S&D Oyster House

                If you’ve never been to S&D oyster house in Dallas, you are either anorexic or an idiot. Also, I hate you. If someone wants to go to S&D's I get as excited as I still get about Chuck-E-Cheese and/or Dave and Busters--they all make me pee a little from sheer excitement. S&D’s has been in Dallas for forever, and will stay there forever, un-franchised, unless some White Trash Houstonian decides to steal, and unsuccessfully run another Dallas restaurant. If you don’t recall, Houston tried to take Mi Cocina and failed MISERABLY (because Houston is miserable).

Delish Hush Puppies

                There’s nothing healthy on the menu, and it’s the type of place that is perfect whether you feel fine or are hungover. This place is basically Forrest Gump’s heaven, and even though the waiters are all middle-aged to ancient, I still want to jump each one of them when they set my food down on the table. When you get there, order whatever you want to drink (preferably a Schooner or a diet coke) and ask for crushed ice. Anyways, they have a huge basket of saltine crackers and three day old, iced down butter waiting for you, which seems gross, but it’s the only place besides a country club swimming pool where putting an entire pat of butter on one cracker is acceptable. Order the shrimp dip, you won’t regret it. I know I talk mad shit about fatasses who eat sour cream and mayo, so this dip goes against all of my basic human rights principles—it is a fat cow’s dream, and you can’t even taste the mayo. It is like cream cheese and picante with shrimp in it. Wow, that actually sounds disgusting, but try it, you’ll like it. (That’s what she said)  inappropriate.

  Skrimp Dip

                Then comes the odd part. Every time I go to S&D’s, I try to order the same thing, and every time I try, I get shot down, and shit gets awkward. I always ask for the kids cheeseburger w/ crispy French fries and they turn me down. One dumbass even asked me if I was under 12. I looked at her with violent eyes, made eye contact with her, then my chest, and looked up. No idiot, but I want the kids. Anyways, the kids cheeseburger and the normal one are the exact same size but I like ordering kids, I feel like my pants get looser when I order anything off the kids menu. 

"Kids" Cheeseburger w/ Crispy Fries--apparently I looked hungry (fat) and he thought I'd want more...

Whoever I’m with (sadly usually my dad), this time, Matt, usually gets the Shrimp Loaf, which is basically a fried shrimp sandwich with tartar sauce. Delish. All in all, S&D’s rules and is basically tied with CPK forbeing the best restaurant in the WORLD. 

Shrimp Loaf (shrimp po boy)

 Side note: Does anyone want to go to Dave & Busters? You still need an escort over 25 if you have a group of 4 or more...They have legit curly fries.

Rice Pudding and Spit Up

“There was also a meal that involved rice pudding, 5 lbs of meat and spitting up at the table. That will come shortly.”

I guess I blacked out when I wrote that, because I totally forgot to write about the most memorable eating experience in Paris.

When we first got to the restaurant, Chez L'ami Jean, we all were a little sketched out. They sat 5 of us at a table that was meant for 4 anorectics, and then handed us sticky binders written only in French, that I guess were the menus. Well, since fromage, champagne, and baguette are the only words in my French vocabulary, I got flustered. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of dining with me, let me explain a little something to you: I get menu anxiety, and I get it bad. If a menu has more than 2 pages, chances are I cry a little bit when I get up to go to the restroom. Basically, it’s all the symptoms of your average panic attack, but completely obese and unjustified. So, imagine me with the equivalent of the Cheesecake Factory’s menu, but not a single English word. I started to sweat, which made me nervous, which made my sister Mary anxious, which then cause Lauren to get worried. What the F were we going to eat? As I began contemplating culinary suicide in this small French bistro, a gentleman who looked like Massimo (Alex Karev) from The Wedding Planner, came to our rescue. He began reading the menu in French and then translated everything into English. I became lost in his translation, and as I was contemplating taking him as my lover, I heard him say something along the lines of “4 kilograms of rare prime rib/rib eye/something steak.” I would pay five million dollars to have a picture of us five fatties staring back at him in amazement. Fat moment number 1. This man was now not only my lover, but also my sisters and mothers as well. Is that awkward? Anyways, so my four chunky comrades ordered that, and I decided to be slim and trim and order the pork chop with mashed potatoes. Mom ordered chicken liver pate, and they brought it to my place setting instead of hers. The only way to ruin a baguette: top it with raw chicken parts…VOMIT. Anyways, Mary and Lauren got calamari, which sounded like a solid choice. Wrong-O, turns out, their version of calamari looks like influenza on a plate.

