips I received were warm, which is always a nice touch, but these chips were stale. They were probably very stale, because you can usually bring a stale-ish chip back to life with just a few seconds in the microwave. Kelly called me just before my entree arrived. I usually don't answer the phone inside a restaurant. It's gauche. However, since almost everybody inside the place was on their phones and talking very loudly and profanely, I decided to break my rule. Kelly had planned to meet me in the midst of the session after she got off of work, but I advised her to meet me at the next stop instead, rather than wasting her hard-earned money here. Chilaquiles is a Mexican dish that does not appear on menus that often, which is strange, as it's a simple and tasty meal with little overhead. It's far less common than, say, enchiladas or fajitas. It is mostly a eat-at-home dish that your mom makes- if your mom is Mexican. Unless you get a meat add-on, chilaquiles is usually just eggs, red sauce, fried tortilla strips, and cheese. At Mexicali Rose, the first thing I noticed was they went berserk with the melted cheese- probably Monterey Jack. Then I noticed they didn't use fried tortilla strips and opted instead for the same stale chips they had brought earlier. I discovered there wasn't any sauce to speak of. Either it wasn't included or it cooked off entirely. In essence, the chilaquiles were like a massive plate of super nachos with scrambled eggs and some fried onions and peppers. The dish was not inedible by any measure, but it was a pretty weak entry in the chilaquiles sweepstakes. The stuff at Otaez is far, far superior for $3 less. The refried beans were very creamy, but they lacked salt/seasoning. They couldn't possibly be from a can (or could they?), but that's how they tasted. And the rice was a little too chicken-y for my tastes. I guess when no Mexicans eat at your establishment, you don't have to make the food taste very "authentic" (hate this term!), even if the owners and staff are all Mexicans.

There was a ton of food. And I ate all of it. If the chilaquiles had followed a heavy predecessor, it might have been enough to do me in, but luckily, I had rested a while and consumed a mere child's portion of hummus the previous meal. The waitresses at Mexicali Rose are either 4'8", fifty-plus years old, or both. If the food was good, that would not bother me in the least, but the food was NOT good. I need something to work with here, people!

Highlight of the meal: a 20-ish guy who looked exactly like Kajagoogoo's Limahl came in with two women who seemed as if they were straight off the set of a video from 1983. Wilda, I wager that you would have enjoyed this sight far more than the chilaquiles on this outing. I regret to inform you that Mexicali Rose ain't what it used to be- and it wasn't much to begin with.

6. MERRITT BAKERY/RESTAURANT- 203 East 18th St.- 7:05pm- 1 Chicken Breast & 1 waffle- $8 (weekday special)

I went home and picked up Kelly, who had recently returned from work. Clark called and asked to meet up with me again. Apparently, some people just can get enough of watching me make a voracious buffoon of myself. I've written about the Merritt before. Wilda and I lived practically across the street from the place when we moved to Oakland. We were there constantly. We mostly got their cheapo day-old cake slices to go, which were something ridiculous like 3 massive pieces for $1.00. We would occasionally eat inside the restaurant, get an ice cream cone, or bring home some fried chicken, but it was mostly a place where we got "used" cake. Back then, pretty much everything on the menu was reasonably priced and was consistently adequate or better. And they were open 24 hours. Now, the food is generally hit or miss, everything is at least $2 more than it should be, and they close at 10pm, except on Friday and Saturday, when they stay open until midnight. Despite the kitschy low-budget local commercials they've foisted in recent years ("Meet me at Merritt. Your favorite restaurant."), it seems the whole place has just fallen down a few pegs. Outside of IEM eating sessions, I have seen little reason to frequent the Merritt in the 21st century. Other than paying to park, the bane of my existence is paying white tablecloth prices for paper napkin food. Please save your, "There are much more expensive places to eat breakfasts with even smaller portions in the East Bay," remarks. I am well aware of that fact and respond to your idiocy with a simple, "Fuck those places, too."

Despite my naysaying, I was very pleasantly surprised when I ate here for the breakfast session back in IEM #9. They served quality, thick-cut bacon, expertly-seasoned home fries, and Texas-like toast cut from a quality loaf of bread. But was it worth $9? Hardly. That breakfast WAS excellent, but I still find great difficulty rationalizing a $10+ breakfast once tax and tip is calculated. Hence, I hadn't eaten here since then.

I don't expect a terrible meal at Merritt. I merely predict overpriced middle-of-the-roadedness and aloof service. Well, I will be damned if Merritt didn't blow my expectations out of the water again. First, the meal Wilda chose just happened to be a "Weekday Special." $8 for a chicken breast and a waffle still seems somewhat absurd, but when this meal is not on special, it'd be $10, so I felt some relief that I planned this session on a weekday. And then the food arrived. Holy! The chicken breast was massive- at least a DD cup. The skin crust was perfectly crisp with a peppery seasoning. The meat inside was beyond juicy- almost unheard of for white meat chicken. The waffle was large and thick with a slightly sweet egginess about it. I expected it to go down very heavy, but it tasted very light. It accompanied the chicken perfectly, especially when a little maple syrup was added. This chicken and waffle combo was far superior to what you get at that House of Chicken and Waffles place by Jack London Square. These items, ordered at HOCW, will weigh a ton in your gullet and render you useless for the rest of the day, even though they use standard issue breasts and waffles. Also, HOCW is even more expensive than Merritt!

For the second time in less than a year, the Merritt greatly exceeded my expectations. The special was so good, in fact, that I would go as far as bestowing it with the Zagat-esque comment: "worth the money, despite the steep price tag." It is still unlikely that I will come to the Merritt for breakfast, unless you are paying, but when I yearn for fried chicken, I can really see myself eating here and even footing the bill. Certainly, I could get good chicken at Popeye's for much cheaper, but the Merritt weekday special holds its advantages, especially for me. If you recall, I have determined that fried skin is my Achilles Heel. If I consume it in quantities to which I am accustomed, I feel lousy for at least a day. Eating half a dozen pieces at Popeye's would make me want to hang myself and would probably yield little more actual chicken meat than a single Merritt breast. Plus, eating the Merritt chicken along with their waffle may have a neutralizing effect that serves to settle my "fried skin condition."

I had eaten a large chicken and waffle dinner after consuming five other meals, yet I felt better than the last time I polished off a mere 2-piece box from Church's. I am shocked to admit it, but I have no objections to eating (and paying for) the Merritt Weekday Special as long as the price remains steady. Look at me! I'm eating $8 chicken dinners like a billionaire!

7. TAQUERIA EL FAROLITO- 3646 International Blvd.- 8:00pm- Carnitas Super Burrito- $5.45

8. COLONIAL DONUTS- 3318 Lakeshore Blvd.- 8:26pm- Glazed Old Fashioned. Glazed Raised, Sugar Raised- .90 each

In what has now become a IEM tradition, due to the waning hours of open restaurants, I knew I'd better get the final two items to go and eat them at home. Unlike the El Farolito in San Francisco, which is open late to cash in on the afterhours post-bar crowd, the one in Oakland closes at 9pm-ish. In this town, late night tacos are almost a strictly truck-only endeavor. That's fine when the weather is nice, but when it's rainy or cold, it would be nice to eat a taco or burrito in a warm place, without being exposed to the elements and aggressive panhandlers.

When we arrived at El Farolito at 8pm, both of their lighted El Farolito signs and their neon beer sign were dark. Additionally, some of the interior lights were off. I feared that they may have closed early- not an uncommon occurrence among East Oakland eateries. Many local proprietors' posted business hours serve only as "suggestions." There's a good chance they might be open during those times, but perhaps they might not be. Luckily, El Farolito was indeed still open, although it is possible they didn't want too many people knowing this fact.

El Farolito was the first Oakland taqueria Wilda and I discovered. I always enjoyed this place, but eventually found others I liked better. So, I haven't eaten here often in recent years. I have thought of El Farolito Oakland as a place that serves completely adequate tacos and burritos with quesadillas that are usually well above average. I always felt, though, that there are many other places that are both closer to home and even tastier, so El Farolito has become a benchwarmer on my taqueria line-up. Service here is usually quite fast, even when they are busy, and they are one of the very few places left in Oakland where sesos (brains) is still a meat choice. And there is seldom as much "action" at El Farolito as you sometimes encounter while waiting at Sinaloa late at night. I think the lighting is too bright for crackheads and would-be muggers at El Farolito. The worst thing you'll probably have to bear are vendors selling silk flowers or bootleg DVD's.

I have spoken out in IEM and elsewhere against the tyranny of the Mission-style burrito many times- the super burrito in particular. To review, I think they put too much goo and starch into one package. I like rice and crema just fine. I just don't want them inside a massive flour tortilla. The rice overpowers everything, the cream turns to a splooge-like substance after steaming inside its wrapper, and the meat gets pushed to the back of the line. It's just an unnecessary experience when there are tacos and tortas to be had. But Wilda instructed that I get a super carnitas burrito here, so that is what I ordered. It had been a very long time since I had eaten an El Farolito burrito, so I could not recall how literally they took the "super" in their super burrito. Was there a paddy's worth of rice? A boatload of crema? Or did they exercise some subtlety? As suspected, this thing was NOT subtle. The wrapped carnitas super burrito weighed in at 2.02 lbs. I wasn't overly full after six meals, but with a massive burrito and 3 doughnuts in store for me, I knew I was not going to have an easy sprint to the finish line this evening. More on the burrito later.

Oakland donuts are, by and large, a miserable experience. Firstly, there is nary a shop open late night, which makes one wonder where cops get their fix when they are patrolling the streets in the wee hours. Secondly, many shops' offerings will sit around until they are sold, with no mind paid to freshness. (I'm looking at you Donut Corner!) While they are not the equal of San Francisco shops like Bob's or the late lamented Bell's, Colonial Donuts on Lakeshore is the golden brown standard of Oakland doughnutry. They are open 24/7. There is free parking in the back. They sell lottery tickets. The staff is relatively un-gruff. The donuts are generally fresh and are definitely not wrapped in Saran Wrap and sold the next day along with a colony of ants- a common occurrence at Colonial's downtown location, which may have closed. I have heard good things about Dick's on High St. near MacArthur on the edge of the Laurel District, but I've yet to try that place. Until I do, Colonial will receive 100% of my donut business in Oakland.

I don't remember eating donuts here with Wilda. It seemed like all of our pastry purchases were made at the Merritt Bakery, as it was across the street from our apartment. I was happy to see that she was also a fellow Lakeshore Colonial enthusiast. I ordered three donuts of my choice at Colonial. (Wilda specified the amount, but not the varieties.) I took them home, along with my burrito, which was starting to make my car smell a little funky.

As my main objection to the super-burrito is the way everything is crammed together inside the tortilla, I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan- I would dismantle the massive log and eat the individual components separately. I removed the foil and found the tortilla sealed shut, as if the cook had used an industrial adhesive. This thing would not be unraveled. I was forced to cut the top and open it up like a soggy piñata. The first thing I discovered was half an avocado sitting on top of the loose fillings. I ate the avocado immediately and then attempted to take apart the burrito. Impossible. The rice was stuck to the meat, the salsa, and the onion. The cheese was adhering to the bottom side of the tortilla in a zig-zag formation. The crema was everywhere- gelled up like week-old Pepsodent stuck to the side of a sink. Only the pinto beans were easily set aside. I took a few kernels of the rice. It was still warm and pretty tasty. It was fluffy and not too chewy. My only gripe is, like Mexicali Rose's rice, this stuff was also too chicken-y. If I was to eat this burrito in its original wrap form, I am certain that the chicken taste would overpower the carnitas. Next, I took a few bites of the carnitas chunks. There is often a crispy/burnt taste to the sides of carnitas, which imparts a great flavor throughout the dish, and El Farolito's had a lot of that happening. This pork was tender and very delicately seasoned, but due to the intense porkiness, a little bit of the carnitas went a long way. After a mere sampling, the richness rendered me instantly full and exhausted. As expected, I passed out on the couch in front of the television.

I awoke an hour later with the contents of the burrito staring at me. The colossal empty flour tortilla was crumpled up like a wet hand towel. It had grown stiff and rubbery. To ease consumption, I griddled the entire thing on a dry skillet- goo and all. It de-rubberized and then became toasty and brown like a quesadilla. I could not believe how much grease was oozing forth. The toasting took some edge off of the crema and cheese pasted to the sides, but it didn't change the fact that I had one half pound of starch to deal with, not to mention the mound of filling I had piled up on a plate. I took to eating bites of the tortilla interspersed with the beans I had separated and then followed those bites with a scoop of the rice/meat/salsa mélange. I allowed some naked beans to hover in my mouth prior to taking the carnitas, which helped to cut some of the richness, but it was still a very slow process. Despite this miserable ascent, which took me until 2:15am, I was glad to have eaten this burrito- at least the avocado and carnitas part of the offering. I will have to return to El Farolito more often to get a carnitas taco and/or quesadilla and maybe some brains, too.

Was I stuffed to the limits? Of course! But there is ALWAYS room for donuts. I attacked the glazed donut first. Although it wasn't as light as a fresh glazed Krispy Kreme, which threatens to leave the box and float to the heavens, this doughnut was very moist and fluffy, with lots of air pockets inside. It had to have come out of the fryer recently. After completing the glazed, I was not quite miserable, but I was filled to the brim. I was going to have to complete the other two doughnuts in fits and starts. The glazed old-fashioned had a light glaze and a pleasantly crumbly texture, without the greasy mouth explosion found in lesser specimens. The glaze had a slight orange flavor to it, which I've encountered before. I must admit that I am not a big fan of citrus notes in a donut glaze, but the flavoring was light, so it was not a deal-breaker.

