Korean Sushi: Dait Bate

6/13/08

"Maybe it would just be easier if you told me what you willfully exclude from your diet." Getting to this point had not been without its challenges. These are the questions you need to ask if you want a date in this town. I'd been trying to get together with Cheryl for dinner, coffee, cocktails… whatever… since I met her at a friend's party about three and half weeks prior.

"Well, I'm a vegetarian, but only sorta kinda," was Cheryl's reply. At that party, Cheryl had been a lot of fun, very cute and not without her own special brand of charming neurosis. In short, I was very attracted to this woman. We had spent a great deal of time bantering back and forth, making eye contact and flirting within the group dynamic of the party. At some point later (many cocktails later) in the evening, we'd found ourselves alone together in the kitchen. Cheryl had said something to me along the lines of, "you just seem so cute and kissable," so I did what seemed natural in the moment, which was to move over close to her, put my hands on that nice part of the hips where the ass merges with the waist and kiss her. At first, it was just a semi-sweet kiss on the lips… no tongue, but not entirely without randy intentions.

"I said you looked kissable, not that I wanted to kiss you," was her reply after our lips parted. This led immediately led to an irresistible spark of electric chemistry between us and a full blown make out session… right there in the kitchen. Cheryl boosted herself onto the counter so she'd be a little closer to my height and we lost ourselves, alone there in the kitchen for more than a few delightful moments. Eventually, we were interrupted. It was bound to happen. The kitchen was where most of the booze was and we were at a party after all. Cheryl scooched herself off the counter and we went out to rejoin the ruckus. On the way out of the kitchen, I spied a lime wedge smashed onto the ass of Cheryl's blue jeans from our little make out moment. I laughed and swatted it off for her. Thankfully, she laughed too… and gave me her phone number before she left. Talk about your first impressions.

Since that night, we talked quite a few times on the phone and got along what I thought was pretty well. There was no shortage of laughter during our conversations and I always consider that a good sign. Still, we were unable to get our schedules together to make plans largely because of: a) the massive time commitment her job requires; b) a friend of hers having really bad timing for when she'd be in need of an intervention; and c) the amount of care and attention demanded from her by her cats. We'd tried for drinks, live music and/or happy hour on a few occasions only to have something come up at the last minute and postpone our plans. Now it was a dinner, Friday night, I was driving at.

"So, what does a sorta kinda vegetarian eat?" I asked with a bit o' apprehension. Cheryl replied that she eats eggs, because those are unfertilized (personally, I eat them because they're delicious and good for you) and sometimes fish because she just can't relate to (chew, swallow, digest) god's creatures that have four legs or feathers. What, no bacon? The horror! Then she makes everything easy for me and tells me what she's really been craving lately is sushi. Cool. I can handle that. I tell her I know a tasty place in my neighborhood for Korean sushi. Very fresh! Perfect. Plans are made.

That Friday rolls around and Cheryl is running late. She got hung up at work, but assures me she'll be by just as soon as she runs home to feed her kitties. The kitties had already been their own source of problems as far as Cheryl and I making plans had gone. One of her cats, Cosmo, had been in a sickly way for the better part of 8-10 weeks. Cheryl had had him for a number of years already, so naturally she was quite attached. She had taken him to a couple different vets already and neither of them was able to diagnose exactly why it was the cat was not eating. One of them even kept the cat at the clinic for several days and did an exploratory surgery on the animal to make sure its digestive tract wasn't obstructed. This procedure had effectively cancelled one of our planned rendezvous. Instead, I got to hear, on the phone, all the tearful details on how the cat (I'd never even met, but was told was just toooooo precious for words) was doing. The last I'd heard prior to that night was that her other cat had stopped eating too and she was afraid the problem was kitty contagious. God forbid!

Eventually, Cheryl makes it to my place and is well worth the wait. She looks absolutely fetching in her vintage yellow summer dress and heels. There's a flower in her hair and a smile on her face at the door. "Let's eat. I'm starving," she says in way of hello and we head out the door and around the corner to Ginza Sushi (Wilshire and St Andrews) for dinner. I'd been to Ginza a few times, but never on a weekend… and it is packed. Fortunately, just as we get there, a couple seats open at the end of the sushi bar, so we grab them rather than wait for a table.