On to the main part: the meat. For you guys who are metric-system challenged, 4 kilograms of meat is about 8.8 POUNDS of pure steak. They brought out a shallow cauldron of meat and veggies, and I watched four ladies turn in to sumo-wrestlers at a buffet.

It. Was. Awesome.

My pork chop was good, but it took all of about 5 minutes for me to give in to the feeding frenzy. It’s not so much that it was delicious, it was, but the fact that 5 pretty well mannered women (girls) went to town on 10 lbs of meat that night. Fat moment number 2.

Sadly, the meal did not end there. We were all almost unconscious, and then our waiter forced us to get dessert. (By forced us, I mean he said, would you like dessert, and none of us said no). So, this restaurant was known for their rice pudding, and since I’m not a huge fan of rice or pudding, this sounded like a definite miss. Rice pudding just sounds like something that Fat Bastard would have really enjoyed. So, when they brought out a giant bowl of creamy chunky pudding, I was not interested. So I grabbed a pistachio macaroon and sat on my fat ass while I watched the werewolves devour the pudding. When they went on and on and on about how good it was, I felt left out, so I gave it a whirl. Turns out, rice pudding is delicious. You top it with crunchies and brown sugar and you might just have the official snack of the Overweight Olympics. Fat moment number 3. DELICIOUS. So, while we were still eating I said something funny, most likely about food or macaroons, and made my mom laugh. I should probably tell y’all that my mom has sort of a problem when it comes to eating/choking/functioning during meals. Most of the time we just let her choke because we are used to it and she can handle it. Well, this time she laughed and choked all while taking a sip of wine, and then spit up the wine at the table. My sisters, well, one sister, freaked out and punched me at the table for not getting up to help mom (it’s okay, Mar, I know it was just roid-rage from all the steak), and it hurt. The meal was basically over at that point, and we paid, took pictures of mom’s mis-hap, and rolled ourselves into a cab.

Just a little red wine in her rice puddin bowl...

I might pee I'm so happy

I was posting about a decent time at Primos when I heard the magical sounds that I haven't heard in 8 months...the ICE CREAM MAN SONG. Its almost as good of a sound as hearing City Highs "What Would You Do" (if your son was at home, crying all alone on the bedroom floor cause he's hungry...) on your way to work, which is exactly what happened to me this morning. Anyways, there is literally NOTHING going on at work so I ran outside and flagged the jolly tejano down so that I could enjoy a nice popsicle. I studied the board trying to decide if I should go for the zany screwball, or the more original Bomb Pop. I decided on the bomb pop, but once I saw that they had Cry Baby Sour Bomb Pop with a gumball tip, I was in heaven.


So, I paid the man 2 dollars (I could have bought an entire box of these at Fiesta for a dollar), and skipped back inside. Well, I thought I was going to be able to hide the fact that I left the office to visit the ICM (Ice cream man), but I locked myself out and had to ring the doorbell. Fat moment. But anyways, here I sit, eating my Bomb Pop, with a red mouth, and a sticky keyboard. Good thing my sister isn't here, I get to trade my popsicle-soaked keyboard with hers. Legit

Primos Tex-Mex

Primos isn't great but it also doesn't suck. I don't have much to say, but any place that combines good margs and good.

Shit, I totally was going to blog more about Primos, but its not as interesting as what I can hear outside of my office. THE ICE CREAM MAN IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

New Website

Go to www.dine-o-bite.com

My Perfect Threesome

If bread were a boy and cheese a girl I would be extremely sexually confused. Fortunately for me, the two met in perfect harmony in Paris last week. Parisian women are always praised for not being fat, and the only reason they aren’t WHALES is because they smoke 5,000 cigarettes a day and pretend they aren’t hungry. Basically, French women are bitches. I, on the other hand, am not a bitch. In fact, I’m probably the nicest, prettiest, skinniest, and funniest person you know, and if you don’t agree, then YOU are the bitch. Anyways, I went to Paris with my mom (a cougar), and my three sisters (all equally enticed by gourmet food as me, just lacking the compositional skills that I possess). We (or most of us) had three goals: eating, drinking, and shopping. Side note—shopping after 2 baguettes and 2 bottles of wine either makes you spend more or cry more because nothing fits. Anyways, on to the food.