I got a couple of bites into the old-fashioned when those familiar rectal contractions came calling- loudly. I spawned an article that approximated a large, over-boiled artichoke. This was astounding, considering I had defecated twice since waking that morning.

The raised sugar donut was the best of the bunch. The pastry part was almost the same as the glazed, with identical air pockets, except rather than coating it with a glaze, they sprinkled it liberally with a fine granulated sugar. It tasted not unlike the waffle I had eaten earlier at the Merritt. This is a less intimidating donut than the glazed. It would be perfect on those days when you want to eat half a dozen donuts without budgeting a 4 hour nap into your schedule.

The whole thing was done just after 4:00am. I was uncomfortable, but ending with the donuts was an ingenious plan. I didn't feel incapacitated like I did after the pupusas. And my flatulence, while still copious, was more mild cheddar than Roquefort.

Wilda had engendered a brilliant eating session. It was a nice change of pace from eating the same thing 8+ times in a day. I like to think that her choices were a true testament that she has forgiven my trespasses. She clearly didn't seek to punish me too severely. To be sure, some of the dishes were a little mediocre. Except for the tofu at Pho 84, however, not a single item was a true abomination. My stomach was stretched beyond the limits of decency, but the aftermath of this session felt miles better than an incident that occurred a few weeks after I had left Wilda...

I sat down to play a guitar that I hadn't touched since I had picked it up from the old apartment. I opened up the case and discovered that she had gouged the body with a sharp instrument, mangled the electronics, and had attempted to saw off the neck- stopping only when she discovered the metal truss rod. Time must heal all wounds, because wretched tofu and Kit-Kats made of blood are nothing compared to an assault on a man's guitar. See? She doesn't hate me anymore.

COMING NEXT TIME: BBQ Beef Sandwiches

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 11

2010-04-25T18:06:00.000-07:00

At this point, there is no use in apologizing for taking so long to post another session or even a brief training update. I was busy finishing my certificate to teach ESL to adults. That did lessen some of my mental capacities, but let's face it, I was mostly just not motivated to write. Once I get going, I'm a house on fire and can write up an entire 15-page eating session in just a few days, but getting myself started is next to impossible.

Forcing myself to write record reviews in the updates was a bad move. Going forward, I will try to post the training updates regularly, but don't expect me to do those reviews anymore- at least not on a consistent basis. I seldom feel compelled to write about music at length, but I can usually come up with a paragraph about what I ate and what I shat, and can at least list what I've listened to recently. If you get a bonafide record review, consider yourself lucky.

But guess what? IEM #14 is finally ready and will post on Tuesday, April 27. I'm quadruple-checking for typos and formatting tonight. I'm sure something will still be a little "off," but hey, what do you want for nothing?

DONATE:

Don't forget, you can donate to IEM to help pay for the eating sessions. If I get enough money, I'll surely feel compelled to write up the sessions in a more timely manner. Won't I?

My PayPal donation address is alincolnlevy@yahoo.com. If you can give anything to help keep IEM chugging along, I would be forever grateful. Any amount would be appreciated. I'll even acknowledge you here.

Donation Levels:

$1-$4.99 = Totally Sweet Level
$5-$9.99 = Completely Rad Level
$10-$19.99 = Man, You're Awesome Level
$20-$49.99+ = I Just Shat My Pants Out of Sheer Gratitude Level
$50+= Sarilyn Joan Levy Dahm Memorial Level

April 26 status:

WEIGHT: 183.8

CONSUMED ON 2/11:

3 cups red grapes
1/2 cheese pizza from Lakeshore Lanesplitter

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): N/A

EXERCISE: I've been working on finishing IEM #14 all day. That's kind of like exercise, right?

LISTENING:

Bad Time by Grand Funk Railroad off of the All The Girls In The World Beware LP. This is an "AM Gold" pop classic. It's a song even non-stoner girls would love- very atypical for Grand Funk. I've been listening to this song ad nauseum for the last 4 days and find more cool elements within the song each time I hear it. If there was a better pop single ever made, I'm not sure what it is. If I can put out a record like this someday and eat lots of sandwiches, I can die happy.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 10

2010-02-24T17:39:00.000-08:00

February 11 status: WEIGHT: 187.8

CONSUMED ON 2/11:

Bowl of homemade kettle corn
20oz Pepsi
Potato samosa, pumpkin paratha, chicken tikka masala naan-wich (all freebies from the Indian food factory tour field trip I attended for school)
French onion soup with cheese

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): A pile of wet croutons

EXERCISE: As usual, I saved my homework for the day of class and couldn't get to the gym, so my only exercise was walking to and from my car at CSUEB.

LISTENING:

Johnny Paycheck Mr. Lovemaker

Until recently, all I had heard by Paycheck was his earlier Bakersfield-style material and his hit cover of David Allen Coe's "Take This Job and Shove It." Understandably, this gave me the impression that Paycheck was a 1960's Buck Owens-style honky-tonker who went "outlaw" in the 70's. Thanks to genius producer Billy Sherrill, Johnny Paycheck actually spent the early-mid 1970's making some killer country-politan records.

This LP has got all of the hallmarks of the country-politan sound (string arrangements, lush background vocals, songs with crossover appeal), but Paycheck still sounds like a shit-kicker. All of the production bells and whistles cannot obscure the fact that Paycheck was a pill-popping drunk who was court martialed, subsequently spending 2 years in a Naval prison for striking a superior officer. And this fancy LP didn't keep him from shooting a man in a barroom and going to prison in Ohio. Still, this record sounds expensive. It has much more in common with 70's Elvis records like "Suspicious Minds" than it does Paycheck's 60's murder ballad "Pardon Me I've Got Someone to Kill."

The songs here range from a smoothed-out take on straightforward C&W tunes like the title track and "I'm Just Tired of Hurting You" to tunes like "If Love Gets Any Better," that sound like a cross between Arlo Guthrie, "Rhinestone Cowboy"-period Glenn Campbell", and Bread. "I Won't Ever Fall in Love Again" sounds a lot like fellow Sherrill artist, Charlie Rich, but with less focus on the piano playing. And then there's "All in the Name of Love," a soulful stomper that could've been a Four Tops hit. The record ends with "She'll Unwine Me," where Sherrill throws out the coutry-politan formula and Paycheck sounds like he did in 1966.

Whether he's sounding like Bakersfield, Nashville, or Austin, you cannot go wrong with any Paycheck record pre-1990. And luckily, the mid-70's records are pretty readily available for cheap.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 9

2010-02-20T13:29:00.000-08:00

February 10 status (I will get you caught up with my current status by the end of the weekend):

WEIGHT: 190.2 (Oh shit, this is getting out of control!)

CONSUMED ON 2/10:

Half a tub of spicy hummus purchased from Grocery Outlet eaten with 1+ lb. of baby carrots.
2 homemade low-fat cupcakes (Get a load of this craziness! You get a standard box of cake mix and simply replace the oil, milk, and eggs with a can of pumpkin. They're quite edible, only slightly orange, and with almost no discernable pumpkin taste.)
A Pepsi at school
A bowl of homemade kettle corn

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): A HEAPING bowl of Kibbles and Bits served over a crumbled crab cake tinted with soy sauce.

EXERCISE: As usual, I saved my homework for the day of class and couldn't get to the gym, so my only exercise was walking to and from my car at CSUEB.

LISTENING:

Billy Swan- 1974- I Can Help- $1

All I knew by this guy was the title track, which I thought was a Ringo Starr solo record, and "Lover Please" (and I only knew the Kinky Friedman version of that song.) Those two songs open this record, but there are even better songs here. There are definitely country elements to this record. There are Jordanaires back-up vocals, some slide guitar, and country-style melodies. However, it doesn't sound like other country records of the time or any time, really. It is obvious that Swan owed a debt to 50's country and rock n' roll, but he was far from a retro artist. He wasn't doing Honky-Tonk or countrypolitan, either. This is more like a pop-rock record with some country overtones. And the whole affair has a very casual, laid-back feel. While Swan is a good singer, he's very understated and doesn't try and blow you away during the heavy emotional passages like country guys did in this period.

There's a cover of "Don't Be Cruel" here, which is usually a bad sign, but he slows the song down and adds a ton of slapback on the vocals. It winds up sounding like a lost Dwight Twilley track. Another great track is "I'm Her Fool," a good-timing number with awesomely goofy backup vocals and a bizarre grunting vocal breakdown at the end. And check out this lyric: I run like a dog when she calls me/'Cause she pets me when I bury my bone. Did this get played on the radio?! Won't somebody think of the children?! Swan's version of "Woman in Love" (Charlie Rich song made famous by Johnny Cash) has kind of an "island" feel a la "Sloop John B" and "P.M.S. (Post Mortem Sickness)" is a cool atmospheric closer- and the earliest reference I can find to pre-menstrual syndrome.

With Swan's mix of fun covers and fun catchy originals with lyrical wordplay, this record was practically made for me. I am now searching for his entire back catalog. I will even pay $3 for the records, if necessary.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 8

2010-02-19T01:38:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay, but my mother-in-law was here for a while and I've been busy being a student, so I haven't been able to get my updates posted. I have about 3 weeks left until I finish my classes to become a certified ESL teacher for adults. I hope to have session #14 up about that time, if not sooner. In the meanwhile, I'm gonna do my darndest to make sure you get at least three training updates every week.

February 7 status:

WEIGHT: 186.4

CONSUMED ON 2/7: It was Super Bowl Sunday and I had the following: 2 massive bowls of Brian Brick's homemade chili (made with 2 of every animal), an ass-load of Mi Puebl o tortilla chips, an entire row of DoubleStuff Oreos, 3 Oki Dogs made by me (now my potluck staple), a bowl of Buffalo Chicken dip (made by Red Meat's Jill Olson) and Frito's, 2 pieces of bbq chicken from Mi Pueblo, 3 beers (1 fancy, 2 cheapo) and some other stuff I can't remember.

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): 3 brown, medium-sized, finely-burnished stones used by Bedouins to play an ancient gambling game in the Western Sahara.

EXERCISE: Are you kidding? It was Super Bowl Sunday. My only exercise occurred after the game at the post-game dance party in Brian Brick's living room. I may have burned off a single Oreo shaking my booty to Steely Dan's "My Old School."

LISTENING:

Charlie Rich- Behind Closed Doors
Every year or so, I remember to pull out this album and rediscover what a monster it is. Is it country? Sure, but it doesn't sound the least bit hayseed. And it is as smoothly soulful as anything coming out of Detroit in 1973, the year this was released. Rich's voice coupled with Billy Sherrill's countrypolitan production make this record straddle the line between Nashville country-pop and Vegas-style schmaltz. You can bet your ass that in the mid-70's there were five dozen acts playing The Strip that had both the title track and "The Most Beautiful Girl" in their set-lists. Those hits are probably the best songs on the album, but there isn't a bad song here. "Take it on Home," "'Til I Can't Take it Anymore" are nearly as good as those uber-hits. I also really love "Peace on You." I paid close attention to the lyrics of that song this go-round. I was able to discern that although Rich wishes an unnamed woman peace, he is also saying that she is going to Hell because she cheated on him. And he isn't talking about figurative hell. He's saying she's going to where the Devil lives. That is gold! I need to listen to this record more often, if only for that song.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 7

2010-02-03T11:08:00.000-08:00

February 1 status:

WEIGHT: 183.4

CONSUMED ON 2/1 (IN ORDER):

Omelet (1 full egg, 2 egg whites, 1 Tbsp. shredded cheddar)
1 glass blended chocolate milk (2 cups fat free milk, 4 Tbsp chocolate syrup, ice cubes)
1 glass blended chocolate-banana milk (2 cups fat free milk, 4 Tbsp chocolate syrup, a frozen banana, ice cubes)
1 blood orange
Half of a 14oz. container of OOP Haagen Dazs Brown Sugar ice cream (I bought the last remaining containers at the Berkeley Grocery Outlet. Oakland Groc Out had already exhausted their supply. If you see this stuff, buy it immediately, because it's about to become rarer than that Honus Wagner baseball card, the stamp with the upside down biplane, and the first pressing of The Rotters' "Sink the Whales" 45 combined. Those items can be stored in a vault. After a couple of years, ice cream will start to evaporate, even in a deep freeze.)

DEFECATION: (what my turd looked like): A fudge matzo ball in beef broth

EXERCISE: I ran the lake again. It took 24 minutes.

LISTENING:

The Poppy Family- A Good Thing Lost: 1968-1973:

To paraphrase Nazi playwright Hanns Johst, "When I hear the word 'psychedelic,' I reach for my gun." I have zero interest in expanding my consciousness or going on a "trip," either with chemicals or via music or art. The only challenge I want to experience related to culture is when I have to walk up the stairs at the museum.

Despite my predisposition against psych, occasionally, I encounter some vaguely psychedelic music that I enjoy. The Poppy Family, a Canadian group fronted by spouses Susan and Terry Jacks, is such an example. Terry went on to go solo and had a huge hit with "Seasons in the Sun." Susan had a solo career, too, and cut some great songs (e.g. "Anna Marie"), but she didn't achieve the same level of notoriety as her ex-husband, at least not in the US. Neither of the former spouses' solo work is nearly as good as the Poppy Family.

