Fry me a River

When it comes to desserts, I am a great believer in two guiding principles:

1) If it can be dunked in chocolate, then dunk it.
2) If it can be deep-fried, then deep-fry it.  

I won't call these laws because they will vary depending on the dessert, the occasion, and a person's prevailing mood. As one must be discerning with an eye open to the prevailing artistic designs inherent within each culinary specimen (recognizing subtle strategic variations in plating arrangements) when formulating a plan for the godbite, so too I would recommend restraint and good judgement be practiced with regard to these two principles.

Disclaimer: blind devotion to one scheme with strident disregard to the great flux of variables will most certainly lead to disaster. 


That said, I don't believe I need to justify these suggestions.  What with the popularity of chocolate fondue and county fairs where they deep-fry just about anything that's edible (and even things that aren't. paula didn't heed my disclaimer. go figure. somehow i think people would eat tires if they were deep-fried), they seem rather obvious.  Nonetheless, these principles serve as the basis for one of my favorite times of the year.

Despite my brothers and I being between the ages of 22 and 19, every year we still ask my parents for Easter baskets.  (i hate to think what'll happen when we're actually supposed to act grown up, but that isn't now, we refuse to let it happen).  If we could, I'm sure we would ask them to hide the baskets around Penn's campus so that we could run around in our PJ's (do people even wear those anymore? it sounds so infantile - not that my description of myself right now is helping to combat that imagery) crazed and frothing at the mouth thinking of the sugar high we'll soon be on that is sure to carry us until midnight (as a conservative estimate).

But what is so exciting is what's in the Easter basket.  Forget the traditional candy, peeps (yuck. i don't want to get started on those. they are so gross), and fake grass.  These have...

...drum roll, please....

You read that label correctly.  And on the right is a chocolate covered Twinkie.

Two all-time favorites made even better.  If you can dunk it in chocolate, then dunk it.

These are SO good.  I look forward to them for so long every year, and they never last long enough. 

See, I always cut the Twinkie in half (most definitely not out of concern for calories. those thingies couldn't be farther from my mind) with the idea that I can make it last longer if I eat half one day and half the other.  Never ends up working out that way.

I usually attack these by biting off the bottom layer of chocolate and eating toward the ends.  That's because the chocolate shell is both thicker at the top (and there are sprinkles up there!!!!) rather than the bottom and there is greater chocolate coverage towards the rear.  Have to make sure that there is still cream in the last bite though.

For the Oreos....bite, chew, suck, let it melt in your mouth.  It's pretty impossible to mess eating them up.

And speaking of Oreos, that brings up principle #2.  Fried Oreos.

This past weekend was Spring Fling at Penn.  An event most significant to me because it means two things.  Free food and fried Oreos.  The Oreos aren't free though. Actually, they pretty much bankrupt your wallet.  It's okay because the stomach is a pretty good at negotiating, and it'll persuade the wallet that it's worth the investment. Bu, as good as they are, this year wasn't about fried Oreos.

Ever since a county fair several years ago when they were selling fried candy bars - only for me to decide not get them on, regret my decision, and return the following year to find out that they weren't being sold anymore - I've have had this great burden on my stomach (err...heart) to eat a fried candy bar (not the most epic of missions, but that's the gritty reality of truth).

This year turned out to be my lucky year.

Once in the proximity of the tent selling fried Oreos, a strange feeling passed over me.  I want a fried candy bar.  Maybe they are selling them this year.  I looked.  And there they were.  Right on the sign, "Fried Candy Bars ---- $5."  The whole thing might've been freaky if I wasn't so happy.

Photo courtesy of Kerry McLaughlin - so that I didn't smear grease & powdered sugar all over the camera.

Let me tell you, they were epic.  Assorted mini candy bars (Twix, MilkyWay, and 3 Musketeers) battered and deep-fried.  Imagine your favorite chocolate chip pancakes and multiply the taste by 10.  These were good.  And lest you ask, no, these aren't for sharing.  You can eat all six of them on your own.  I promise.

The only downside to all of this was that it made me rethink my two guiding principles of dessert - was I somehow not getting the full potential out of my desserts. 

What if --

What if I had a chocolate covered Twinkie or Oreo and deep-fried it?

Get "Real"

So what does the phrase, "get real" actually mean?  I never really completely understood it.  It comes off as a bit condescending and stuff.  Are you calling the guy a fake or something?  I doubt it cause that doesn't seem to be how it's used.  (Kinda like, "dude you're such a fake, you're almost like a mannequin.)  Is it an androgynous version of "man-up"?  Possibly?...but unlikely.  Is it telling a person to quit their daydreaming?  Better not or I'm going to have series issues now because I like to spend my free time daydreaming....about food...j/k...but only kinda j/k...I do daydream, about real things, occasionally.

Or, perhaps it's a simple affirmation of the superiority of real things over fake things.  That makes sense, right?  Like real fruit over wax fruit, real corn over candy corn (did you know candy corn actually has wax in it? No joke. Take a look at what the all-knowing authority has to say about it.), and real dogs over fake dogs.  Unless you're "I can't believe it's not butter," you haven't a shot over the real thing.  <--so dramatic, that commercial.

But anyways, I combined the real and the fake all into one today - I ate candy corn and real corn at the same time. 

Actually, I had what I affectionately know as American-Chinese food (fake Chinese food).  Ya know deep-fried chicken and fried rice with that marvelously sticky-sweet sauce goobed all over it.  The kind of food where it doesn't matter whether you order General Tso's chicken, Sesame chicken, Grandmother's chicken, or just-make-up-any-name chicken because it all pretty much tastes the same.  Oh yeah, I love that stuff to death.

So what about it was real you ask?  Well, I got it form the food truck called the Real Le Ahn, as opposed to the one right next to it named Le Ahn.  Not sure what the story is behind those names but I'm sure it's a good one.

Whenever I see these bags I always think they stole them from Walmart. 

Couldn't wait to open it.  Notice I kept the bag underneath.  It's packed so jam full and there's so much of that heavenly, heart-clogging sauce that some came out of the sides.  BUT, messy is good.  You know a man had a good meal when he's wearing half of it on his face - unless he was on a date because in that case he was probably only on a date for less than half of the meal.

Take a gander at that.

You just go ahead and tell me that isn't one attractive looking serving of sesame chicken and fried rice in a Styrofoam dish!  Forget those decorative garnishes and square plates! *psh*

Personally, however, I believe it's a bit of a waste to have a boat of sauce sitting on one end while the chicken and fried rice at the other are missing out. 

Ev'ry ones invited to the party!

And though the veggies are nice and all, they're not the reason I eat this.

It's all about the fried chicken and fried rice.  You be looking at the godbite right there.

To describe it, I'll use another phrase that I'm not completely sure I get but that I feel is apropos...    

...It was real.