The best thing about French food is that they expect you to order a starter, an entrée and a dessert. They also think it is weird to not have champagne as soon as you sit down. I have found my perfect world.

Z Kitchen Gallery: This place was supposed to be “French-Asian” Cuisine. Well, I left hungry and my little sisters noodles tasted like soap. I can’t remember what I got, but I remember several baguettes. Long story short, keep the Asian in Asia, and focus on breads, cheeses and meats.

Les Violon d’Ingres: BY FAR THE GREATEST PLACE IN PARIS. You walk in and your table setting is set up so that you can drink red wine, white wine, champagne and water without being judged. Sheer perfection. They also greet you with a giant bread basket that included hot baguettes, cheese puffs-think donut holes but savory with melted cheese. Literally almost took my clothes off at the table (but I was wearing spanks, and that would not be pretty…). Adriane and I started off with a light dish of 2 soft boiled eggs served with truffled toast, lardons (thick cut bacon that puts American bacon to shame), and mixed greens. I honestly ate more as a starter at every meal than the average breakfast. Chunky.
Anyways, I could have gotten the sea bass, but get real; there was a rack of lamb served with thinly cut potatoes right below the fish. I know, I know, I’m so dainty, you’d never expect me to get MEAT, but I splurged… By dessert I think I’d had enough champagne that I’d have eaten a worm, but I got crème brulee because I am a child and like the hard shell—it reminds me of that hardening chocolate sauce that makes a shell on your ice cream. Besides that, crème brulee is weird and tastes like pudding gone wrong. After our 3 (or 4th?) bottle of Tattinger, we decided we needed to leave. Sadly, the only pictures I have from this meal are ones of empty plates…

Frenchie: The Asian and the Frenchman sitting next to us put their menu up as a partition so that they could whisper about us. You know how I feel about the mixing of those two cultures; see the tidbit about Z Kitchen Gallery. This place was okay, really more cute than good. It was a set menu, and you either ordered an antipasto salad or pea soup, then chicken or gnocchi, then cheese or a pastry. The entire menu was in French, and I whiffed—I ordered the gnocchi thinking it’d be like a meat sauce, but there were little chunks of unidentified white fish in there, just floatin around with the bones still in them. The cheese was delicious, but it smelled really weird. My stomach hurt after I ate it.

Les Coquettes: Les Coquettes basically means little cast iron pots, so everything is served in one. I had a salad with bacon and eggs (seeing a pattern here), and then some vegetable coquette. I was imagining a veggie pot-pie, and there was no bread. No bread + My Meal = Unhappy me. Fortunately, there were baguettes on the table and my jeans were already too tight, so I really didn’t need a thing.

Le Reminent: We went here the last night, and I didn’t really get to eat since I got stomach flu while we were there. I ordered the steak and couldn’t eat it because I was sick—we skipped dessert so that I could go home and die. I also just realized that the table of people behind us were from Jersey and kept talking to us all throughout dinner. I bet they gave me the stomach flu. I wonder if they know Snooki?

Rech: Long story short, seafood bar. I watched my little sister eat 36 crabs and we had a 4 hour lunch. My sea bass sucked and tasted like a foot. Was jealous of everyone else’s meal. Hate when that happens. I felt like an outcast and wanted to leave, secretly cried in the bathroom (though I think that had more to do with my emotional morning of watching Coach Carter and Remember the Titans). They didn’t have Coca Cola light. The menu was only in French. The Frenchmen next to us spent their entire meal watching Mary try to shell her crab and making fun of how tacky we were. Good bread though.

Restaurant who's name I can't remember but had good bread: Appetizer I ordered mozzerella. There was a flower in my salad. I wanted to eat it. Main course I ordered the Merlin. I’m pretty sure they meant Marlin, but I thought it would be cool to try since Merlin is a powerful wizard and by eating Merlin, I would get magical powers. The only magical power I got was the ability to eat more bread. F.

There was also a meal that involved rice pudding, 5 lbs of meat and spitting up at the table. That will come shortly


Summary of my trip

1) Baguettes rule, all other bread can suck it.
2) African American sports movies are so relatable to my life.
3) Ashanti is annoying.
4) Paris rocks, I love cheese.
5) I wonder if Gary Bertier and Julius Campbell are friends in real life?