The Poppy Family are often thought of as a bubblegum pop group, but they seem a lot darker than that. There are a lot of psych touches in their music (sitar, tabla, weird stereo panning effects, fuzz, tape manipulation, heavy reverb, echo, etc.), but that's not the source of the darkness. Susan, who does most of the vocals has an unbelievable melancholy in her gorgeous voice and the lyrics all seem to have a hidden undercurrent of death and/or evil.

The first track on the comp, the "Beyond the Clouds" sounds like a lost track by 90's gloomy pop band, The Sundays, but with better production and vocals. The Poppy Family's biggest hit was "Which Way You Goin' Billy," a depressing pop song that implies impending suicide and seems a prequel to Terry's hit, "Seasons in the Sun." "There's No Blood in Bone" sounds like a Stone Roses song- if they were fronted by Mariska Veres from the Shocking Blue. The drum beat on that track seems like a prime candidate for sampling by a trip-hop artist, if that genre still exists. Other great songs on the comp include "That's Where I Went Wrong," "Shadows on My Wall," "Free From the City," and "Where Evil Grows."

The Poppy Family are like a Cannuck melange of proto-shoegaze, folk-country, ABBA, the Carpenters, Mazzy Star, Lee & Nancy, and the Everly Brothers. And the band's East Indian percussionist was Satwan Singh, a real-live Indian! This comp is a real find. I'd like to get the band's original LPs and 45s, if I can find them for cheap, but this will tide me over in the meantime.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 6

2010-02-02T01:10:00.000-08:00

January 30 status:

WEIGHT: 181.4

CONSUMED ON 1/30 (IN ORDER):

A 20 ounce can of Peace Tea brand Green Tea (awful)
A bottle of Budweiser and a few hors d'oeuvres at Canderson and Tiger Lily's photo show opening at the Rite Spot in SF (some pita chips, a breaded cheese stick, some brie and crackers, 2 dolmas from a can, 2 slices sourdough bread, 1 butter cookie and a pre-packaged Rice Krispie treat)
Chocolate milk (2 cups fat-free milk, ice, 4 tbsb. Mexican chocolate syrup)

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): Half a challah that fell into a pan of brisket drippings

EXERCISE: I ran 1 lap around Lake Merritt (about 3 miles.) I think it took 25 minutes.

WATCHING:

Funny Girl- 1968- How they hell had a fruity Broadway musical fan like myself never seen this movie before? Streisand won a Best Actress Oscar for this, her first picture. I don't know what other actresses were in the running, but there's no way anybody else was better than her the year this was released. She is in nearly every scene and totally kills them all. The picture is more than 2 hours 30 minutes, which is about 50 minutes more than my attention span can handle these days, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. There are a bazillion good musical numbers, but my favorite has got to be "Don't Rain on My Parade." This movie came out 3 years earlier than Fiddler on the Roof and was set mostly in pre WWI New York, but somehow winds up being 10 times Jewy-er than Fiddler. Must see!

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 5

2010-01-29T11:40:00.000-08:00

January 28 status:

WEIGHT: 185.8

CONSUMED ON 1/28 (IN ORDER):

1lb. baby carrots
Fiber One bar- oats and caramel flavor (These don't seem to make me fart any more than usual, but they turn my spouse into a 5' 2" cloud of sulfur.)
3-taco plate (2 carnitas taco/1 asada taco/beans/rice) at the Cal State East Bay Student Union. Surprisingly adequate-tasting and not too expensive at $5.50.
2 5/8 ounce bag of Rold Gold Thins pretzels
20 ounce Pepsi
1 bowl curtido (This stuff gets really boring after 2 days.)
2 Tbsp. Peter Pan peanut butter
2 cups fresh pineapple
NOTE: All of our Haagen Dazs brown sugar ice cream was gone as of yesterday. I am having an internal debate as to whether it is prudent to buy all the remaining containers at Grocery Outlet.

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): A braised lamb's brain

EXERCISE: School, yet again. Since I always leave my homework until the day of classes, I can only muster the one-mile walk from the parking space to the classroom those days. I am enriching my brain, yet allowing my Adonis-like body to atrophy.

LISTENING:

The Replacements- All Shook Down- 1990- Before this month, I hadn't listened to this in well over a decade. I have to say I am very pleasantly surprised with this rediscovery.

Except among tired punk-only types, conventional wisdom states that Tim is The Replacements' best album. While it is true that Tim has the best overall collection of songs, the production is confounding. Whenever I listen to that record, I am always thinking, "This would be so much better without the faraway-sounding gated reverb drums and the cheap-sounding guitars." The whole thing just sounds janky. With either a "correct" pro mix or a powerful lo-fi recording, I would view Tim as the unbeatable masterpiece that aging college rockers claim it to be.

However, Tim is what it is, so I have difficulty listening to more than a couple of songs of it at a time. When I want to listen to pop Replacements, I will now put on All Shook Down more likely than not. Firstly, the production is not distracting. Yes, it sounds like a major label record, but not a dated 80's major label record where you think, "Who the hell at Warner thought this production sounded good? In 2010, any kid with a Mac and GarageBand could make a better-sounding album." I refuse to believe producer Tommy Ramone had any real input on the final product. There aren't as many crotch-grabbingly great songs on All Shook Down as there are on Tim, but there are more than enough of them to make me want to listen to it far more regularly. The semi-hits, "Merry Go Round" and "When it Began," should have made Westerberg a household name. They certainly sound better than "I'll Be You" off of Don't Tell a Soul, which got considerable Top 40 airplay. Indeed, there are a couple of turds on this record. "The Last" sounds like a bad SNL spoof of a mid-70's Billy Joel song. And "My Little Problem"? What idiotic A&R man thought a duet with Concrete Blonde's Johnette Napolitano would be a good thing? I hope they got fired.

I'm also a big fan of "Nobody" and especially, "Bent Out of Shape," which sounds EXACTLY like what the rockers on Tim should have sounded like. Despite that track, most of this album sounds more like a singer-songwriter type record than a full rock n' roll band. It has a lot more in common with the later Westerberg solo stuff (except with better recording) than any other Replacements record or even with the songs on the Singles soundtrack.

Yes, I am a fanboy for Westerberg. I lived in the Midwest for 15 years and went to college there. What do you expect? Having said that, I wrote this whole thing without once calling the Replacements "The Mats." Deal with that.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 4

2010-01-28T00:31:00.000-08:00

January 26 status:

WEIGHT: 187.0 (What happened here?!)

CONSUMED ON 1/26 (IN ORDER):

1 1/2 cup fat-free cottage cheese and 2 cups fresh cut pineapple
1.58 ounce package Snyder's Olde Tyme pretzels
2 bowls homemade curtido
1 bowl "veggie goo" (a stewed concoction of onions, zucchini, banana squash, eggplant, carrots, and pineapple)
2/3 pint Haagen Dazs Brown Sugar ice cream (I cannot stop eating this stuff)

DEFECATION (what my turd looked like): 6 Schnauzer tails

EXERCISE: School again. Could only manage the walk to and from my parking space to the classroom- roughly 1 mile.

LISTENING:

Mary Hopkin- Post Card- 1969- $1.00- Before I picked this up, all I knew by Hopkin was her big hit, "Those Were the Days," a gypsy-Russian type song that stangely made it to #2 in America. I always loved that song when I was a kid and hadn't heard it for maybe 20 years before getting this LP. That track is on this album, but it's not at all indicative of the rest of the material on the record. Post Card is on Apple and is produced by Paul McCartney, but other than a song or two, it's not even vaguely rock n' roll. In fact, most of it isn't even pop music. It's a mix of British-type folk (think Fairport Convention with zero Jefferson Airplane influence and a singer 10x hotter than Sandy Denny) and folk-ified showtunes like "Inchworm" (from Hans Christian Andersen) and "There's No Business Like Show Business." There are also tunes like "Young Love" and Donovan's "Voyage of the Moon" that mine the same kind of territory that McCartney did with pre-rock vaudevillian-type Beatles songs such as "Michelle." Translation: This is serious pussy music. Naturally, I love it.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 3

2010-01-26T10:21:00.000-08:00

January 24 status:

WEIGHT: 183.8

CONSUMED ON 1/24 (IN ORDER):

Approximately 20 boneless chicken wings, about 1 cup potato salad, a few fries, celery and carrot strips, blue cheese dressing- all from Wing Stop and consumed at Mitch Cardwell's place while listening to the first half of the NFC Championship game on the radio (cable was out.)
One large portion of enchilada casserole- consumed at Chris and Shannon's place while watching the remainder of the NFC Championship game.
Copious amounts of homemade kettle corn.
3 glasses of Sunkist orange soda
One bottle Lagunitas IPA beer
2 Coke floats- about 20 oz. of Coca- Cola with 3 scoops of Haagen Dazs Brown Sugar ice cream.

DEFECATION REFLECTIONS (what my turd looked like):

10:30am- A large bowl of Chex Mix covered in brown gravy
11:00pm- Oscar the Grouch's earthly remains after being drawn and quartered

EXERCISE: 30 minutes running on the treadmill at 6.8 mph

LISTENING:

Johnny Rodriguez- My Third Album- 1974- $1.00- This is solid 70's country with J-Ro's usual M.O. where he sings a verse of several songs in Spanish. Rodriguez's baritone voice sounds great here, but some of the songs are generic. The cover of the Allman Brothers' ""Ramblin' Man" is unnecessary, but Rodriguez's take on George Harrison's "Something" is actually a great interpretation. As for the originals, the best track by far is "Jane", a mid-tempo tune that should have been a massive hit. "I've Never Had a Thing that Ain't Been Used" is also memorable. I couldn't find an online photo, but the LP cover is an awesome shot of Johnny wearing a bedazzled Wrangler denim jacket and jean combo. As a Mexican-American country artist, Johnny is the Larry Doby to Freddy Fender's Jackie Robinson.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 2

2010-01-24T11:24:00.000-08:00

January 23 Status:

WEIGHT:185.8

CONSUMED (IN ORDER):

2/3 Pint Haagen Dazs "Five" Brown Sugar Ice Cream. We bought way too much of this stuff. Once I open a container, it is impossible to stop eating it until it is gone.
1 Hebrew National hot dog smothered with homemade pineapple salsa inside a flour tortilla. (Wasn't as good as I expected it would be.)
3 Philippine mangos (We got these used from Berkeley Bowl, too. A bag of 10 was only 99 cents. These aren't as delicious as a really good "regular" mango, but they're definitely more consistent than the regular variety, which often taste like ammonia.
2 cups of garbanzos roasted in the toaster oven with a bit of olive oil and seasoning.
1 Tbsb. Peter Pan crunchy peanut butter (new packaging) eaten straight out of the jar.
A massive bowl of kettle corn popped in my Whirley Pop.
24-ounce can of Pabst Blue Ribbon at the Stork Club.
12-ounce bottle of Miller High Life.
Several handfuls of microwave popcorn at Kim's Backyard bar.

DEFECATION: Around 11am, I made what can best be described as a "bowl of Shredded Wheat left to ferment in the sun for a month."

EXERCISE: I didn't leave the house until 11:15pm. Luckily, I danced a little at Kim's, especially when they played "Ain't No Stopping Us Now" by McFadden & Whitehead.

LISTENING: Andy Gibb- Shadow Dancing- 1978- $1.00- The hits off of this album are pretty good: "Shadow Dancing," "(Our Love) Don't Throw it All Away," and "Everlasting Love." However, this record is a huge disappointment compared to Gibb's 1977 debut, Flowing Rivers. While the debut was a great eclectic mix of disco and other pop styles (including some country-rock, even), Shadow Dancing is a generally weak, overproduced, lite-disco affair. It sounds like throwaways from Saturday Night Fever or a non-LP B-side from Spirits Having Flown-period Bee Gees.

IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 1

2010-01-22T12:11:00.000-08:00

As promised, here begins a chronicle of my routine of training and self-sabotage between Inhuman Eating Machine sessions. Expect updates 3-4 times per week. With any luck, the actual IEM #14 eating session account will post within a month.

I did the eating for IEM #14 (Ex-Wife Challenge) this past Wednesday, January 20. I was belching carnitas until about 4pm on Thursday and didn't regain any semblance of hunger until about that time.

WEIGHT:

I weighed in at 183.2 lbs. on 1/20 prior to the session. The next morning, I was just shy of 192. By Friday, I was down to 187.6.

CONSUMED ON 1/21 (in order):

2 ounce Rold Gold "Thins" Pretzels
20 ounce Pepsi
3 ounces Fritos
1 lb. bag of baby carrots
Approx. 2 cups of Haagen Dazs Brown Sugar ice cream (This is seriously the best ice cream ever. Alas, it seems to be going "out of print." They may still have some at the Oakland Grocery Outlet.)
Big bowl of fresh cut pineapple heated in the microwave. (Used pineapples were .99/ea. at the new Berkeley Bowl last Monday. I bought four.)

DEFECATION:

Thursday morning, I dropped what resembled a 4-serving pot of cold oatmeal.
11pm that evening, I jettisoned a half dozen missiles about 6" each in length and roughly the color of chocolate chip cookie dough.