Once we're seated, Cheryl launches into all the updates on her cat situation. This isn't exactly my preferred topic of conversation, but I'm attracted to this woman, so I do my best to feign some interest… y'know, throwing in little aside comments every so often like, "really?" and "oh my gosh" and then asking questions that show I'm actively listening, but still keep the story moving forward. At this point, her cats are not my favorite. I don't care how cute she thinks they are.

We order our miso, sake and sushi. Cheryl drives ahead with all the details surrounding the Cosmo situation. I'm doing my best to roll with it because, obviously, this woman has spent a lot of time and energy worrying about her animal and thinks it important I know all about it. To condense it into a cube, the animal suddenly stopped eating and started dry hacking sporadically. Cheryl got worried and took him to the vet. No problems were found, but the vet gave the cat some medicine that didn't fix anything and maybe even made it worse. This led to more concern, more vet visits, and eventually the exploratory surgery on the animal. All this led to no answers. Then, her other cat started exhibiting similar symptoms and she freaked and rushed him to the pet ER. She tells me it just breaks her heart to see any animal suffer.

Then, she reveals to me the following crucial pieces of information:

a) That since she considers herself a vegetarian, she decided her cats should be vegetarians too and had started feeding them only vegan, dry cat food a few months prior.

b) Cosmo hated the new cat food so much that he just flat refused to eat it, which was the sole cause of all the weight loss, hacking, vet visits, etc…

c) Cheryl had spent over $5000 on her cats at the vet in the time since she decided to make her animals vegetarian like her only to be told the answer for her sick kitties was just to give them plain ol' normal, moist cat food from the supermarket.

Are you getting sick of hearing all about this woman's cats yet? I know I was… and I knew that she had just revealed several pieces of information to me that there was no chance I would ever be able to get past. I don't care how hot n' sexy you are. Paying $5000 to vets when the problem is the lifestyle choice you're trying to make for your pet is just too much stupid for me to excuse.

It was about at this time, that the first of what turned out to be several orders of live lobster sashimi appeared at the sushi bar. Yes, I said LIVE. Very fresh! I wouldn't have even noticed what was going on behind the sushi bar had the order not been placed a foot from my head when ready to be picked up by the waitress. The first indication I had that something had suddenly gone very weird was the look of abject horror creeping across my date's face.

"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die." – Hunter S. Thompson

"That thing is still moving," she had to look away before she could get the words out of her mouth. I looked and she was right. That thing WAS still moving… quite a bit. In fact, it looked like it was going to crawl right off the tray into my lap. Very fresh! I was shocked, but not horrified. When the waitress came and whisked the platter away to a waiting table, I noticed the still living lobster was just a garnish for a very large plate of sushi and sashimi.

Finally, I had my means to change the topic of conversation away from her gotdamn cats. Luckily (ha!), that was not the last to be seen from the still living lobsters. It wasn't more than a few minutes later that I noticed one of the sushi chefs grabbing another one from the tank. I tried to draw Cheryl's attention to the preparation of the dish, but she was too horrified and grossed out in general to look.

Basically, while the lobster is still living, the chef removes its tail and claws, sets the head aside (still living), sashimis the tail and claw, combines it with more sashimi and sushi on a platter of ice, then takes the hollowed out tail and the still living head and rejoins them atop the platter to give the illusion that the lobster (now a garnish) is still whole. Very fresh! The lobster, still living of course, now is faced with the prospect of spending its last breaths watching itself be eaten by fashionable Koreans.

Have I told you that things are never a moment away from going weird in K-town?

Cheryl, my date is not coping with the freak show sushi well. At least she's not talking about her cats anymore. Thank god. Instead, she switches to all the factors that went in to her deciding to become a vegetarian in the first place. I have a feeling live lobster sashimi has now been silently added to that list. Very fresh! Our sushi arrives and Cheryl seems to be over her hunger. Aside from the California roll and some of the kimchi appetizer, she barely touches the food. During the meal, at least three, maybe four more of the live lobster platters come out of the sushi bar, right next to my head. Each lobster is greeted by my date with a mix of horror, sorrow and pity. Apparently, this is a popular dish with large Korean dinner parties… and not with sorta kinda vegetarian white girls.

After dinner, which I enjoyed and Cheryl barely touched, we walked back towards my place. Cheryl announced that she has to leave early, so I walked her to her car and got a very limp handshake that half turned into an awkward sort of hug. I knew I would not be hearing from this woman again. For that I am eternally grateful to the lobsters that bravely gave up their deliciousness and then their lives. Very fresh!

