Meat, Cheese and Bread

What makes this blog different from all other blogs? Well this blog is sick. So fucking sick. It's got the best food, the best music and the bestdeals from the best cities in the best country. Best of all, it's completely free for you to sift through. So if you don't like it, you best keep your mouth shut because I am NOT the best at dealing with criticism.

I will try to keep words at a minimum as I know reading strains your eyes. Mainly, you will be able to feast your eyes on the great media I attach on the daily to keep this site as fresh as the raw fish at your favorite local sushi bar. There are only two elements that make this blog so very revolting.

1.) It is a revolt against every other blog that has EVER been published (more on that later).

2.) There will be grossness.

First things first, let's get oriented:

These are the districts of San Francisco. At only 49 square miles, SF is the second most densely populated metropolis in the United States. Go ahead and look at this map. Take a good long look because it's going to be on the test. We are going to delve into every last section of this City By the Bay until you are motherfuckin' sick of it--just kidding...you can never get sick of this place. But just to add a little spice to the recipe we will occasionally feature articles from some of those other cities. Places like Los Angeles, New York, San Diego, Chicago, etc...the boring old jive. JK JK JK. C'mon, I LOVE these places. I LOVE ALL PLACES. Well, except, y'know--Des Moines, Iowa.

Right now let's shift our attention to assorted combinations of meat, bread and cheese. If I were stranded on a desert island, I would only need these three ingredients--and these three alone--in order to survive. I'm talking of course about a raft built of bread and welded together with melted cheese and ground beef. But I could also make an endless supply of tacos, pizza and hamburgers. I love the West Coast, and I am from the East Coast. The East Coast knows all about pizza and even hamburgers, but you just can't score a taco like this when you're on the Atlantic Seaboard:

That's a late-night taco from La Crispita in North Hollywood, California. Somewhere off of Magnolia Blvd. I'd love to tell you the extract address but I was too inebriated to record any meaningful observations regarding my immediate surroundings. The only thing that caught my eye was that there were several Mexican laborers slicing fresh pastor (slow-cooked pork) off of one of those kebab things that you usually associate with shwarma and questionably hygienic middle-eastern fare.

(On a disturbing side-note: Fox News doesn't even know where Egypt is)

For one measly dollar you can indulge yourself on one of the most authentic mexican pork plates this side of Oaxaca--and let me tell you, that is a difficult name to spell. A very easy culinary treat to devour, and after a few bites you will already be standing in line for your next smattering of true mexican flavors. If only Puerto Rican food tasted this good then a New Yorker would never have to travel 3000 miles and countless hours to get here. I can't speak to that though because I never have and never will try food from a commonwealth. This means YOU, Virginia and Massachusetts.

Meat, cheese and a bread delivery system is a combination fit for kings. Head south of The Valley and into LA Proper and you will find that high end burgers are all the rage right now. Father's Office, The Foundry, Umami Burger. They are all KILLING IT right now. So fucking haute right now. What makes them work so well are those very same basic ingredients, rejiggered of course into something a little less mexican. Just kidding. Who do you think is doing all that work back in the kitchen?

Umami currently has 3 locations around LA city and this time we decided to hit up the one on Cahuenga in Hollywood with the hopes of being near Roscoe's Fried Chicken and Waffle House for desert. Special burger on the menu today was the Manly Burger. It was almost a challenge because if you didn't order this burger it must mean that you are a woman. Not that there's anything wrong with that--unless you're taking about burger consumption, then there is a whole LOT wrong with it. From our seat at the bar we could look into the kitchen and watch the mexican day laborer (I'm pretty sure it was the same guy slicing the pastor last night but I'll never be sure because all hispanics look the same to me) as he carefully and meticulously blended the ground meat into patties of perfection. It was yet another reminder of why the people that wanna outlaw illegal immigration are assholes--and probably vegetarians too.

The Manly-Burger consists of a dab of barbeque sauce and crispy fried onion strings dolloped atop chunky lardons of bacon.

Chunky.

Lardon.

It can't be merely a coincidence that this last word rhymes with hard-on. And whereas I generally don't like to mix and match my culinary adjectives with pornographic ones, for the sake of full disclosure I should tell you that fatty chunks of pork really do give me an erection. Is that bad to admit on a public forum?

They only cook their burgers one way: Medium rare. Do you even realize how bad-ass that is? Some (shitty) restaurants won't even serve you a burger cooked so lightly because they're scared you might get ebola or some shit. Ooooo!!! Liquified internal organs. Sooooo scary! Let me tell you something...viral hemorrhagic fever is a small price to pay for perfectly seared animal flesh, and you should accept nothing more charred than medium rare if you are eating in any establishment that has enough money to plunder punitively in a potential food-poisoning lawsuit. This burger made me so sick. Sick with divine pleasure, the type of which a vegan can only derive with a high-powered vibrator. It's so damn trendy to hate on LA these days and if you do, you're an idiot, because this city has better food and much better high-end hookers than your silly little podunk town could ever muster. I'm looking at YOU, Des Moines.

For today's final foray into the joys of meat, cheese and bread we mosey our way on up I-5 and into the Bay Area for one of the finest Neapolitan pies anywhere in the country: Pizzeria Delfina. The special of the day was broccoli rabbe with a bunch of other bullshit. Which--don't get me wrong--is a great start. If at all possible, I would hire a plumber to adjust my showerhead so that I could feasibly bathe myself in broccoli rabbe. I looked into it, and not only is it not possible, but my plumber refused to do business with me ever again. I'm fairly confident he's anti-semitic. The only problem is that a pizza doesn't officially have toppings on it unless meat is involved. So I called up my friend--hot crumpled italian sausage--and invited him to the party.

The results were nothing short of how amazing this picture looks. If you need a minute or two alone with this illustration, I'll wait.

If you live in San Francisco and haven't been to Pizzeria Delfina yet you are obviously a fucking homo and so you should stay in the Castro--there are amazing dining options all around that neighborhood, btw.

Wait a minute...this is San Francisco, we're all gay here. So grab a buttplug, preferably one of your own, and a taco, we're going cruisin'.

Up Next: West Coast Beer