Food Porn

Food porn. Sounds dirty, and can be (you know who you are, banana/cucumber aficionados), but in my family? It’s not about “getting off” in the traditional sense. It’s about a flavor orgasm. Or “flava” as the cool kids say. Too many quotation marks in the first paragraph? Consider each instance of punctuation a flavor orgasm and embrace it, prudes.

Take my brother Danny and me. That Cinnamon Toast Crunch we ate? Delicious. Know what made it more delicious? Admiring the beautiful, lick your lips-inducing photos on the cereal box. But that was just foreplay until we moved on to the dessert section of a cookbook. But not just ANY cookbook. The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook my beautiful grandmother, Frances Sifers, gave me on my 12^th birthday (the proof is in the note on the inside!). Just look at it! It’s gorgeous! LOOK AT IT!

Considering how long I've had this thing, still looks pretty good. Like it's had cookbook botox.

My grandmother always wrote a note in books she gave me. She kicked some serious ass when she picked this book.

Look at those desserts. Sure, the food styling is dated, but screw it. I would dunk my face into any one of those desserts.

Just like the pages of a Playboy stick together after being thoroughly “reviewed,” the pages of this glorious cookbook are bonded together (but hey, we read it for the recipes, not the photos…wink, wink). This poor Good Housekeeping cookbook has been assailed by the nubby fingers of hungry kids like Danny and me, turning the pages with one hand while the other hand does the dirty stuff (shoveling food into our mouths…duh, you pervs).

In the Bauer household, food porn goes beyond the kitchen table. It’s also prevalent in the bedroom. All of us like to eat in bed – usually the sweet stuff. Soooo naughty. Hiding candy and cookies in our bedrooms like they were paraphernalia was a regular occurrence for us kids.

Take Danny, for instance. This ADHD typhoon of a child would steal the sugar bowl – yes, the entire sugar bowl – and hide it under his bed like it was a Hustler magazine. But that’s not all. He would take all of the candy and sugary goodness we had in the house and stow it away in his closet when room under the bed was taken up by things like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures, Lego landscapes and of course, the damn sugar bowl. When all was said and done, he had transformed his closet into a candy bunker rivaling Charlie’s Chocolate Factory, sans the chocolate river and the creepy ass tunnel. But we did, mind you, have younger brother Brent, who made a fine stand-in for an Oompa-Loompa.

Danny also (and I’m still pissed off about this) stole my entire inventory of Girl Scout Almond Roca Cookies, the little sugar nympho. Pretty sure he still owes my dad money for that. Sidenote: Girl Scouts of America, if you ever bring back Almond Rocas, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT sell to a lanky guy who looks like this because he WILL have a full-on sugar relapse. He will probably murder someone for a box:

Danny may be the picture of health, but Almond Rocas are his kryptonite.

Fast forward 18 years. Today, I get my flava orgasms from the vast abundance of TV shows focused squarely on food (all hail the mighty Food Network!). Some folks watch TV to fill their shorts. I do it to fill my belly. These days, you’ve got cooking shows in HD, with LOTS of full-frontal close-ups. Might have to go change my skivvies just thinking about it. My massive bowl of spaghetti is good, but turn on some Giada and Mama Mia! My limp-noodled spaghetti is now erupting with authentic Italian goodness…while at the same time I’m marveling at how Giada stays so thin cooking all that pasta. Pretty sure she’s equipped with some sort of boob-powered fat vacuum, because that’s the only part on her body that’s big. Bitch.

Jesus H. Christ. It's just not fair.

 Anyway, I could go on and on about food porn, but really, if you want it, you can find it. Sure, it doesn’t come mailed to you in a discrete tan envelope, but that’s what’s so great about it – it’s discrete simply because it’s food. Take your mediocre plate of food, turn on the tube or thumb through an illustrated cookbook and you’ll see how much better your meal tastes. Hell, hide food under your bed like Danny if that’s what gets your tongue wagging (to eat, you filthy people). Whatever you decide, I support it, because it’s America, and nothing says freedom and the pursuit of happiness like food porn. And I’m spent. Excuse me while I roll over and go to bed.

BBQ + Denver = A One Night Stand

The day started out innocently enough. Got up a little after 4 a.m. like I normally do, did some P90X Plyometrics (this is how I can eat massive quantities of food without looking like a water buffalo in high heels), had my special morning smoothie and headed to the office. I’m the picture of health today, I told myself. But then, it happened. The rumble. The hunger rumble. But it’s too early, I told myself. Must ignore. But I couldn’t. So, I had my midmorning snack early – cottage cheese. I mean, if that doesn’t scream “look at me, I swim around in a sea of Muscle Milk nymphs and bodybuilder mermaids,” I don’t know what does.

Unfortunately, that didn’t cut it. Anyone who knows me is aware that when I’m really hungry, I make bad decisions. Case in point: I remembered I had some Boulder Canyon Malt Vinegar and Sea Salt chips leftover from a visit with the intern to the Spicy Pickle on Monday. So I told myself I’d have half of them because it was only 9:30 in the morning. I mean, who eats an entire bag of chips before noon? Well, sweet baby goat cheese, I’m damn good at lying to myself. I know full well that Lays had it right with the slogan “You can’t eat just one,” because I ate the entire bag. And guess what, my potato chip comrades? I was STILL hungry. 

It's "All Natural!" I can't think of a better way to start the day!

So when my boss suggested lunch at *cough, cough* a Denver “BBQ” establishment, I said yes…without hesitation. For shame! I should’ve known that with a name like “Bono’s,” I was in for a world of hurt. We got there and something was wrong immediately: it was too clean. Like “normal” restaurant clean. So clean in fact, that I was wearing a white shirt and didn’t get a drop of BBQ sauce on me – not one. And mind you, I’m the type of person who could be at a tea party with the Royals and somehow get crumpet crumbs in my thong line. Real BBQ restaurants make you feel like you need to bathe in Clorox…and you actually WANT to because you’re covered in sauce and it’s so worth it. Not here. But I let it slide.