EXERCISE:

I had school from 2-10, so I had no time for the gym. Luckily, I logged a over a mile walking from my car to the classroom- in the rain. As I've stated many times before, I WILL NOT PAY TO PARK!

LISTENING:

Linda Ronstadt- Silk Purse LP- 1970- $1.00- Not as good as the 1971 self-titled LP she did after this one and not even in the same area code of greatness as Heart Like a Wheel. However, there are a bunch of great songs here, especially "Long, Long, TIme," and "He Dark the Sun." And the cover photo of her in a peasant blouse surrounded by hogs is spank bank-worthy.
Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band- Live Bullet 2xLP- 1976- $1.99- Like many fans of the underground music, I dismissed Bob as a hack. Later, I learned that his work with the Bob Seger System and the Last Herd rivaled other Detroit rockers like the MC5 and The Stooges. Yet, I still shunned his entire Silver Bullet Band output. Thanks to local Seger tribute band, Total B.S., I have seen the error of my ways. This is one of the best live records ever. Bob's version of "Nutbush City Limits" is crushing and the segue of "Travelin' Man" into "Beautiful Loser" is unforgettably beautiful. And that's just Side 1 of the first record. This thing is worth $1.99 just for "Katmandu."

DONORS:

Thanks SO much to everybody who donated to IEM. In this economy, every penny counts. These people are my angels. If you'd like to be an angel, please send ANY amount via PayPal at: alincolnlevy@yahoo.com

I Just Shat My Pants Out of Sheer Gratitude Donation Level:

Eric Thorberg- $25
Stephanie Clarke- $20
Bruce Saltmarsh- $20

Man, You're Awesome Donation Level

Guy Prince aka "Mr. Biggles"- $11 (In his honor, I have named a BM after Mr. Biggles. Henceforth, any turd comprised of a single jumbo loaf with a 30% taper will be known as a "Prince."
Paul Brown- $10

IEM Session #13- Stop Bombing, El Salvador!- Pupusas

2009-12-23T14:55:00.000-08:00

Inhuman Eating Machine rules and guidelines.

Again, it's taken forever to post another IEM session. This time, however, I have a valid reason for the delay. In late September, I went back to school to get a certification to teach ESL to adults. Due to my my hummingbird-like attention span, I was always a lousy student. After being out of school for almost 20 years, studying is even harder for me than before. Having to devote brain power to my classes made it difficult for me to concentrate on writing about my life as a disgusting binge-eater. Luckily, I'm out of school until early January, so I have a little time to post IEM #13.

Something new is coming to Inhuman Eating Machine very soon. In the next couple of weeks, I'll do the eating for session #14. As soon as that's done, I'm going to start posting several short updates per week that detail my travails as I prepare for IEM #15. You may not know it, but I train tirelessly to get ready to eat again in earnest. I binge and starve constantly. As you can see, IEM session depictions are long. They take a while to write, especially now that I'm in school. It may take some time for me to get IEM #14 posted, but I think I can at least muster a couple of paragraphs 4 times a week with something like, "I ate an entire bag of clementines today. I gained 3 lbs. and now I'm crapping Orange Juliuses..." And then eventually the actual session will post, too. The chronology might seem a little weird, but that's the way it has to be. "Real blogs" are supposed to post regularly, not once every other month, so these updates are my concession to blogosphere etiquette. The aim is to tide you over until the next session and hopefully, get more people interested along the way. In theory, by the time I reach my fighting weight, it will be time to embark on another session.

The food I eat on these sessions is cheap, but it is not free. If I was gainfully employed, it would be no big deal to pay for eight sub-$10 meals once every 2 months. However, I was laid off almost a year ago and am trying to cut corners. If I could get some patrons to help finance my art, it would be a godsend. My PayPal donation address is alincolnlevy@yahoo.com. If you can give anything to help keep IEM chugging along, I would be forever grateful. Any amount would be appreciated. I'll even acknowledge you here.

Donation Levels:

$1-$4.99 = Totally Sweet Level
$5-$9.99 = Completely Rad Level
$10-$19.99 = Man, You're Awesome Level
$20+ = I Just Shat My Pants Out of Sheer Gratitude Level

I don't know much about El Salvador other than this:

It's a small Central American country whose people are largely despised by Mexicans.
In the 80's, there was a civil war there between the military government and leftist rebels. The military, supported by the U.S., bombed suspected rebel strongholds, which led to "Stop Bombing El Salvador" bumper sticker being affixed to every Volvo in the Bay Area, circa 1987.
It's the birthplace of Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13), one of the largest and most bloodthirsty street gangs going these days. They are the subject of a particularly disturbing episode of Gangland on the Discovery Channel.

And El Salvador is where the pupusa comes from. The pupusa is so fundamental to the cuisine of El Salvador, they even declared November 13, "National Pupusa Day." What's a pupusa? It's like if you took the dough from a corn tortilla (masa dough) and you stuffed it with one or more of the following: meat (usually chicharrones aka pork rinds), cheese, beans, loroco, or zucchini. After the dough is stuffed, it's cooked on a griddle like a pancake. They are served with a cabbage salad known as curtido and a special hot sauce. If you're not eating these things, I don't want to know you. People have told me what they thought of the companion video that came with IEM #12. Some loved it; some thought it was "too much." Well guess what? Lily shot a video for this session, too. It's in the editing stages. I'll let you know when it's done.

Photos by Lily Chou (Some taken directly from the upcoming video)

Eating day: October 9, 2009

1. PUPUSERIA SAN ANTONIO- 30030 Mission St.- Hayward, CA- 11:15am- Mixta, Cheese-$1.95 each

Oh, the Oakland mom and pop restaurant. I try and support you. Nearly the entirety of IEM is a paean to you. Your idiosyncrasies endear you to me, but your ineptitudes are often mind-boggling. It seems that many of these establishments in town were opened by people who are in love with the idea of running a restaurant, rather than actually running one. Customer service is often aloof, if not hostile. Getting a glass of water can be next to impossible. The quality, quantity, and availability of food can be sharply inconsistent. The buildings are cold. Some are filthy. Why squander your life savings and then run your dream eatery half-assedly? Case in point, Lily and I left my apartment shortly after 10am so I could finally try the Salvadoran place on 23rd Ave. Earlier this year, it had been open for about two minutes. And then for six months, there was a sign on the window reading, "Closed for renovations." How could a brand new restaurant that barely had time to get its griddle greasy require renovations? I didn't think they'd last long in that neighborhood, but I thought they'd close due to excessive robberies or mismanagement, not because they needed new drywall. I was glad to see their grand re-opening sign and decided they'd be the first place I would stop on IEM #13. When I didn't see pupusas on the menu on their wall, I assumed the menu was for entrees only. When I asked the woman at the counter, not only did she tell me that they didn't have pupusas, she looked at me like she didn't know what I was talking about. It doesn't seem like a very good idea to omit the national food of your country from your menu when you open a Salvadoran restaurant in the USA. A Salvadoran restaurant sin pupusas might work in El Salvador, but here, it's a fool's errand.

Q. What do you call a Salvadoran restaurant in the USA that doesn't serve pupusas?
A. Closed in about a month.

After the anti-pupusa establishment, I decided to try Carmencita's on 14th. Ave. They're actually a Guatemalan-Mexican place, but they have pupusas on their menu and I've enjoyed their food in the past. We stopped by about 9:30am, but they were closed. This makes no sense, as they have a breakfast menu. There was no sign explaining the closure. Do these places want to stay in business? If so, they must have certain items (e.g. pupusas) on their menu and they must also adhere to their posted hours if they want people to drag themselves across town to visit their eatery. If someone gets burned once, they're probably not returning. Some people might suspect these places only exist as money-laundering fronts, but that can't be right. To launder money, currency must change hands.

We left Oakland, hoping for better luck in Hayward. The first place on my list in Hayward (Los Planes De Renderos) didn't open until 11am, according to their sign. We arrived at 10:50am. After getting rebuffed twice in Oakland, I wasn't going to wait around ten minutes only to have the proprietors stand me up. Famished, I decided to venture further into Hayward and return to the first location later. We drove down Mission St. When it seemed like we were almost to Fremont, we pulled over. I called Kelly and had her Google Map the address. I had driven about five miles past the destination. The place is in a strip mall set back from the road a little, so it was understandable that I had missed the turn.

I was about ready to gnaw off my own foot when we arrived. Normally, I would be happy that the pupusas here were made from scratch like they normally are. But in my comprised condition, I sort of hoped that they had pre-made specimens that they could throw in the microwave. The lady took her time patting out the masa. It seemed like hours until the food arrived. In addition to the pupusas, the woman delivered a see-through pail of curtido and a massive syrup container of the chile sauce. Normally, you get a little bowl of each of these condiments, so I wasn't sure if these were all for me, or if these were for the table. There was at least a quart of the curtido. It was extra crunchy, so it must have been prepared rather recently. It wasn't as spicy as the curtido you sometimes find, but it was a good counterpoint to the starch I was about to receive. Often, curtido is soggy when it sits its own juices too long. The cheese pupusa was loaded with what I assume is a Oaxaca/quesillo-type cheese, which is stretchy like melted mozzarella. The exteriors of both pupusas were cooked perfectly- neither excessively crunchy, greasy, nor doughy. The mixta (chicharrones, beans, cheese) pupusa was excellent. Often mixta/revuelta filling is a slurry with no discernable parts within. In San Antonio's filling, there were chunks that actually looked like meat. The filling was rich, so they must have used some seriously lard-laden refritos plus a big wad of hacked pork rinds swimming in fat. My first use of the chile sauce yielded an almost clear liquid that tasted like water with a trace of chile powder. Since the fluid in the syrup container appeared to be red, I decided to shake it up. After doing this, the sauce flowed much darker and thicker. It still wasn't very hot, but it had a pleasant tomato flavor.

I exited San Antonio ready to eat anew. I was wondering if the cabbage would provide a foil for the masa and pork fat I would eat throughout the day. Only time would tell if the curtido would work as an antidote to the heaviness or serve as an accelerant to induce even greater gastric distress.

2. PUPUSERIA Y TAQUERIA LOS COCOS- 29617 Mission St.- Hayward- 11:51am- Mixta, Bean & Cheese-$ 1.99 each

We drove back up Mission St. past the Hayward Holiday Bowl and nearly missed this place, too (once again hidden in a faceless strip shopping center.) After spying it, I still had to drive well past the joint in order to do a u-turn, due to a center median and heavy traffic on Mission. In Hayward, it apparently takes some serious commitment to eat Pupusas. At least all three places have parking lots. There is a Los Cocos on Fruitvale Ave. in Oakland. I'm not sure if the two businesses are related, but they have similar logos that both employ coconuts in lieu of the O's in their names. Los Cocos on Fruitvale is the first place I ever tried a pupusa, around 1996. For several years, it was the only game in town. The menu at Hayward Los Cocos' includes pupusas de arroz (rice pupusas), in addition to the usual choices. I had never heard of a rice pupusa. I imagined it was a standard pupusa stuffed with spanish rice. It sounded interesting. While the rice-load you get in burritos around here is an abomination, a sprinkling of rice inside a pupusa might be not be unpleasant. After playing a "Who's on First"-like game with the counter girl, I realized that the pupusa de arroz is NOT stuffed with rice. The dough is simply made of rice flour, rather than the corn-based masa dough. They are filled with the same stuff you get inside a standard pupusa. Due to the confusion during the ordering process, I wound up getting an extra pupusa gratis, which I took home to Kelly.

They brought some chips before the pupusas arrived. I knew I shouldn't be eating more starch, but it takes a mighty man to refuse free chips of any kind. The chips tasted "off." They were either stale, or they were those crappy tortilla chips sold at the Dollar Tree that taste funny even when fresh. It was a blessing in disguise. I hardly ate any of the chips, saving valuable stomach space. There was a large stainless steel container on the table with a latched lid; the kind that fancy coffee shops use to store ground beans. I opened the lid and discovered the can was filled with curtido. Maybe the big curtido container is a Hayward thing. Los Cocos didn't use a syrup container for their sauce, though, preferring a ketchup squeeze bottle. The filling of the mixta pupusa was adequate, but bland compared to the version at San Antonio. Also, the exterior was doughy. I prefer them cooked more thoroughly. The dough's consistency was like a tamale, which is not what you want with a pupusa. The pupusa de arroz filled with beans and cheese was far better. The beans were moist and lardy and there was ample stringy cheese, similar to the pupusa at San Antonio. What really set it apart was the rice flour shell. It had a texture best described as "qiu qiu" (Taiwanese for "chewy/rubbery.") Rather than crumbling apart like the their standard pupusa, this entry stuck to my teeth a little, like tapioca balls in a bubble tea. It was like eating fried mochi stuffed with beans and cheese. I don't know whether it was due to the rice flour outer shell, or just the absence of chicharrones, but the pupusa de arroz was far lighter than the standard pupusa here. Only a few places on the session had the arroz option, but I would not be surprised if I would have fared better on the session had I chosen that variety exclusively.

I finished the standard mixta pupusa after tearing through the rice pupusa. After I was done with both, I was surprised to feel a growing fullness. With the torta session, it made complete sense to feel weighed down early, as a single torta can weigh as much as 4 pupusas combined. It couldn't merely be dough weighing me down. Was there sawdust and brewer's yeast inside those pupusas? Mitch Cardwell claimed that I should be able to cruise through the pupusas like each one was a potato chip. He even went as far as asserting that 16 pupusas in a day was not a challenge at all. Dearest, Mitchell. Will you ever tire of being wrong?