Korean Pizza: Love for Women

3/27/08

Mr. Pizza Factory opened in K-Town last year a block from my old apartment at the corner of Wilshire and St. Andrews (two blocks west of Western). My initial impression when I noticed the new pizza joint going up in my old neighborhood was that this place would never make it. There's already plenty of pizza in LA, and some of it is extremely delicious including my favorite pizza of all-time, Z-Pizza (www.zpizza.com), which is located about a mile away on Larchmont. On top of that, the build to put this new pizza place in was a lengthy and elaborate one which, to me, made little sense because I thought this place was destined to fail anyway.

Remember, sense is never static in Koreatown. Things are never more than a moment away from going weird.

Fast forward to January, this year; I spy an article in the LA Weekly by food critic, Jonathan Gold entitled, "I Yam What I Yam: Mr. Pizza Factory." Naturally, I read the article because all things K-town either fascinate or frighten me… or both. The article turned out to be both, but it did pique my curiosity…. here are some excerpts:

The fascinating…"Have you ever seen the Grand Prix pizza at Mr. Pizza Factory, a gleaming new pizzeria in Koreatown? Because even in a culinary crossroads such as Los Angeles, the Grand Prix is a remarkable object. This weighty, doughy construction, swirled like a creamy hypnodisc, so completely warps perceptions of what a pizza might be that it threatens to dent the space-time continuum itself."

The frightening… "Imagine a pie whose geography is neatly bisected, one half bearing mild tomato salsa, cooked shrimp, hamburger, corn kernels, strands of burnt onion, a veneer of orange cheese, and other things that don't really belong on a pizza. On the other rests a payload of bacon, roasted potatoes, squiggles of sour cream, industrial Cheddar, more beef and corn, and what seems like a handful of crushed tortilla chips — like a pizza that dreamed of becoming a plate of nachos but ended up flunking Spanish."

The both…"Yet there is something about the hand-thrown pizzas here that is more than a bit off, as if the guy who came up with the recipes hadn't actually bothered to visit Italy or New York — like a Dante verse that's been Google-translated from Italian to Korean to Chinese to English and ends up sounding like something issuing from the mouth of either Borat or Skeletor."

Borat talking to Skeletor? I'm in.

As if urged on by fate, that weekend my friend, Jill, calls and says she is craving pizza and would I like to meet for lunch? "Why yes I would!" I reply. "I know just the place." So, I take her over to Mr. Pizza Factory and prepare for things to get strange. I guess now would be a good time to tell you that Jill is one of THE PICKIEST FOOD ORDERERS of all-time. She makes Meg Ryan's ordering in "When Harry Met Sally" look like facile beginner fare.

The décor at Mr Pizza Factory is strange. That is not to say that is not nice. It's just strange in that uniquely K-town way of mixing styles that really don't go together. In this case, you have Roman inspired pillars and sconces accented by Korean ultra modern furniture and a goofy mural of the city of LA all in the ground floor of an art deco office building. It wouldn't be until about twenty minutes later that I'd discover the decor matches the pizza.

Anyway, we're seated, menus arrive and I can tell right away that Jill is having hard time. I know her taste well enough to know that what she is really looking for is some sort of veggie pizza, or maybe something w/ chicken on it. Those things are present at Mr. Pizza Factory, but the vegetable choices are not what you'd expect from a pizza place.

"Could we get the Secret Garden pizza, but without the yams or pumpkin mousse and have it well done?" She asks.

"What would the point of that be?" I reply. "No."

She goes back to the menu for a couple more minutes. I see her brow furrow and un-furrow as she goes deeper and deeper in thought trying to formulate a plan for just what she is going to tell the waitress (whose command of the English language is doubtful at best) when she arrives to take our order. I'm foreseeing something burnt and sauce-less being put down in front of my friend.

To my surprise, Jill finally puts down her menu and says, "Y'know, the choices here for pizza are so far out there, that I have absolutely no confidence that what I try to tell them to do to my food will make it any better or worse than what I'm already seeing on the menu."

"Well, just what are you trying to say?"

"What I'm saying is, how do I ask them to leave corn or yams off a pizza when I never would have considered putting it on there in the first place? What I'm saying is, just let the Koreans pick. Order off the menu. The only thing I ask that there be NO RAISINS on my pizza."

"Jill, do you know what you're saying? In all the time I've known you (10+ years), I've never seen you order anything (and I mean anything) straight off the menu."

"Well, you can keep waiting. I'm not going to. You're going to do the ordering."

