Sfuzzi kind of Sucks

 Dad and Mar being NERDS

 I got over to my dad’s house last night and suggested several restaurants. I suggested Sfuzzi, the newly re-opened Italian restaurant on McKinney, and he proceeded to try and pronounce it for the entirety of the car ride to no avail. Once we got there, we had them seat us inside because it was hot as balls outside. Mistake #1. If you walk in to Sfuzzi and they start to lead you to a really cute table tucked away to the right, stop. Turn around. And quickly leave the restaurant. The 5 of us sat down and immediately started sweating. Now sweating during meals is completely normal for my family, but usually after several rounds of meat dishes and 6 loaves of bread. But the sweating started as soon as we hit the benches. Turns out, we were sitting directly behind the pizza oven. Woof. So we ordered wine, martinis and calamari and waited a while for it to come out. I guess they ran out of wine glasses or were just trying to be “trendy” but the wine came out in a double shot glass. Nothing makes cheap wine taste better besides imagining it as a shot? Mistake #2.
 
Actually, that would be mistake #3, mistake #2 would be the fact that our waitress was wearing hot pink faux ray bans inside on top of her head—as  if walking towards the pizza oven required some type of protective eye wear. The calamari was okay—we ate the whole thing because it really isn’t in our nature to leave any remnants of fried food—I know, I know, there are starving children in Africa, but they probably wouldn’t like calamari, so we finished it out of goodwill.

                 

Then we ordered, and that’s when the waitress lost a few more points. (Mistake #4) Ya, we get it, when we order an extra large pepperoni pizza, a veal chop with pasta, chicken parmesan with spaghetti, a caeser salad, fettuccini alfredo and a sausage pizza we seem large, but stop judging us bitch, cause we would also like a side order of double fried French fries and some more bread. Also, we are running low on olive oil, so spruce that up too.

                Then she laughed. BIG MISTAKE. Don’t laugh at our family, it is almost guaranteed that we will either make you incredibly uncomfortable or try to eat you. Both are a possibility, both have happened.

                So we sat in our booth baking for about 15-20 minutes when they started bringing out the smorgasbord. The pizza was giant, and smells delicious and overall everything looked great. So I dug in to my caeser salad and was not impressed. I am a firm believer that Caeser dressing shouldn’t be super creamy, especially if its homemade, and this one definitely didn’t seem homemade. The fettuccine alfredo with peas and vegetables was just with peas, and a little too thick for me. Also, I was sitting across from my sister who would take a bite and let the sauce get stuck on her mouth like a glob of mayo, so we know that it repulsed me. My other sisters chicken parmesan was okay, but I prefer the Lean Cuisine version—and it’s about 12$ cheaper. The star of the show was the ‘za, it was delicious and the perfect amount of crust/grease/cheese. You could even pull the layers apart and eat a thing layer of pizza and then a thin layer of bread and since I heart carbs, this was perfect. The sausage pizza sucked and tasted like an onion farm mated with old sausage. Just bad. My dad’s veal was awesome and it came with a huge arugula and parmesan salad. By the time we got up a few nasties were sweating so bad that we had to run out of the restaurant as to avoid embarrassment. Ya, as if we could avoid embarrassment after ordering 50 entrees and cleaning the plates.

Mistake #5 (and in my dad’s case, a fatal one) was the fact that they forgot our French fries. Only a true Fatty McButterpants would mention this after gnawing the last bits of veal directly off the bone (I guess I am my father’s daughter). The sad part was, the tone of voice that he used when mentioning it to our waitress was forgiving—like he really was “too full” to eat one more bite, but the small tear (or sweat) drop proved that he was disappointed with the no-show of our double fried French fries.  

One last note—Mistake #6: being directly situated next to the dooshiest bar in uptown, Renfields Corner. 





Legit Veal Chop
Sucky Chicken Parm

CFA Spicy Chicken Sandwhich Should Be It's Own Food Group.

I spent all day yesterday getting mentally prepared. At one point (after I had opened a bottle of wine by myself) I found myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror psyching myself out. On previous posts I had thought I’d hit a low point, but 2 glasses deep in cabernet, standing alone in my bathroom contemplating a speech TAKES THE CAKE. So I decided to pick out my outfit for what will probably be the most important day of my life (Screw babies and marriage—I get to go to a special presentation for a sandwich.) I decided to go with leopard print, so that the cows would immediately think of me as their animal friend and offer me free hugs/food. I got both. Double Score.

Cows Love Their Own...

So, at about 10:55 this morning, Lauren and I got on Central and bee-lined it for The Richards Group. We arrived and much to our surprise, the joint had VALET PARKING. We were greeted by that magical Chick-Fil-A cow and a greeter inside and ushered up to the 11th floor. Stepping out of the elevator, Lauren and I looked like fat fourth graders that had gotten off on the wrong floor. Pretty much everyone there was an adult, give or take 5 people. We checked in under “Dining in Dallas Blog” and took what can only be described as the most unfortunate looking photo in the world. The cow grabbed us and they managed to snap a photo of what appears to be a fat black woman and her 7 year old kid. Woof. Anyways, we were given “Media Pass” nametags and went on our way to get our Lemonade. Best lemonade in the world (besides Eatzi’s pomegranate lemonade). We were told to mingle until the presenters were ready to give their speech, so we did and took dorky photos like we were Asians at the capitol.

The presentation lasted about 10 minutes and then we were able to TAKE THE FIRST BITE. In unison. So imagine a bunch of middle-aged, salivating patrons, elbows up to the tables, diving in to the spicy abyss that was the sandwich. Silence. Then the murmurs grew, and all Lauren and I could contribute was creepy eye contact with each other as we ravaged the sandwiches.

The best fast food spicy chicken sandwich that I had ever tasted before this was Wendy’s. We all know it’s legit, and awesome w/ their bbq sauce. Well, F off Wendy’s, there’s a new Sandwich in town, and it kicks ass. The Chick-fil-a sandwich has the spicy sauce on the outside of the chicken, then is fried, so there is no mess, and no sauce needed. And I am a saucer. Even the plain sandy requires some Polynesian sauce, but this one needs nothing. Except maybe another patty (oink). It’s spicy enough to make you need a drink and they were there to offer refills on lemonade and tea. Overall, probably one of my fattest Field Trips ever, but completely worth it. I might be on the news since I looked up at one point and there was a WFAA news camera in my face as I was shoving the creation in…Please don’t judge, you wouldn’t have stopped eating this thing even if Beyonce walked in the room.

The next step for chick-fil-a will be to make this sandwich translate across the board, because I would not mind diving in to some spicy chicken fingers on a lazy Saturday.

They gave us chips instead of fries--only downside.

The best decision I have made this year was to write this fatass blog. Hopefully it will bring more invites, free stuff and a movie deal (because everyone wants to sit in a theater and watch some random eat for 2 hours). If everything goes my way, in 5 years I will be hosting my own TV show that will be a mix between DDD, Wipeout, and Man v. Food.

The invitation

This poor cow got hot and had to sit down on the bench outside...I feel ya buddy. BEEN THERE

my fellow taster/little sister

THANK YOU JOANNA!!!