Hear The Sizzle, Taste The Flavor
So, I'm back from the Great White North. No I didn't see Bob and Doug Mackenzie, Yes I did pay too much for gas, No I did not meet any cool Moose, Yes I did find myself wondering why we don't own Canada or something...I mean, it's like the U.S., only really really boring. But I kid. I love Canada. I'm the only guy who (still) sings "Oh Canada" in the shower. Usually just before the "Star Spangled Banner" (or "Fame"). I can probably name more Canadian cities than anyone except Shamus.
One thing, while in Toronto I spotted an advertisement for what I thought was a ridiculously named casual dining facility. I'm speaking, of course, of
The Extreme PITA
Now, mind you, I actually like Pitas. Or pitas. But I hardly see the need for them to go "Extreme". I wandered over to this place, by the Eaton Centre (or Center for you Yanks), just to see.
I pressed my nose up against the display glass, but couldn't see much and had to venture inside. The questions roiled through my head.
Are they alternating fistfulls of bean sprouts with crushed glass? Are they slathering turkey with motor oil, holy water, and aquanet and cramming it up my pita? Do they have a peanut-butter and ginger tuna sashimi pita? Would they consider making me a regular pita, say one without monkey feces? Can I get a side-order of burnt fraggles?
Needless to say, the 6-Looney-per-hour counter staff was none too plussed with my questions and haranguing...in fact, I'd go so far as to say they were non-plussed. Which in Canada means frothing at the mouth, about-to-kill-you-with-a-soup-spoon kind of angry.
But then I looked around at the menu. My smile abruptly faded. Why, why...There was nothing at all "Extreme" about these pitas! WTF? Chicken Salad pita? Philly Cheese Steak? Ranchero Chicken?
Lies, lies, lies. Extreme my ass. I've seen more extreme food at the local SuperFoodTrough. This was all shouted (mumbled) as I stumbled past the half-day bankers, nursing mothers (should've been my first clue), and lanky University students.
Thankfully I found a deli that indulged in any extreme sandwich you could concoct, as long is it was based (or basted) in Boar's Head cold cuts. My salami, roast beef and head cheese with chipotle mayo on pumpernickel was freakin' EXTREME I tells ya.
So how about we keep all these "Extreme" crap where it belongs - firmly entrenched with the 11 year-olds who ride their bikes off ridiculous jumps, only to watch said bike disintegrate into pieces before falling to earth with all the grace of a hammered cosmonaut riding the last vestiges of Sputnik into New Mexico.
And please, if you go to Extreme Pita, ask them for a side of botulinum, you know, for dippin'.
'k
One thing, while in Toronto I spotted an advertisement for what I thought was a ridiculously named casual dining facility. I'm speaking, of course, of
The Extreme PITA
Now, mind you, I actually like Pitas. Or pitas. But I hardly see the need for them to go "Extreme". I wandered over to this place, by the Eaton Centre (or Center for you Yanks), just to see.
I pressed my nose up against the display glass, but couldn't see much and had to venture inside. The questions roiled through my head.
Are they alternating fistfulls of bean sprouts with crushed glass? Are they slathering turkey with motor oil, holy water, and aquanet and cramming it up my pita? Do they have a peanut-butter and ginger tuna sashimi pita? Would they consider making me a regular pita, say one without monkey feces? Can I get a side-order of burnt fraggles?
Needless to say, the 6-Looney-per-hour counter staff was none too plussed with my questions and haranguing...in fact, I'd go so far as to say they were non-plussed. Which in Canada means frothing at the mouth, about-to-kill-you-with-a-soup-spoon kind of angry.
But then I looked around at the menu. My smile abruptly faded. Why, why...There was nothing at all "Extreme" about these pitas! WTF? Chicken Salad pita? Philly Cheese Steak? Ranchero Chicken?
Lies, lies, lies. Extreme my ass. I've seen more extreme food at the local SuperFoodTrough. This was all shouted (mumbled) as I stumbled past the half-day bankers, nursing mothers (should've been my first clue), and lanky University students.
Thankfully I found a deli that indulged in any extreme sandwich you could concoct, as long is it was based (or basted) in Boar's Head cold cuts. My salami, roast beef and head cheese with chipotle mayo on pumpernickel was freakin' EXTREME I tells ya.
So how about we keep all these "Extreme" crap where it belongs - firmly entrenched with the 11 year-olds who ride their bikes off ridiculous jumps, only to watch said bike disintegrate into pieces before falling to earth with all the grace of a hammered cosmonaut riding the last vestiges of Sputnik into New Mexico.
And please, if you go to Extreme Pita, ask them for a side of botulinum, you know, for dippin'.
'k
posted by StrangerDanger at 6:45 PM
2 Comments:
clik, i think i love you.
PITA... isn't that "pain in the... " oh, wait, you mean the bread.
thank you for those delightful combination suggestions, I won't have to worry about dinner tonight now... peanut butter is the grossest thing I have ever seen, and if I am washing one of the kid's dishses and the slimy wet peanut butter gets on my hands I just about want to die.
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