No raisins on your pizza. You'd think that wouldn't be a problem. At Mr. Pizza Factory, that is not always the case. So, I settle on what appears to be the biggest, baddest pizza on the menu, The Grand Prix (that's the one described in the article above that is like a pizza that dreamed of becoming nachos). I order one big enough for two and I make absolutely no changes to the order. Our topping policy for the meal is set: just let the Koreans pick.

The pizza arrives and it is everything described above and more. Shrimp. Corn. Potato. Mystery drizzle. Crumpled tortilla chips. We both curse ourselves for not having a camera with us to take a picture of this thing before digging in… at first apprehensively, then whole-heartedly. This pizza is good. I mean, it is oh my gawd good. I'm pleasantly surprised. Jill is straight up shocked at how good it is.

Now my friend is chewing and laughing, "I never knew ordering off the menu could be like this!"

Did I mention the edge crust is a scone and it has its own strawberry dipping sauce? It really is... and that's tasty too. Just letting the Koreans pick turned out to be an excellent call.

Jill and I ate the whole damn thing. We even squabbled a little over who'd get the last piece. It was that good. The Grand Prix is not the only thing on the menu that would be considered strange by Western (Westside?) standards of just what a pizza should be. It may not even be the strangest one on the menu… it is certainly not the only one on the menu with a baked good for an edge crust. It doesn't have any yam puree.

Here, see for yourself… http://www.mrpizza.co.kr/GLOBAL/eng/products/mrpizza.php

My favorite piece of information on the website, aside from the pics and descriptions of their signature pizzas (I may be visiting Seafood Island next time I go) is Mr. Pizza Factory's motto, "Love for Women." I also learned that the crust of the pizza I ordered had RAISINS baked into it. Neither of us noticed at the time, but Jill almost cried when I told her the news. She really does not like raisins and is having a hard time reconciling her new found love for Korean pizza with her (irrational) fear of raisins.

Yeah. Love for women. That's what I think when I think pizza (certainly Mr. Pizza!!!). Right?! Things are never more than a moment away from going weird in K-town.

Fried Chicken: Korean Style

2/3/08

One of my resolutions for 2008 is to experience more things Korean in my neighborhood. I do, after all, live in K-town, and have been here for a decade now. There are many things distinctly Korean in this neighborhood that I have embraced through the years. The produce in the Korean supermarkets is ridiculously inexpensive. Same goes for the seafood, and the selection is staggering. And then there's the whole aisle of kimchi. 'nuff said.

Many of the local businesses I frequent are Korean, naturally, but not many of the restaurants really... well, there's Korean bbq and the Tofu House... point is, I've been ready to expand my Korean culinary horizons, and then...

Have I mentioned how much I like fried chicken? Of course I have. Well, the other day I found out there's such a thing as Korean fried chicken. It's served at KyoChon at the corner of 6th St and Serrano (2 blocks east of Western). Naturally, I made a mental note of it. This strange new fried chicken needed to be looked into.

My opportunity came yesterday. I was out in K-town running errands on my bicycle. My last stop left me in the neighborhood of the chicken joint, so I rode over, parked my bike and went up to the counter to interpret the menu/place my order. The menu itself is very complicated in that it is really painfully simple. This isn't like strolling into Popeye's and ordering a three piece, sides and a biscuit. If you're wanting fried chicken at KyoChon your choices are pretty much just a whole chicken or... a whole chicken, unless you want wings, then you can just get a half chicken (is there really such a thing as half a chicken that is all wings? the horror.). Anyway, I order the whole chicken....to go That seemed like the thing to do. They have two flavors, garlic (original series!) and red pepper (hot series!), so I had them split up my order half and half.

The chicken there is made to order (good sign), so I took a seat and waited. While I waited, the young Korean guy who took my order came over and asked me if I'd like to have some ice cream while I waited. Well, yes I would. Thank you very much. Free ice cream and fried chicken? Things are always just an instant away from going weird in K-town. You just gotta roll with it.

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." ~ Hunter S. Thompson

So, a minute later the Korean kid is back with my ice cream, soft serve vanilla in a little cup. It really hit the spot. After riding around all day to sit in a restaurant that smelled like fried chicken while enjoying some cool ice cream was pretty nice... I was even wearing a helmet.... yeah, life was pretty nice.