3. LOS PLANES DE RENDEROS- 22841 Mission St.- Hayward- 12:48pm- Revuelta, Loroco Y Queso- $2.00 each

When we returned here, they had a decent lunchtime crowd of what I assumed to be workers from the nearby courthouse. East Bay pupuserias don't seem to draw many gringos. I surmise they are either too stupid to know what a pupusa is or they fear that every Salvadoran restaurant is in a "bad neighborhood." Los Planes' clienteles, however, were mostly non-Latino. Maybe it is only because of their location in downtown Hayward, but hats off to Los Planes for getting East Bay white folks to try the manna from El Salvador.

I'd only eaten four pupusas thus far, yet I received a slight rectal twitch shortly after sitting down here. With my microscopic timeframe for waste elimination, I figured I owed it to myself to investigate their facilities . There is a huge mural on the wall of a woman serving a platter of pupusas in a Salvadoran village. Other than that, there is not much atmosphere at Los Planes. But they have a large, clean, single-person bathroom located down a long corridor behind the dining room. All of these elements make for a wonderful bowel movement experience, so any decorating shortcomings could be forgiven. Once ensconced in this comfortable sanctum of defecation, I set out to determine if the twitch spoke the truth. Huzzah! The harbinger was as real as you or me. After a single coaxing contraction, the floodgates opened of their own accord. A half dozen oblong masses issued forth into the water. Each was larger than its predecessor, as if I had produced fecal-plated Russian nesting dolls with my anus. Not surprisingly, my fullness had subsided considerably.

This was my first experience with a loroco pupusa. Loroco is an edible flower/plant that is a common pupusa ingredient in certain regions of El Salvador. The crust of the loroco pupusa was ideal. It was greaseless. The color was a perfect golden brown. It was crispy outside, but soft inside- but not mealy/doughy like a tamale. The inside was stuffed with the usual stringy cheese and flecked with green pieces of loroco. Loroco doesn't look like a flower. It resembles chopped green onions and has a similar texture when chewed. Unlike green onions, though, loroco has no detectable taste. I am not certain why anyone would add these to a pupusa, unless they impart a nutritional benefits of which I am unaware. The loroco did not detract from the pupusa's overall grandeur, but it is hardly a necessary ingredient. The revuelta pupusa's exterior was the same as the loroco, but the inside was nothing less than a revelation. I can state unequivocally that this was the single best pupusa I have ever eaten. The filling had substantial pieces of what looked like the pulled pork you might find in a Memphis BBQ sandwich. The refritos were impossibly flavorful and they didn't go overboard with the cheese. This allowed the flavor of the chicharrones, which were seasoned with garlic, to shine through. With the intensity of the pork filling and the richness of the beans, this was a severely heavy pupusa experience, despite the lightness of its masa casing. Two revuelta pupusas here would challenge a mere mortal. Four would even be sufficient to satiate ME for a few hours.

Before you pooh-pooh the notion of coming all the way out here (13.8 miles from my door), you should understand something. For $4 and the cost of gas to Hayward, you can come to Los Planes and be fully satisfied. You will get full for the cost of one of your childish burritos.

4. SAN VICENTE- 1258 Davis St.- San Leandro, CA- 1:45pm- Bean, Mixed- $2.00 each

Following Mission/E. 14th St., it only took 15 minutes to drive from Los Planes to San Vicente, but when we arrived, I was as full as before I crapped at Los Planes. It wasn't hard to tell that San Vicente used to be a Chinese restaurant. The tables and chairs are mostly that tacky black lacquered wood stuff that they sell in those discount furniture stores on International Blvd. near Sinaloa. There were several paintings of cranes and cloud-covered mountains on the walls. All they were missing was a Confucius shrine and a Buddha behind the cash register.

The TV was playing a series of Spanish-language pop videos by a shirtless guy who looked like a cross between Fabio and Steven Seagall. I ordered a Kolashampan along with my pupusas. I generally eschew soft drinks, especially at restaurants, as it's a prime example of "how they get you." I don't see this delicious Salvadoran cream soda often, though, and I didn't want to miss out on this opportunity. Ordering a carbonated beverage during an eating session might seem unwise, but I ascribe zero blame to the Kolashampan for my forthcoming misery. The pupusas here were adequate, but unremarkable. The mixta's filling was lighter than Los Planes', but the reduced fat meant reduced flavor, too. There was less dough overall on the outside, which made the filling somewhat visible through the dough. The exterior of the bean pupusa was identical to the mixta option, but the filling was unique among all of the pupusas of the day. It was filled with black beans. You don't see frijoles negros much outside of the Carribean- and El Salvador does not have a Carribean coast. Go figure. The black beans were a nice change of pace, but better in theory than reality. The bean filling was rather bland. I appreciated that the black beans were lighter than refritos, since I was doing a session, but they should have seasoned them more to compensate for the lack of fat. This goes for the mixta pupusa, too. The curtido had quite a few shredded carrots in it and a good deal of onions, which added a little more zing then some offerings. It was served in a bowl with an Asian-looking floral pattern on the side- further proof of San Vicente's Chinese restaurant past. The sauce was quite mild, even though I had asked for the hot sauce. Eight pupusas into the session, I started to suspect that pupusa sauce isn't supposed to be very picante. The sauce adds a little flavor and helps to moisten the masa (or rice flour) crust, but it doesn't seem like they really want it to heat things up too much.

After finishing both pupusas and much of the curtido, I was feeling sluggish, distended, and gassy. I was not in great shape, but I felt I should attempt another pair of pupusas before resting. We lingered at San Vicente for a little while why I allowed my gut to reorganize itself and Lily finished the budin (bread pudding) she had ordered. I realized that the program-length video playing on the TV was a Spanish-language rip-off of R. Kelly's "Trapped in the Closet" saga. We watched in amazement as the video showed both male and female ass. The female lead showed her breasts and revealed her ass again and then we left.

5. PUPUSERIA ILOBASCO- Truck on Maritime St. across from Horizon Shipping- Oakland- 2:50pm- Revuelta, Cheese- $1.75 each

I learned about the pupusa trucks near the Port of Oakland from Mitch Cardwell shortly before he was laid off from Horizon, a shipping company at the port. There are a few of these trucks on Maritime St., so I decided to try Ilobasco, the truck closest to the entrance to Horizon. There is no designated legal parking on Maritime St., as far as I can tell. If you get a ticket while parking next to one of these trucks, don't say I didn't warn you.

There was nowhere to sit near the truck, so I decided to take the food to Middle Harbor Shoreline Park, a park on the bay with gorgeous views of both the Bay Bridge and the San Francisco skyline. We sat on a picnic table. I remove the foil from the paper plate. BOOOOOM! I looked up and saw two fighter jets cutting through the sky. I had forgotten that it was Fleet Week in SF. Normally, I'd be impressed with jets flying in such tight formation above the bridge, but my only thought was, "JESUS, these pupusas look greasy!" On the plus side, the curtido was crunchy and had a lot of cilantro in it. There was a puddle of sauce on the plate, but it looked like Tapatio, rather than the homemade stuff I'd received everywhere else. Perhaps it's too labor intensive to prepare the sauce on a truck. Unfortunately, they didn't give me any silverware with which to eat my pupusas or curtido, so I had to eat the whole thing with my hands.

I picked up the first pupusa and dipped it into the sauce. The first bite of the revuelta pupusa elicited an explosion of grease into my mouth akin to the spewage of a pork-flavored jelly doughnut, if such a thing existed. The flavor was more pronounced than the revuelta at San Vicente, but the grease quotient overrode any of those flavor benefits. The cheese pupusa reminded me of pizza from Rocky Rococo's, a former employer of mine. Rocky Rococo baked their pizzas with a pool of oil on the bottom of the pan, giving the crust the consistency of day old funnel cake. Every bite of the cheese pupusa sent more grease flooding into my mouth. If these were the only pupusas I had eaten during the day, I could handle them with aplomb with some level of enjoyment, even. I'm not beyond greasy foods, but after eight previous pupusas, Ilobasco's pupusas were like a finger down my throat. I teetered on the precipice of vomiting several times while I attempted to finish this pair. I was so close to retching, I had to stop eating just a few bites shy of completing the duo. To avoid calamity, I was forced to pause and continue later, even though this meant that the last few greasy bites would be cold- never a pleasant task.

I was full, to be sure, but not like during the torta session, where the volume of food was much greater. It wasn't that my stomach was filled to bursting. There was another element at work here to cause me such disquietude. There was something else taking me so close to the realm of regurgitation. It was a mystery. Shortly after the session, I would posit a hypothesis regarding this conundrum. More on this later.

6. PUPUSERIA LUPITA- 3340 Foothill Blvd.- Oakland- 7:50pm- Revuelta, Bean $2.00 each

I let Lily go about her business while I writhed in agony at home, awash in a blanket of decomposing pork mist that crept ceaselessly from my anus. Every secretion reminded me of how close I came to failure. As usual, I drifted in and out of consciousness. When I awoke for good, my hunger had not yet returned, but the feeling of impending vomit had subsided. I felt I could handle the remainder of the pupusas from Ilobasco. When I unwrapped the napkin in which I had stored the leftovers, I noticed that some of the grease had solidified on the surface. It brought me back to my childhood...

I remember staying overnight once at Pete Catland's crappy townhouse. There was a cold pan sitting on the stove there with a big hardened chunk of bacon fat sitting on it, reserved for future use. In later years, I learned to appreciate the glory of bacon fat, but back then, seeing that stuff sitting there unrefrigerated, looking like a melted shabbos candle- it grossed me out. And it made me think that gentiles were a bunch of sick motherfuckers.

Luckily, there wasn't too much of the pupusas left to eat and I polished off the remaining bites in seconds. Lily had come over to film me eating those last morsels. We watched TV for a while until some modicum of hunger returned within me. At that point, we called Mitch Cardwell to see if he wanted to come along for the remaining stops. Not only did he agree to accompany us, but he offered to drive us around in his hybrid. I felt like an aristocrat.

I had recently seen a sign touting pupusas outside a castle-like building on Fruitvale Ave., so I wanted to try that place first. When we arrived, there were lights on, but no sign of a restaurant. We went in the front door of the castle and found it deserted with no sign of a pupusa restaurant. Then a guy came downstairs. He told us there used to be a lady who sold pupusas from a cart inside the fence in front of the castle. Unfortunately, local merchants didn't like the lady hanging around and had her 86'd. All that remained in the castle was a cafe that operates only during the daylight hours and a place upstairs which sells and services remote control cars. It's a well-known fact that every man, woman, and child loves remote control dune buggies, but I think I'd rather have the pupusa lady back.

Lupita's has been our go-to place for pupusas since Kelly moved in with me in 2000. In those days, it was either Lupita's or Los Cocos for pupusas in Oakland. Since parking is easier on Foothill, Lupita's got most of our return business. Their food has never disappointed and the staff is always friendly there, but I've always wondered how they've stayed in business all these years, as we are usually the only people dining when we visit. Like Sinaloa, I'm guessing they make the bulk of their money from their truck, which is in a small parking lot on the side of the restaurant. The truck is never overly crowded, but it has a steady stream of customers. Anthony Bourdain's went to Lupita's truck when he did an Oakland side-trip on the SF episode of No Reservations. I visited the truck about a week after the show first aired. I fully expected to see a line of foodies a mile long, but only saw a few loathesome twenty-somethings there. They were jabbering that they hoped that the food would make the trip to this "sketchy area" worthwhile. Perhaps the 'hood kept away the a-hole contingent, preventing Lupita's from receiving a significant "Bourdain Bump" in business. In these troubled times, a place like this could use the extra traffic, even if it's a bunch of lamewads from North Oakland with skinny jeans, scarves, and ironic moustaches.

We were waited on by Lupita herself. When I came by the truck after the Bourdain episode, she comped me an entire pupusa, even though I was there for tacos. This time, she comped us two entire chicken tamales! With a restaurant as empty as hers, it's shocking that she's giving away these kind of samples. I hope she knows what she's doing. In my condition, I had no intention of eating a full tamale, but felt I owed it to Lupita to at least take a taste. This tamale was like none I've ever had. You know how the masa in tamales is usually kind of crumbly? The corn in Lupita's tamale was smooth and moist throughout and had significant chicken flavor. This might sound a little unappetizing, but the dough was almost gelatinous, as if the chicken chunks were floating around in masa Jell-o. Somehow, it all added up to make the most delicious tamale ever. (Note: I returned subsequently for a pork tamale. It wasn't nearly as good as the free chicken tamales she gave us during the session, so keep that in mind when ordering.)

The pupusas were both a little too doughy for my tastes. They were skimpy with the pork in the revuelta pupusa. The refritos in the bean pupusa seemed lighter than usual. They may have even been made sin manteca! This was welcome so late in the session, but it would have rubbed me the wrong way under normal eating conditions.

