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!!!

Pizza and Bengal Cats

 

I’ve been craving Pizza since I got the big news for a while. And not like Dominos or some chain pizza, but legit Dallas Pizza. And since I know someone who likes to HATE on Dallas all the time, I decided that I would introduce him to some of the finer things our wonderful city has to offer (besides me, duh).    So, I got online and Googled “Dallas’ Best Pizza” and decided to go with Guidespot.com’s 3^rd favorite pick, Pizza by Marco. Sad story—I just typed in “Dallas B—“ and it filled in the rest for me. I hate that Google knows I’m slightly overweight and have a fetish for pizza.  Located in the Preston Royal shopping center, this little joint is easy to miss, since it has a tiny sign and is in the corner. I got online and was able to order my pizza there, which is always nice, since most pizza order takers manage to royally F up every order I place. So I ordered us a medium pepperoni  (always gotta get something with pep, it’s a standard) and the Milano Chicken Alfredo Pizza, a light choice that features Alfredo Sauce, Chicken, Mushroom, Fresh Garlic and Parmesan. Hefty, cheesy and LEGIT. Lets be honest—with pizza I am usually full by the second slice, but I managed to wolf down 4 slices before even diving in to my I Heart Yogurt dessert. So, the pizza comes on crispy thin crust, some of it is burned a little and has flour dust on the bottom, which is always good in my book, because then you know it was cooked in a wood oven. The pepperoni was just average, I really like to order pepperoni, mushroom and jalapeño, (yes, that is an enyay) but some idiot is sick of the last two ingredients so I had to just order plain pep. So, we ordered the pizza around 7:30 and picked it up 30 minutes later. I walked in to the restaurant and saw my sick sad future: A girl was eating with what looked like her mother, and was sitting on two chairs. I literally saw my future 2 20 years from now. Me and my mom grabbin a slice on Thursday night while my Dad cat-sits for me. Long story short—Pizza by Marco is the shit, and when I can take a break from shopping online for Bengal Cats I will start making “Best Of” lists for D-town, and P by M will most definitely be on it. 

Pizza By Marco's Website

 

More about Bengal Cats. They are the shit. They look like tigers/cheetahs but only weigh around 25-30 lbs (how much my actual cat weighs). I am considering putting a paypal donation link on this site so that all you wannabe fatties can donate monies so I can buy this $2,000 playmate. When I eventually get dumped b/c I am too open with my fatass-ness, this guy is my next conquest. What a babe. Plus, he has a Bengal.

Chubby Chatter...Chick-Fil-A

      I have successfully landed every slightly overweight, sometimes lonely girl/boy's dream. On June 2, I will be attending a media testing for the Chick-Fil-A Spicy Chicken Sandwhich at the Richards group. 5 days before you Plebians get to try what I can only imagine is like sex on a bun with two pickles, I will be lining up to sample the treat during a work day. The tentative invite says it is from 11-1, so of course my chubbo brain is hoping that they will have some type of Man vs. Food challenge that I can enter and see if I could non-stop eat spicy chicken sandys for two hours. I bet I could average about a sandwhich every 8 mins, which is a total of 15 sandys (6,750 cals, 255 grams of fat). Just your average daily snack binge. Or at least my average calorie/fat intake on a Sunday. Anyways, I'm sure I will only get one, but I will for sure line my pockets/purse/fanny pack with foil to keep any sandwhiches that are left warm til I can share the wealth. Anyways, my Beefy Biography is sure to continue, especially since I will be getting my photo taken with a celeb (the chick-fil-a cow). The official countdown til the public release of the Worlds 2nd Greatest Idea (the first being the TI-83+ calculator that you could use to cheat and play games with in high school), is 19 Days, 10 hrs, 6 minutes. But suck it, average Joes, because I try it in 14.

P.S. Should I buy some Chick-Fil-A gear? I do look good in ball caps... Chick-Fil-A Gear

Pizza Pizza (In a creepy Little Caesar's voice)

BEFORE


Dining in Dallas is an endless adventure. For us twenty-somethings, we wish our pockets were endless too. Unfortunately, they end. A lot SOONER than we expected. Allowance is possibly the greatest invention in the world. Think about it—your parents basically sponsor your eating, drinking and rent throughout college, and all you have to do is stay there and pass classes. (Well, for some, the passing part is difficult, but it wasn’t too bad for me). Then, May hits you, and all of the sudden, once you have a job, the allowance well dries up. On June 1st, I asked my dad for my allowance, and he looked at me like I was an idiot—“What allowance, you work now.” Well, ya, I work, but I also have to pay bills and pay for dry cleaning, and most importantly, EAT. How am I supposed to do that without allowance? There is only so much Ramen I can eat before my face swells up like a balloon. If you want to go out to dinner and have one (6) martinis and a meal, you’re looking at upwards of 50$. That’s 50$x3 nights—plus going out after—and that is one number that isn’t pretty. Well, your money troubles are over, so stop eating peoples leftovers, because at Campania, the BYOB pizza restaurant in West Village (ehh), you can have 2+ bottles of wine, a huge pizza and 3 salads for less than 20$.

After receiving a TXU bill for 800$, I panicked—but panic doesn’t suppress hunger, or the need to go out on a Friday, so I got to thinking…Campania. I’d been there once, but I was with people who thought Rosé wine magnums were an acceptable drink, so I really needed some new company. So, three of us went, and got there around 8:45. The waiter said it would be a 45 minute wait, but he would uncork as many bottles as we had, so we didn’t mind the wait. If you are waiting, I think they don’t charge you a corking fee, but if you are seated, it is a 5 dollar fee. We waited for about 15 minutes and watched a bunch of West Village-ites act like they were eating, and laughed at the 50-something men who were with their 25 year-old fake boobed girlfriends. People watching should be an Olympic sport. (PS—I don’t judge these people who I write about, I guarantee I am far more weird/idiotic than they are) but they are fun to mock nonetheless. Anyway—we only waited for 15 minutes and were seated next to a large group of old grannies who seemed to be on an awkward first quadruple date—they had clearly been drinking before they got picked up, had several cocktails before their wine, and were most likely on their tenth bottle of wine. The uncomfortable gentleman on the end, who happened to be wearing pants that perfectly accented his fupa, and a shirt that clung to his mobs, spilled his water twice—once on the table and once directly on his and his date’s pizza. (Side note: If I were ever on a date where he spilled liquid on my food, I would cry, say horrible things, then get outta there—even if the relationship was serious.) His date didn’t seem at all perturbed, which implies that she was just as drunk as he.

Anyways, we sat down and uncorked a second bottle while looking at the menu which was pointless since we had already piggily discussed what we were getting—small caesar salads and splitting a pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and artichoke hearts. The service wasn’t bad, it was 9:15 by that time, and our salads came quickly. The salad wasn’t impressive, but it didn’t need to be. They definitely abused the use of caesar dressing. The pizza was legit—thin crust and plenty of toppings. Would definitely go there again—basically free food.




AFTER (WHALES)
Me: 4 chins
Shannon: 5 chins (She’s from Graham, not many restaurants there)
Mary Martha: 4 chins