"Madness is tonic and invigorating. It makes the sane more sane. The only ones who are unable to profit by it are the insane." ~ Henry Miller

A few minutes later the Korean kid returns with my order... and he's bearing gifts. I don't know why. Unexpected gifting sometimes makes me edgy. He gives me a rather sturdy 2008 calendar that features pictures of assorted chicken themed knick-knacks. And then, the piece de resistance, he gives me a teddy bear. Seriously. Brown and fuzzy. Happy New Year ribbon. Here, I'll attach a link:

http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s285/heymccleary/DSCF0466.jpg

For a second, I didn't think I was getting out of there without either a) drinking the Korean kool-aid, or b) giving up my phone (867-5309). Fried chicken, free ice cream, a calendar and a teddy bear. Only in Koreatown.

So, I rode home with my chicken and unexpected gifts with what must have been a strange look on my face. It's not everyday a guy gives a guy like me a teddy bear. Anyway, once home I dug into the chicken and it was quite good. Korean fried chicken is lightly battered and twice fried. It's crispy and delicious... especially the dark meat pieces. The breast pieces can get a little dry. It doesn't taste like Southern fried chicken... it's more like having really, really good meaty wings.... that you don't have to work at very hard. Yummy.

The drawbacks were: a) the price. There's only one way to order it... a whole chicken and that's 16 bucks. Of course, I do have leftovers. And, b) they gave me this side order of some white cubed vegetable I couldn't easily identify (not strange for K-town) soaking in some sort of vinegar. I think it was to cut the heat of the spicy chicken. Anyway, when I put my leftovers in the fridge, the stuff made my whole apartment smell funky (I mean funk-kay, okay?!).

Where's the Food? Am I the Food? & the Saga of the Jollibee

6/29/07

Where's the food? What did you do with it? Where is it? I know you've got it. C'mon. Gimme. Yeah, that's right. I said, "GIMME!"

A lot of people ask me what I do with my free time and I invariably answer, "I think." Ok, that's a lie. Not the thinking part. I do that all the time. It's the question itself. Not many people ask me that question. Most of my friends know better than to ask me questions they don't want to know answers to. Still, the thinking goes around the clock. It's like a juggernaut. It can't be stopped.

One of the things that has been on my mind is the BIG question. What is the BIG question? Is the BIG question different for everybody or is it pretty similar across the board? The BIG question for me is, 'what does it all mean?' or, more broadly, 'what is the meaning of life?' Aren't these questions we all search for answers to or am I just a predictable product of my liberal arts background (as in all WHY and no HOW TO)? Well, is it or isn't it a BIG question?

One thing I have learned through years of over-analyzing everything is that answers to questions are usually simple. Well, the answers I want are usually simple anyway. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like if every time I asked somebody for directions he went into some metaphysical diatribe as to what it meant to be really "HERE" and how it would effect our psychie and the ones of everyone around us for me to go "THERE." It would be exhausting. Sure, I have time for philosophy and discussion, but not when I'm really trying to go there. You know what I mean?

The point is, I looked for simple answers when applying the question, "what is the meaning of life?" to "what it all means?" I first discovered an answer back in my college years thru the writings of Henry Miller. In Sexus, he writes, "There is. You are. I am." Three sentences. Six words, six syllables. And, there you have it. Pretty much done. Who among can deny the IS? Not I. The IS is around us all the time. Is it not? And, your ARE. Are you not? If you are reading this then you are. As for I am, who is to say I am not? Well, I am and I am not. But, if you are reading this, then are you?

Still, that didn't quite do it for me. I thought there had to be more, and at the same time less, to the answer. I started thinking about the answer to the questions in a context of time and space. My first answer seems warm and fuzzy in a very basic, hermetically sealed environment. I mean, yeah sure, "you are," but what if your "you are" or "there is" is eating my fried chicken? That ain't right.

I looked at the world around me and decided the answer had to be simple, yet different than my metaphysical first impression of it. Then I spent a good hour sitting in front of my fish tank watching the goings on and thinking about all things I've seen go down in there before. The answer came to me in a flash, "Where's the food? Am I the food?" That's pretty much it when you boil everything down to the bare bones. Where's the food? Am I the food?

Thankfully, nearly all of us reading this will have never had to experience this basic law firsthand. I mean, how many of us have ever been in jeopardy of being eaten? How many of us have had to hunt and gather? The answer to both those questions I'm sure is not many.... especially not if you're blogging. Still, I think this is the basic law of nature. Thankfully, our species sits atop the food chain and we don't have to worry about really being eaten unless we swim with sharks or hit a ball into the deep rough on a Florida golf course in some re-claimed part of the Everglades. Just what goes through a person's head that first instant when you realize, "I'm the food?" That must be a very basic, primal moment. Cold fear.