Here's a cynical theory. What if Lupita is cutting the fat/lard in her recipes to lure more of the strange gringos that showed up after her truck appeared on Bourdain? (Further evidence: the curtido was made with RED cabbage- the cabbage millionaires eat.) If this theory is true, I can't say that I blame Lupita, but after eating the revuelta at Los Planes de Renderos, Lupita's pupusas seemed just so-so. Without Los Planes, I'd have nothing but praise for these pupusas, but how are you supposed to go back to Steak-Ums once you've had Kobe beef? I asked Lupita if her restaurant is affiliated with the Lupita's further down Foothill near Mi Pueblo. She told me that it's owned by her daughter. Since Lupita Junior's place is a little too deep in East Oakland to attract the kind of shitheels you see in Temescal eateries, it's possible that she's felt no incentive to discard her buckets of lard just yet.

7. OTAEZ TACO ROOM- 3872 International Blvd.- Oakland- 8:49pm- 2 Revueltas- $2.00 each

8. PLATANO- 2042 University Ave.- Berkeley- 9:23pm- Revuelta, Zucchini and Cheese (rice flour)- $2.25 each

I was pretty stuffed, but thanks to Lupita Sr.'s dietetic pupusas, I had none of the regurgitory urges I experienced earlier. As mentioned before, I had a revelation shortly after the session. CHICHARRONES ARE FRIED SKIN. Say, "Duh!" if you must, but when they're ground up in a slurry and mixed with beans and cheese inside masa, they don't seem very skin-like. I've figured out in recent years that fried skin is my gustatory nemesis. I am able to eat fried chicken with the skin without issue, but only in "normal people" portions. When I eat it in the portions I'm accustomed to, it makes my stomach start to quease. And then I get a light head that borders on a Yacqui-like altered state. About a month ago, I finished off a 3/4 lb. bag of fresh chicharrones snacks from Mi Pueblo's hot food deli. They were delicious, but I wound up in the same hallucinatory condition as after I eat an 8-piece box from Popeye's. This led me to realize that the near-puke experience I endured during the pupusa session was due to the fried skin in the revuelta/mixta pupusas. You'll see my predicament for yourself soon enough. There's a scene in the upcoming video where I get up and jerk around like Carlos Castaneda on a peyote vision quest. Mitch desperately wants me to do a fried chicken session. That amount of skin would surely land me in a puke-filled rubber room.

At this point in the session, things became complicated. Unlike taco and torta places, East Bay pupuserias do not stay open late. Finding one open after 9pm is practically impossible. I had lost several hours after the West Oakland truck incident, effectively eliminating at least 5 destinations from my list. After Lupita's, I figured we should try Otaez first and then return to Carmencita's.

Otaez is really two separate Mexican restaurants divided by a walkway that houses both their bar and a check cashing station/Western Union office. One side of Otaez is a sit-down place. The other side is what I call the "taco room," specializing in tacos, tortas, and burritos with some hard to find meats, e.g. suadero. I had heard that the taco room now has pupusas- uncommon for a Mexican place. I was concerned when I didn't see pupusas listed on their wall menu. Desperate, I asked the lady behind the counter if they did indeed have pupusas. Luckily, they had them, but why weren't they listed? Is the Otaez pupusa a secret item that you have to know about in advance, like Animal Style fries at In N' Out, the shrimp papaya salad at Banh Mi Ba Le, or John Dillinger's 15-inch cock at the Smithsonian? I was happy that, for once, I was in the know. Otaez has a self-service salsa bar, where they also house their curtido. The cabbage was swimming in liqiuid all day, so it was understandable that the curtido was somewhat limp, but it was spicier than most. I ordered the pupusas to go so I could get to Carmencita's as soon as possible.

I called Carmencita's to see what time they closed and got no answer. It's possible that they had closed for the day already, but it's more likely that they never even opened, as they were closed when we stopped there at 10:30am. I really want to support that place, as it's so close to home, but they just keep fucking up.

I figured that Los Cocos on Fruitvale Ave. was probably still open, since it's in the heart of Fruitvale, but when we drove by, just a few minutes past 9pm, they were closed, too. Oakland is hurting for late night eats. Would it kill a pupuseria to stay open past 9pm? Sure, they'd get robbed every now and again, but that hasn't stopped the taquerias from operating until as late as 2am in some cases. There's a tradition of hatred towards El Salvador and Salvadorans from Mexicans. Why not win some points to counteract the ill-will by serving pupusas until at least midnight?

Since Carmencita's and Los Cocos were closed and I could not think of another Salvadoran place that might still be open in Oakland, I decided to give Platano in Berkeley a call. If they were closed, I'd have to scrap the session, as I was one pair short of the eight-establishment minimum. Amazingly, they were open until 10pm, an hour later than even the most daring pupuseria in Oakland. On the way there, I went to work on the Otaez pupusas. They weren't as greasy as the ones from the truck, but there was some significant glistening happening there. The insides didn't taste as heavy, though. It had an interesting pork flavor that led me to believe that they used something other than chicharrones. Since pupusas are an also-ran at Otaez, it's possible they substitute carnitas for chicharrones so they don't have to carry an additional meat just for their secret pupusas. Carnitas are not exactly a "light meat," but compared to fried pork rinds, they're practically health food. The pupusa crust was a little scorched, which may have caused too much fat to seep through the masa, thus rendering it greasier than it should have been. Otherwise, these were above average pupusas.

Platano is the fanciest place I stopped on the session, which is not surprising considering its location near UC Berkeley. They've got Ikea-style lighting, wooden tables with matching chairs, expensive-looking tile flooring, and a skinny blonde Caucasian waitress. There is a $7 minimum for dining in, an effective way to keep the riff-raff out. Pupusa has nine choices for pupusa filing, each available with either a masa or rice flour dough shell. Pupusas here cost $2.25 each, which is very reasonable, considering their location. I was expecting to pay much more.

Since my two-pupusa order was well below the $7 minumum, I took the Platano pupusas home along with the remainder of the Otaez entry. I was much less full than after the Lupita's pupusas. I started on the Otaez pupusas first to try and finish them before the fat solidified on the outside. At room temperature, 90 minutes after cooking, they were still quite edible and I was able to finish them with little difficulty. With some latent heat remaining, I tasted both Platano pupusas. I tried the zucchini with cheese first. The rice flour shell was as chewy as the one I had at Los Cocos in Hayward, but the similarities ended there. The cheese was not at all pupusa-like. It wasn't stringy and dense like the quesillo I'd been getting all day. It tasted like a cross between brie and melted cream cheese on a bagel with little bits of zucchini on top. Not bad, but it didn't taste "Latin." The revuelta was a disappointment. The filling was so bland it could not even compete with the flavor of the masa. It was just a bunch of anonymous goo. The curtido, though, was crunchy and tart.

I was about halfway done with the pupusas when I felt yet another rumble in my digestive corridor. I excused myself and produced a ruthless duke that bore no sign that it had come from an intestine, other than the slight crimp on the end. It was a flawless brown hose with no fibrous bits protruding. This was surprising, given the amount of cabbage I'd consumed.

The evacuation made the remaining bits of pupusa go down easier. Having said that, the pupusas I ate towards the end of the session weren't as challenging as the ones earlier in the day, anyway. I would have eventually handled them all, even if I had gone turdless late in the day. Receiving revuelta pupusas with a lower skin content on stops 6-8 really made a big difference. Yes, masa dough is heavy, but I contend that it had little to do with my difficulties. I place the blame squarely on the shoulder of Los Chicharrones. Had I been eating pupusas that contained zero pork rinds during this session, I believe that I really could have eaten them almost indefinitely. As Mitch said, it would be just like eating potato chips.

NEXT TIME: Special Ex-Wife Challenge

IEM Session #12- Torta Justice!- Part III of the Ethnic Sandwich Trilogy (Tortas)

2009-09-23T21:26:00.000-07:00

Inhuman Eating Machine rules and guidelines.

I think I've fixed the formatting/font issue I seem to have had on all previous sessions. Sorry about that, but I barely know what I'm doing here, so take it easy.

Both Man v. Food and Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations recently did shows in San Francisco. Of course, they both went to the Mission District for Mexican food. M v. F went to La Cumbre. This spot claims to be the birthplace of the “Mission-style burrito.” This variety has come to be what most Americans think of when they think of a burrito. Dear readers, if you’re somebody who wants to get all of his daily calories from a single meal, I can understand why you would want one of these burritos. All that rice and beans inside a massive tortilla is bound to satiate most people’s hunger for several hours. And if you’re a vegetarian, that wad of starch is a suitable stand-in for actual food. It provides a cheap, filling meal free of meat (and flavor). I understand why you would eat these things. I was a vegetarian for many years and understand making rationalizations for mediocre food. If you don’t belong to either of the above demographics, you really should look into ordering something other than a burrito when you go to a taqueria. First and foremost, eat tacos. Placing a little seasoned meat on small double-stacked corn tortillas and topping them with onions, salsa, and cilantro is pure genius. You can taste everything, as there isn’t a big load of rice and gooey crema canceling out the things that matter. Granted, sometimes you don’t want to have to buy several tacos to fill up and would prefer to order a single item to fill the bill. On these occasions, get a torta and leave the rice-filled burritos to children, derelicts, vegetarians, and other people who don’t know any better. The torta adds many of the same delicious components of the burrito, but the rice is omitted. Because of the lack of rice and since everything is on a roll, rather than wrapped in a flour tortilla the size of a tire, the flavors are able to shine through. If you MUST eat a burrito, do yourself a favor and get it without rice and without crema. A burrito with only meat, salsa, beans, and onions is a far more flavorful option. And if you really like Mexican/Spanish rice and crema, eat the stuff as a side order by itself. You’ll be stupefied by how great these foods can taste when they’re not served out of a tube like Chicano astronaut food.

When I told people I was going to do a torta IEM session they found this incomprehensible. How could someone eat 8 or more tortas in a day? It didn’t seem like such a big deal to me, especially after I successfully completed the Italian sub session rather handily. As I’ve found out in other sessions, my preconceived notions on a session’s bill of fare are often wrong. And this session proved challenging beyond my worst nightmares.

My friends Lily and Chris are rather well-known photographers in the local underground rock ’n’ roll scene. If you frequent punk/garage/etc. shows in the Bay Area, you’ve probably seen them by the front of the stage with their cameras and their infernal flashbulbs going off every two seconds. Some people think their presence is a nuisance, but I’ve seen their beautiful results. Therefore, I think they provide a vital service to our community, even if they’re constantly in my way. Lily suggested that it might be fun to document an IEM session with videotape. It sounded like a great idea, in theory, to place a video on Youtube to help promote IEM. It also seemed like it might be fun to give readers a more visual record of my journey. As I write this, I’m not yet sure what the video will look like. I’ve seen the raw footage, but with my fidgety nature and my tendency to talk like I’ve got a mouthful of marbles, it’s possible the results will be less than stellar. It would be great to have some sort of ongoing video piece with all IEM sessions, but we’ll have to examine the end product of this session to see if it’s worth the effort going forward. Regardless, thanks to Lily for taping me all day and thanks to Chris for taking awesome still shots of all the stops. It was nice not having to schlep my crummy camera all day to take uninspired photos. UPDATE!!! Lily's video has posted and it's amazing.

The first scene Lily shot was of me rising from my bed to go into the bathroom to weigh myself. In my T-shirt and drawers, I weighed 183 lbs. Due to my slight frame, I should probably weigh at least 15 lbs. less, but for a semi-homebound six foot tall male, 183 lbs. isn’t too terrible. After I saw the damage I did on this session, I would like to get sub-180 before I start the next session. My bony frame shows every excess ounce of fat. When I eat non-stop all day long, I become what my friend once described as “a beanbag chair on a wire coat hanger.” Explorational binge eating requires rigorous training, friends. Before I gorge myself again, I need to be in tip-top shape.

Most photos by Canderson with some shots taken from Tiger Lily's upcoming video.

Eating Day: August 8, 2009

1. TORTAS LOS PICUDOS - 2969 24th St., San Francisco - 9:28am - $6.50 (Torta Ahogada)

After vowing that I would avoid trips to San Francisco during IEM sessions, there I was driving over the bridge to the Mission District. I could’ve easily obtained 50 tortas within a 3-mile radius of my apartment, but I felt I needed to head to SF during this session, if only to visit one of my favorite restaurants ever. Plus, I had heard that Los Picudos had tortas ahogadas on their menu and I was dying to try one of those. Since I was going to be in SF, I figured I should go down to South City, too. I wanted to try a couple of torta places there I’d heard about, as I’ve never really visited “The Industrial City” before.

It was weird being filmed as I drove. I had no idea what to say. I’m just not very spontaneously entertaining. I need to painstakingly choose every word to appear somewhat amusing. I will not be doing improv anytime soon.

Los Picudos specializes in tortas. Sure, you can get a torta at almost every taqueria in town, but you often find better results when you go to a specialist. There are tacos and other staples on the menu, but other than jugos and licuados (fruit and vegetable juice drinks), Los Picudos is a shrine to the mighty torta. I’d eaten here once before and was quite pleased, but I had a pretty standard combo torta that time. During the session, I was there to experience the torta ahogada, or “drowned torta.” If you’re familiar with a burrito mojado (wet burrito), then I can best describe the torta ahogada as the burrito mojado’s sexy cousin. For the ahogada, a torta is constructed as normal—in this case, a torta containing a meat-mix of carnitas, ham, al pastor, onions, avocados, and salsa. They butter the bolillo roll and grill it on the griddle before adding the ingredients between the two halves. Next, they grill the constructed sandwich with a weighted press. After the sandwich has been compressed and the bread is extra-toasty, they pour a spicy red sauce on top of the whole thing. The torta seemed to have fewer ingredients than some of the maxi-tortas you see. After pressing, it seemed less daunting than I had feared. It still had a substantial heft, though, so only time would tell how it would impact me.