On to the menu. Too many options. And there was a salad section. Like, entrée salads people! Um, if you’re going to a BBQ restaurant and want a salad, someone needs to nun chuck your ass…immediately. It’s a mockery of the BBQ culture. And I’m pretty sure you wear tighty-whities, lame sauce. The only salads a BBQ place should offer are mayonnaise-laden – hence, potato salad or coleslaw. And they’re sides, not entrees. Put that in your smoker and…smoke it.

I didn't even take a picture of the salad section...too embarrassing.

So, I didn’t order an f-ing salad. I instead got the two-meat special, which included pork and beef, plus two sides (sweet potato fries and beans for me – you’re welcome, my fellow coworkers who share a very small space with me). Oh, and a massive buttered slice of Texas Toast…wait, what? Yes, Texas Toast. Seriously folks, plain white Wonder Bread is all you need. It shouldn’t be extra thick, buttered and toasted – that robs the bread of its important purpose – to soak up the meat juices and sauce. Texas Toast is a waste of valuable stomach space. I mean, Jesus, not everything needs to be big in Texas. Get over yourself, big state with its own electrical grid (note: I have many friends from Texas – I hate you now…*winky face*).

Get off of the REAL food, Texas Toast. What a bully.

The meal was decent…once you drenched it in some sauce. But not just any sauce. They have four of them because just like the menu, they feel like more is better. Dislike. The best one is an attempt at KC Masterpiece. The worst is the “original” which tastes like someone took a bottle of mustard and threw in some spice rub mixed with moth balls from grandma’s closet. Hey, would you like fries with your mustard mothball meatpile?

Second from the right. Avoid at all costs. Don't even try it on a dare.

Man, I sound like a hater. Not at all. Just a snob, which is way better. Look, Denver BBQ is passable. But if you decide to come to Denver, don’t spend your precious “dolla-dolla billz, yo” at any of the BBQ places. The joints truly worth the a-hole claymore attack you’ll have on your porcelain friend are the Mexican places. You can put that in your smoker…and eat it. Fist pump! I’m out.

Food Oxymoron

I was recently introduced by my friend Lisa to a dish that deserves its own fan page: The Pizza Salad. At first, I was a bit skeptical. Sounds like some dude took a massive hit off a bong and thought, “hey man, I’m like totally jonesin’ for some pizza, but like, I’m gonna make it healthy and stuff, and put a salad on top. It’s like a taco salad, but, like, it’s pizza instead…and stuff.”

Pizza and a salad mixed into one? It sounds like an oxymoron. It’s like the “Victor Victoria” of pizzas (Am I a pizza or a salad? I’m so confused!) But I tried it…and frankly, it gave me tingles in my no-no place. It was so kick-ass that I’d probably give it as a gift. I’d call it a “stomach present.” No, John, this isn’t a present for YOU, it’s a present for that little guy [point at and tickle stomach].

What exactly is this she-male of the culinary world, you ask? Well, the place we go (Parisi on 44^th and Tennyson) has several variations, but I always get the classic one. These people are pizza architects. Their houses are probably built out of pizza dough and happiness. Basically, they take pizza dough, cover it in cheese, bake it in the special pizza oven (these should come standard in all homes, in my humble, but very important opinion) until it’s just a bit underdone. Then it’s topped with a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, capers, onions and whole bunch of other goodness all tossed in creamy Caesar dressing. Then, they fold it over like it’s a massive taco, cut it into a few pieces and there you have it. Pizza Fuckin’ Salad.

No, that's not NYC-style pizza folded over - that's Pizza Salad, bitches!

Some highbrow foodies may consider it the red-headed stepchild of restaurant fare, which is absolutely fine with me. Their ignorance is my gain, because I’m pretty sure Pizza Salad is a superfood, which will keep me busy being awesome while they fatten up on foie gras and hatred.

So, long story short, while Pizza Salad might sound like the Chastity Bono of meals, this is a meal you’d actually WANT to eat.

Chocolate Anemia

At the office, there is a ton of food (read: chocolate) from Halloween through Easter. But come summer, everyone is all about getting bikini-ready and spurning what I consider to be the quintessential reason we’re on this earth: to eat chocolate. Oh, and bring about world peace. So, when someone brings in extra delicious chocolate in June, I eye it like a conquest…and then I conquer.

Today was one of those days. I’m what you’d call a chocolate zealot. Addict is probably more appropriate. If you see me uncharacteristically sweating, having intimate conversations with inanimate objects, NOT buying a pair of cute shoes, or arguing for a relaxed dress code at work that includes Zoobas, I’m experiencing chocolate anemia. And the only prescription for chocolate anemia is…you guessed it: chocolate.

So, when suffering from this debilitating malady and a coworker brings in a bag of Dove’s Bliss Crème de Menthe Meltaway chocolates (say that five times fast…with them in your mouth), you bet your sweet, sugary ass I’m digging in. Hard. And fast. I counted the wrappers: 10, not including the fortuitous donation of a mini Mr. Goodbar by our legal department (it’s so good, it should be illegal…queue sympathy bad joke laughter).

Notice the beautiful backdrop of the stapler and tape. I should be a food stylist.

That Dove Bliss in the background? In my belly.

Sure, it’s a lot, but hey, it’s summer chocolate hibernation mode. Need to build up enough chocolate antibodies in my system to persevere through the rest of the Season of Chocolate Dearth at the office. Granted, it may give me some added cushion, but hell, I need it anyway to weather the food storm that is coming all summer long. Mwah-ah-ah-ah-ah.