Where's the food? Am I the food? That's how it goes in my fish tank everyday. And I have only pacifist species of fish in my tank. The fish swim around looking for bits of whatnot all day. When they find it, they eat it. I'm sure it's pretty much the same in whatever lakes or streams on the other continents these fish come from. Well, the same if you don't count me raining food on them every other day and you take out the whole predator part of the equation. Like I said, my fish are pacifists. Still, any fish in my tank gets hurt or sick, the other fish sense it and that sucker usually doesn't last long. And, I have a crab. His name is 6 and he loves him some carcass. I really do try not to let him eat his dead friends. Am I the food?

Here in the 21st Century US of A, things are a little different. I am beginning to think it should be, "Where's the food? Where's the food?" I found one of millions of answers to that question not so long ago here in my little corner of heaven, Koreatown. I paid a visit to the Jollibee to find out what it's all about. Discovering what is Jollibee turned out to be one of those questions I didn't want to know the answer to.

http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s285/heymccleary/jollibee0001.jpg

Jollibee is a Pacific Rim fast food chain that is knockoff parts KFC, Yoshinoya Beef Bowl, Carl's Jr, WeinerSchnitzel and Hello Kitty. I went in on a sleepy afternoon after exiting the Red Line at Vermont and Beverly. It was slow, so I had some time to survey the menu. My usual policy when experimenting with new and unfamiliar fast food is to go with whatever I think sounds the worst on the menu because it probably isn't. It's probably there because it tested with whatever market research survey group well. This usually means the battered and fried fish burger, but hey, I was raised Catholic so I'm no stranger to a fish stick.

At Jollibee, things were different. I quickly shifted to survival mode when faced with the warm glowing, glowiness of the Bee's heat lamps. Jollibee offers a staggering variety of choices on their menu, most of which sweat under their heat lamps. Many things are garnished with a hot dog. Their signature items are called Crispy Chickenjoy and Juicy Yumburger. For those of you that know me even casually, you know I'm serious about my fried chicken. Normally, that would have been the natural choice, but there was far too much of it under the heat lamps for there to be much joy left in that chicken, so I categorized it as "SUSPECT" in my mind and moved on. Burgers are boring, so then I contemplated the corn starch noodles with pork strips, pork cracklings (wtf is a crackling?) shrimp, garlic and hard boiled egg wedges. I'm not making that up. It's called the Palabok Fiesta. Do they fiesta in Palabok? Where the bleep is Palabok?

Normally, that would have sounded worst and been my natural choice, but something in the upper part of my throat told my mind and mouth to, under NO circumstances, order that. I scanned on and discovered Jolly Spaghetti. I could have it with a piece of Chickenjoy or a hot dog. Yeah, no. Then there's the Burger Steak which is just a 'hamburger' patty garnished in mushroom sauce served next to a pile of white rice. Yum. No. Quickly, I raced back to the Yumburgers and ordered the biggest, badest burger I could find, the Amazing Aloha burger (bacon pineapple) and a side order of some mysterious Palabok soup which appeared to be noodles, chicken, green onions and a wedge of hard boiled egg TO GO and waited. Shoot, I had to try something weird while I was there. Is that saying just walking in the door wasn't weird enough?

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." ~ Hunter S. Thompson

While I waited I scanned the remainder of the menu, particularly the Breakfast Joys and the Super Breakfast Joys… I don't know about you, but to me nothing says JOY like eggs, bacon, sweet pork, a pile of white rice, tomato wedge AND a hot dog. Wow. They should sue Wheaties for the rights to the phrase, "Breakfast of Champions."

Eventually, my food was ready and I snatched it TO GO. The printing on the go-bag informed me that Jollibee has more than 500 locations in the US, Philippines, Hong Kong, Guam, Saipan, Vietnam and Brunei. In Jollibee's defense, the bacon pineapple burger was quite good and so was the Palabok soup, which was a knockoff of pho for you Vietnamese fans out there. While I chewed my food, sitting across from my fish tank, my thoughts drifted back to the meaning of life here in the 21st century. Just what does it all mean? Is the answer really these six words? There is. You are. I am. Or is it these six words? Where's the food? Am I food? Just maybe it's these six words…. Be assertive. When caught. Play dumb.