The sauce was much spicier than what you usually see on enchiladas or burritos mojados. It was also somewhat tangy, which suggested there may be some vinegar in the sauce like in an adobo. Not only were there chili and vinegar notes at work, there was a strong oregano flavor, too, like you’d find in an Italian entrée. Oddly, it smelled a lot like a bowl of SpaghettiOs. Some sauce dripped onto the plate, but a large amount seeped into the toasted bread and created the most delicious carrier for toppings one could imagine. The sauced bread would make a great snack by itself. Adding meat and avocado yielded something so delicious that the torta ahogada has become an object of my dreams. This sandwich is available at very few torta stops and you can pretty much forget about finding one at establishments where the torta does not have a starring role. Now that I have experienced this masterpiece of sandwichery, the torta ahogada is a holy grail that I seek day and night. It’s become clear that the elusive cemita is unavailable within a 300-mile radius of Oakland, so I will now focus my energy pursuing local tortas ahogadas.

2. TORTA GORDA - 2833 24th St., San Francisco - 10:00am - $7.95 (Queso de Puerco)

After feeding the parking meter some more, we walked up 24th Street to the next stop. For what I was paying to park, I could’ve purchased half a torta. I must reiterate how opposed I am to being charged to park. It makes me feel like a chump. I feel that the in-crowd of the world is somehow exempt from paying to park. It seems that metered parking is a curse bestowed only on the wretched refuse of humanity. If I were alone or with my wife, I would’ve gladly parked in a free space a mile away and walked to 24th, rather than having to pay for a spot closer to the torta-rias. However, I had my camera crew to consider, so I was forced to part with my change like a sucker. Before you start with your “penny-pinching Jew” epithets, let me respond with three things:

1. Go to hell, Hitler.
2. I am a great tipper. I always give at least 20% at restaurants.
3. I am not against spending money, if I have it, provided I believe the cost is commensurate with the value of the product/service received. I think spending $100 for a hotel room is always a rip-off and I am of the belief that paying $3 to allow my car to do nothing is not money well-spent. I am not an invalid. I enjoy walking. So, why not saunter a little and park for free, reserving my loose change for psychotic panhandlers and Zagnuts?

I was under the impression that I had previously eaten at Torta Gorda, but I had it confused with Picudos. This was indeed my first visit. Torta Gorda is in an old building, probably from the turn of the last century, possibly pre-dating the great quake of 1906. It looks like it might’ve been an old luncheonette or saloon in the olden days. There’s a long counter with barstools and a few adjacent booths, mirrors behind the counter, and lots of old photos on the wall. The interior resembles the St. Francis Fountain, which is just up the block on the same side of the street. Perhaps the two establishments were rival bars back in the days of the Barbary Coast. With its old-timey antique-y decor, Torta Gorda seems fancier than Picudos, though the fare is quite similar. The extra swankiness is reflected in the price of the torta. A regular single-meat torta at Torta Gorda is $1.45 more than most tortas at Picudos. Luckily, the regular torta is quite substantial, so it doesn’t seem like too much of a swindle. And the experience was only enhanced by the lady at the cash register, a Mexican MILF with a white painter’s cap and a tank top that revealed a ridiculous amount of cleavage. When you see this much breast flesh in public, there is usually a brass pole in the middle of the room, but in these tough economic times, stunts like these are required to bring in the tips. Perhaps the ample cleavage is what the extra $1.45 is for, not the decor.

The menu at Torta Gorda says they serve Cocina Poblana (food from the Puebla region of Mexico). For a minute, I almost fainted, anticipating that they might have cemitas on the menu, as that sandwich is a Puebla specialty. Alas, they were cemita-less. As stated, the regular-sized torta here is big. I wished that I had ordered the “junior” torta, but that might’ve been cheating. The bread was pressed to a crispy golden brown and resembled a panini. The bread was a little dry, though. It was either a little old prior to pressing, or they pressed it a few seconds too long. Still, it was deliciously yeasty.

Head cheese gets a bad rap. The name makes it sound more intimidating than necessary. I sampled it first during the banh mi session and the head cheese on this torta wasn’t much different. Like the stuff found on a "combination" banh mi, the head cheese on a torta seems to disappear into the shadows. I tasted the cheese, the jalapeno, the refritos, the mayonnaise, and even the avocado, but the head cheese barely registered. It just added a bit of extra saltiness. I tore off a piece of the head cheese and sampled it by itself. It was like a really mild ham. The head cheese here was less rubbery than some I’ve had on banh mi, though.

When I was about three-quarters done with the head cheese torta, I began to realize something very disturbing. I was starting to get full. The first tell-tale sign was starting to appear. I felt like I had food in my sinuses. In the annals of IEM, I’d never felt this full so early in a session. I’d started pretty early, but I feared for my life if every torta was going to weigh me down like these first two did. And with Boos Voni on deck, I knew trouble waited for me in the Excelsior District.

3. TORTAS BOOS VONI - 5170 Mission St., San Francisco - 10:53am - $6.75 (Egg)

Tortas Boos Voni was the ONLY reason I came into The City. If not for them, I wouldn’t have bothered crossing the bridge at all. I’ve had so many great tortas there, I couldn’t leave them out of the session. They used to be called Tortas Bugs Bunny and had a crudely hand-painted sign with a cartoon image that resembled Bugs’ retarded half-brother. Supposedly, they were forced to drop their original name due to a trademark infringement. After that, they simply got rid of the cartoon sign and changed their name to “Boos Voni,” which is what “Bugs Bunny” sounds like in Spanish, anyway. Boos Voni specializes in D.F. (Distrito Federal) tortas, which is the style common in Mexico City. I read an article about a torta place in Mexico City that caters to the voracious lucha libre Mexican wrestlers. They make enormous sandwiches with a hodgepodge of ingredients that can weigh as much as 5 lbs. Boos Voni’s sandwiches aren’t quite that big, but they’re larger than 99% of tortas you’ll find anywhere outside of the D.F.

I usually get a Cubana at Boos Voni, which has five kinds of meat on it. If I recall correctly, it includes ham, al pastor, carne asada, lomo (loin), and salchicha (hot dog). That sandwich was out of the question today. Not only does it cost $9, it’s the size of Jim Plunkett’s head. Eating a Boos Voni Cubana during a session would’ve been unwise, even if I wasn’t already substantially full. Lesser eaters are often satiated with half a Cubana; a whole is generally enough food to keep my hunger at bay for as long as two hours. Considering the strain on my gut, I tried to select a lighter sandwich, knowing that “light” was a highly relative term at Boos Voni. I opted for an egg torta. I figured the egg option would be less challenging than any of the meat choices. Subsequently, people have informed me that an omelet on a sandwich is NOT light in any known universe.

The quality of the ingredients inside the Boos Voni torta is always top-notch, but what really separates them from the pack is their roll. It’s not your everyday bolillo. Their roll is massive and fluffy and it always tastes like it just came out of the oven, which is probably the case, since their rolls are baked for them just up the street. It’s so fluffy, it seems like it will float into the heavens like a puff of smoke, but when you lift half of the roll, it’s impossibly heavy. They have created an illusion that allows a cloud to weigh as much as a Mack truck. The roll dances in your mouth like a delicious hummingbird, but when it hits your stomach, it transforms into an anvil. The inner workings of this sandwich were a gargantuan sheet composed of no fewer than 3 eggs (probably more) folded over several times like a map—so much for eating light. Rather than the usual strips of queso fresco, the torta here had a crumbly, moist cheese that was similar to cottage cheese. It may have been Oaxaca cheese made gooey with crema and mayo. The refritos were comically rich and lard-laden. If the sandwich had no egg, a torta with only the roll, cheese, and their refried beans would’ve been more than a meal for the “norms” of the world. This sandwich was certainly not as highly-seasoned as the Torta Ahogada at Picudos, but it was perfect in its simplicity.

Finishing even one half of this torta was a test of wills. I seriously considered throwing in the towel before I even completed half of the sandwich. I somehow managed to finish the entire first half, but during the process, there were incidents where a little vomit rose into my mouth, only to retreat back into my stomach. The last few minutes, I had to let my mind go blank in order to even swallow. This was made even more difficult as Lily kept trying to coax telegenic quips out of me. My stomach was stretching to untold dimensions as the bread swelled within my digestive system. I felt some twitching in my bowels, and since Boos Voni has a clean bathroom, I decided to try my luck. The bathroom has a tub in it, so I imagine this used to be somebody’s apartment. I was so worn out, I felt like lying down in the tub and taking a nap. I did my best to produce, but could only summon a pair of mini-meteorites that seemed hard enough to cut glass. I strained in agony to attempt to produce more of these orbs, but all I got was pain in my rectum and bloody toilet paper. This release did zero to quell the discomfort.

I simply could not swallow any more food. I had to stop at once. I decided to take the remaining third of the sandwich home to work on it later. The foray into South City had to be canceled. All I wanted to do was go home and nurse my aching abdominal cavity. I can’t say Boos Voni acted as an Ali Baba in this case. I had taken a standing eight-count before I even walked in their door. But it was Boos Voni that delivered the blow that sent me to the canvas.

4. TORTA LOCA - 3419 International Blvd., Oakland - 5:30pm - $6.50 (Milanesa)

I lay at home writhing on the couch in agony with a colossal wad of bread and meat festering within. All I ate the previous evening was watermelon. Sure, I ate close to one-quarter of a large watermelon, but I figured that the vast majority of the fruit would be evacuated before I even ate torta #1. I urinated all night and still rose with a full bladder. I felt certain that my stomach was now a tabula rasa, ready to be filled with a gang of tortas. A sizable portion of the melon must have remained somewhere in the highway of my digestive system. I just can’t believe I could be incapacitated by fewer than three tortas without the assistance of some other food product. Yes, I’m fully aware that 2 2/3 tortas are a lot of food—for a mere mortal. But I am the Inhuman Eating Machine! I do not live in your world. I had consumed almost six Italian subs before I experienced discomfort close to this level. Even in the darkest hours of that session, I felt nothing as draining as what a mere two tortas had already done to me. And those subs were all comparable in size to the tortas. Why had the tortas packed such a wallop? I made frequent trips to the toilet to attempt a torta evacuation, but all I did was issue forth shrouds of sulfur while my anus was ripped to the bleeding point, causing “spotting” in my unmentionables.

Several hours passed. The leftover section of the Boos Voni torta remained sitting on the table before me. Some of the pressure had subsided, but I was not yet able to bring myself to eat again. At approximately 4:30pm, I righted myself and attempted to nibble my way through the sandwich. Though cold, it was still quite tasty and the egg never became rubbery. I wasn’t quite hungry yet, but the restorative powers of the majesty of Boos Voni allowed me to finish the remainder of the torta in just a few minutes. Once finished, I felt a modicum of appetite had returned, so I called Lily and Chris and advised them to come over so I could resume the session with their lenses documenting my misery.

I’d walked by La Torta Loca a thousand times in the past, but for some reason, I’d never stopped there. I don’t know why. The prices seem perfectly in line with other tortas in the International/Foothill corridor. It’s just a window with a counter and four attached stools on the sidewalk. Behind the order-taker is a wall displaying a variety of weapons to fend off the local evil-doers. There are both wooden and aluminum baseball bats, a club one would use to stun a big fish, a samurai sword, a machete, a homemade prison-style icepick/shiv, a dagger with a curved blade and pearl handle, a bayonet, a long stick with a sharp hook on the end, and a stun gun. There is also a pair of handcuffs displayed, presumably to restrain perpetrators who’ve been subdued with any of the armaments displayed on the board. I can only surmise that the cook is also packing heat behind the flat-top griddle. Nobody better act a fool up in this place, lest they experience “Torta Justice.”

On most weekends, there is a guy in a Rascal scooter parked on the sidewalk with a cart from which he sells Tepache, the Mexican version of pruno . Tepache is made by grinding up a very ripe pineapple (rind and all), adding cinnamon and brown sugar, and letting the mix ferment for a few days. It’s slightly alcoholic and quite tasty with only a slight funkiness to it. The guy wasn’t here during the session, which is a shame, because Tepache goes well with tortas.

I opted for a Milanesa torta. This was a strange move. I’m not quite sure what made me think a piece of breaded and fried pounded steak would be less of an eating challenge than, say, carnitas or al pastor. When I really think about it, though, the meat choice wasn’t that important here. When you add the buttered bread and cheese and sauce into the mix, the meat of the sandwich was immaterial. I could’ve omitted the meat and the sandwich would’ve still been a potential struggle. The bread was well-toasted and pressed. It seemed that condensing the sandwich might allow me to make quick work of the torta. The sandwich was stellar. The Milanesa was well-seasoned and tasted like an un-sauced version of veal parmigiana. The toasty bread added a great crunchy counterpoint to the gooey avocado, mayo, and crema and the chewy meat. The first few bites really served to restore my hunger. I was enjoying my meal as the Jesus freaks in the plaza (35th Ave. @ International) preached the gospel en espanol and blew their shofars. Sadly, as I reached completion of the sandwich, the pressure came back and I was as full as ever. It was almost 6pm. There are many trucks open late, so I had several hours left to procure tortas, but I was only halfway to the minimum. How could I reach my goal when I felt so full so early? There weren’t enough hours to allow me to eat until bursting and then rest for hours prior to resuming the fight. Failure was starting to seem very possible, if not probable.

5. EL OJO DE AGUA - 3132 E. 12th Street, Oakland - 6:01pm - $6.00 (Tapatia)

El Ojo de Agua has been my regular torta stop for years. Their selection of specialty tortas is the best I know of in the East Bay. Their combinations are truly inspired. I usually get the Beso de Novia. If memory serves me, that sandwich is Milanesa, ham, and al pastor, plus the usual dairy and plant-based accoutrements. Their truck is parked in front of a building that seems to be a former auto repair garage now painted with a mural of an oasis and the Ojo de Agua logo. They appear to have possession of the building and I think they may use it as a warehouse for supplies, but all food service takes place out of the truck. They usually have a pretty good crowd, but there’s never too long of a wait. The truck has the usual tacos, quesadillas, etc. They also have a burrito the size of a femur, but the tortas are the only reason to come here. They’re massive and all of the toppings pack an explosive flavor punch. Like Banh Mi Ba Le, you can add an egg to any sandwich to take it over the top. These tortas are usually enough food to tide me over for some time, so tackling one after enduring Boos Voni was quite an endeavor. But I could not leave THE Oakland torta specialist out of the session. They are to Oakland what Boos Voni is to San Francisco—the standard by which all other local tortas must be measured. I decided against the Beso de Novia. I had determined I’d already eaten my USRDA of Milanesa. I was hoping for something lighter and less overwhelming, so I opted instead for the Tapatia, which features ham, al pastor, and pineapple, plus the other usual stuff.

I was full to capacity already, but when I received the torta, there was now no doubt that I’d be unable to eat this sandwich right away—it could double for a dumbbell. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure the Tapatia was the heaviest torta of the day by 25%. My illusions of the Tapatia being an “easy torta” were shattered like the unfulfilled dreams of my youth. I was forced to take the torta home and hope that some semblance of appetite returned soon.

The camera crew, Kelly, and I sat around at my apartment watching Man v. Food, the show that should’ve been mine. Host Adam Richman was eating a burger topped with ghost chiles, the hottest pepper in the world. His ghost chile gas phantoms must have felt like someone was smelting pig iron in his rectum. My bowels were also unstable. I dropped a depth charge into the cushions of our second-hand couch that rumbled like there had been a 30-car pile-up on the I-580 freeway behind our building. The din forced Kelly to retreat to the other end of the sofa. Throughout the day, I’d been sending forth a “sampler platter” of intestinal mist. Some of the gas cookies were bland, like head cheese; others were spicy, like an al pastor-stuffed habanero.

I weighed the Tapatia. I couldn’t have been any more wrong about this being the “light torta.” It weighed in at 1 lb. 6oz. I had no hunger and I was faced with this behemoth? Why me, lord? Over the next two hours or so, I picked at the sandwich, watched TV, slept with my legs spread to allow maximum vapor dissipation, and drank iced coffee in a vain attempt at coaxing a dump. At around 9:15pm, I finally finished the Tapatia. I was so full, I was almost hallucinating, but I had to eat three more sandwiches to fulfill the session. I decided I needed to go buy the final tortas now so Chris and Lily could go home. Succeed or fail, I’d film my final struggle myself “confessional style,” like a dying man who makes a video to provide a record of himself to his young children.

6. TAQUERIA MI RANCHO - International Blvd @ 1st Ave., Oakland - 9:37pm - $5.00 (Carne Asada)

7. TAQUERIA SINALOA - 2138 International Blvd., Oakland - 9:58pm - $4.00 (Suadero)

8. LOS PAISANOS TAQUERIA - 2293 International Blvd., Oakland - 10:14pm- $4.50 (Ham)

I really wanted to crawl into bed and fart myself to sleep, yet I could not let the torta session be the first one that I failed. There are so many foods that seem so much more impossible. If I raised the white flag for tortas, how could I possibly endure something more menacing like fried chicken? (Don’t hold your breath for that session.) We went out into the night to obtain the final tortas.

Mi Rancho is a workhorse of a taco truck. It’s never blown my mind and it’s never let me down. It’s far from the action on International. This makes it a good late-night option when you feel like a quick bite, but aren’t up for the lines and the possibility of drama that sometimes accompanies the trucks on the main drag of Taco Truck Land. I’ve had tacos, quesadillas, and burritos here before, but this was my first torta experience at Mi Rancho. There was a sole vagrant outside the truck, unlike at Sinaloa, where you often have an entire squadron of derelicts who occasionally get a little aggressive. The guy at Mi Rancho was as pleasant as a bum can be. He didn’t even make eye contact with the patrons. He simply sang the refrain, “I just need one-more-dollar. So I could-buy-some-tacos. La la la.” He was so uplifting, I gave him a buck. It was easily my second favorite encounter with a panhandler. (Best panhandler experience was a guy at the top of the Civic Center BART escalator. There was a ponytail dude in front of me on the escalator wearing a “utility kilt” and work boots. The bum found this douche so ridiculous looking, he pointed at the guy and doubled over in laughter. He was laughing so hard, he forgot to spare-change the guy, who was clearly embarassed. I gave the derelict five bucks for making my day.) There was a guy in a Starbucks apron ordering at the truck. When he ordered his burrito, he asked repeatedly, “There’s white cheese on there, right? Right? You sure?” He continued, “Man, if there’s no white cheese on there, she’s gonna kill me, for real.”

Sinaloa was the counterpoint to Mi Rancho. The upper truck at Sinaloa had quite a line outside their window and several coarse vagabonds utilizing the usual high-pressure tactics one expects to see in this locale. My occasional co-eater, Mitch, told me of a near-violent encounter he had here recently. Apparently, a gigantic, angry deadbeat was employing strong-arm tactics in his quest for money and tacos. He was coming right out and demanding, “Give me some money! Give me a taco!” When people didn’t comply, he became threatening. Usually the late-night “talent” at Sinaloa is annoying, yet harmless. It would surely ruin anyone’s taco experience to encounter an intimidating hulk like that, but the corner of 22nd Ave. and International will have to turn Sarajevo-like to prevent me from frequenting Sinaloa. As mentioned in the IEM taco session, Sinaloa’s suadero tacos are about the greatest meat on the planet. And their carnitas and al pastor are top shelf, too. It would be worth dodging gunfire to get to any of those items or their selection of seafood tacos and ceviche tostadas. A few pushy winos/crackheads are not going to keep me from the objects of my gustatory lust.

Los Paisanos seems a suitable alternative to Sinaloa on occasions where Sinaloa is too crowded, it’s too cold to eat outside, or there are threatening miscreants hanging out in their lot. It’s only one block down International from Sinaloa, on the other side of the street. It recently reopened with new management after being renovated. The previous establishment was dark and seemed to be frequented only by grizzled, mean-looking, Mexican men (e.g., Danny Trejo.) It used to look like a place where El Mariachi would have to resort to gunplay to escape the premises alive. The new Los Paisanos is bright and cheery and seems to attract families. The counter lady was friendly and seemed to appreciate that Lily was shooting a “TV show.” There was a zaftig teenage girl at Los Paisanos who looked like the Mexican daughter that Tina Lucchesi didn’t know she had. The girl was about 5 feet tall, had big black hair with pigtails, a black-and-white-striped T shirt, a short skirt with tights, and Chuck Taylors. Oh yeah, if you don’t know who the legendary Tina Lucchesi is, consult your local library and stop listening to whatever crappy music it is you currently listen to.

I brought all three tortas back to the apartment. After spending several minutes determining which torta was which, I decided to weigh these sandwiches before sampling them to see what I had in store for the rest of the evening. (Note to self: Label to-go items before leaving the establishment.)

The Mi Rancho torta had seemed small-ish, but weighed in at 13.2 ounces. It was very heavy on lettuce, crema, and mayo, with no trace of cheese. Luckily, the carne asada was smoky, beefy and highly seasoned to cut through that nonsense. And there was an incredible amount of meat for the sandwich’s size. When I was a kid, I once spent my entire allowance on a package of Tender Vittles cat food because the picture on the box made the morsels look so tempting. I ate one nugget, spit it out, and threw away the rest of the box. Despite this incident, I still occasionally wonder if maybe I just had a bad batch or bought the wrong flavor of Tender Vittles. In my head, I still envision that Tender Vittles tastes like the carne asada on this torta. If you ever see me buying Tender Vittles, please remind me that they probably do NOT taste like carne asada- EVER. Overall, the Mi Rancho torta was good, but nothing groundbreaking. This place has exceptional al pastor tacos, so I’ll probably stick with those when I don’t feel like venturing further down the Boulevard at 2am.

Sinaloa’s 12-ounce torta was the smallest of the session, which is understandable, as it was also the cheapest. It was as good as one would expect from Oakland’s king of tacos. The roll was heavily buttered, as if they had intended to make garlic bread out of a bolillo. After sitting on the flat-top until well-toasted, the roll became a rich platform for the suadero, an uncommon carnitas-esque beef option made from rib meat. Combining the toasted, buttered bread and suadero would’ve been a sufficient sandwich on its own. Sinaloa went a little crema-happy, and they used a heavy hand with the lettuce, but those superfluous toppings were no match for the suadero and the ridiculously buttery roll.

Los Paisanos’ offering weighed in at 15.4 ounces. The ham was in a thick, steak-like slice. It seemed to be of a slightly higher quality than the usual FUD brand ham you seen in most taqueria applications. Strangely, it smelled exactly like a Big Mac, probably from the massive amounts of lettuce on the sandwich. This was the only sandwich of the session to include guacamole, rather than whole avocado. The ham was a little bland, which is to be expected, as ham is not really a “power meat” when it comes to torta toppings. The whole megilla was a little too salty. I might order a ham torta again if I had the stomach flu or heartburn, but it’s not likely. Like head cheese, ham really shouldn’t be the star of The Torta Show. It just disappears into the scenery. My biggest complaint with this sandwich was that they went berserk with the crema. It left a film in my mouth that prevented the already-subtle ham and even the guacamole from making their presence fully known on my palate. I hate to make the torta sound worse than it was. It was completely edible and on a less full stomach, I might’ve judged it less harshly. I look forward to ordering a torta from here in the near future with a less wussy meat.

I was able to take a few bites of each sandwich, but that was it. My guts simply had nowhere to put any more food. I was going to have to wait, all night if necessary, for some semblance of hunger to return. It was already almost 11pm. I had a long night ahead of me. Lily and Chris left the camera equipment with me to film the session’s climax and denouement myself.

At a quarter to 2am, I finished the Los Paisanos torta and started in on the Mi Rancho exhibit. I was still quite full, but the constant barrage exiting my anus allowed enough space to enable me to eat a few bites without too much discomfort. I spent the rest of the wee hours surfing the internet and watching terrible movies on the Sundance channel. As usual, this channel is better in theory than in reality. I watched a terrible movie called I Am a Sex Addict. It’s the semi-true story of the director/star’s issues with sex addiction. The guy has ZERO charisma. No wonder he had to go to prostitutes. In the film, his girlfriend is played by real-life French porn star Rebecca Lord. She did a pretty good job and made the auteur look even crummier. He was also in that Richard Linklater turd, Waking Life, so this guy is apparently indie film poison. Avoid his oeuvre at all costs. I also watched Eagle vs. Shark from New Zealand, which starred the guy with glasses from Flight of the Conchords. It was cute and not entirely without merit, but it had way too much of that forced quirkiness that makes me avoid most “independent cinema” like a rash. At the midway point of the New Zealand movie, I felt twitchings in my colon. These sensations coupled with a dense, increasingly noxious invisible blanket of colonic miasma were a harbinger of glad tidings. It was time to let nature take its course.

With the camera pointed directly at my face, I labored to produce three or four sizable rounds of amorphous tawny guano. The smell in our small lavatory distilled all of the flatulence I had emitted thus far into one convenient bouquet and then multiplied the whole shebang by one thousand. I thought I might be smothered before I finished my business. Despite the volume of waste I’d evacuated, I still felt as if I had swallowed a bag of wet sand. For the next couple of hours or so, I worked on the remaining sandwiches by taking tiny bites whenever I was able. At 5:05am, the Mi Rancho torta was finished. It had sat at room temperature for six hours, yet the asada was still tasty and likely preferable to even the freshest packet of Tender Vittles. At 6:25am, I polished off the Sinaloa torta just as Kelly was waking up for the day. The suadero was cold and the crema was now congealed like Elmer’s glue in a kindergarten sand painting, but this sandwich was still better than 99% of all sandwiches you or I will ever eat on this planet.

I felt terrible. Not only was my stomach bruised from within, it seemed as if I had somehow aspirated crema. My nose was clogged with boogers that had the consistency of Silly Putty. It took me almost 24 hours, but I was able to slay this foe with sheer determination. In many ways, this was the hardest session yet. I felt much more poisoned after the fish ’n’ chips session, but I didn’t feel as full as I did after eating all of those tortas. I needed to sleep.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, floss, and wash off any stray lard from my face. Before retiring to my chambers, I stepped onto the scale. Wearing the same clothes as during the morning weigh-in, the scale registered 191.4 lbs. I had gained more than eight pounds in one day of eating, even after taking one and a half dumps. I looked down at my belly. I was carrying very low. I think that means that I’m having a girl.

THE BEST: Los Picudos

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