feeding frenzy over
I avoided posting again about more tales of bodily harm and woe when I almost dropped my laptop yesterday in the parking garage. Well, I guess, I did drop it, but managed to catch it by blocking it with my wrist. The sprained one. The pain was exquisite.
But after that it was time to go to Roy's birthday dinner. He turned 20 yesterday (in hexadecimal, that is, 32 in decimal - and he was the one that kept pointing it out) and we went over to Ireland's Four Courts in Courthouse for dinner.
I don't go to 4 Courts much anymore. It gets insanely crowded there and the crowd almost always seems a bit surly to me. It's the only bar in the area that I've had people tried to start fights with me at multiple times - admittedly, once was on St. Patrick's Day, but we ain't making that mistake again.
I debated between two different meals. I've only really had corned beef and cabbage once, and that was over at my neighbor Conroys' last St. Patrick's Day (not long after someone tried to start with me at 4 Courts, natch). So I was looking at that, but I was also intrigued by the "Traditional Irish Bacon" dish. What the hell, I figured, I ordered the latter.
It was actually quite tasty. The "bacon" was thick cuts of dark pork, very rich, but not salty or otherwise "bacony" like you might expect. I'd consider it more like a very rich tenderloin. They'd put a mustard creme sauce on it that was very good, and I tore my way through the mashed potatoes (which there always remind me of instant mashed potatoes, but sometimes, that's what you want) and had some of the mashed carrots and parsnips (I'd never had parsnips before, either). The cabbage that it came with was simply a quarter of a head of steamed cabbage and I avoided it. Not that I don't like cabbage, but honestly...sigh. Put some work into it. I was glad I didn't order the corned beef and cabbage.
All being told, even including a few pieces of fried calamari before-hand, I didn't eat that much. We had a bunch of beers (Smithwicks for me), and under urging by Bobby, did a round of car bombs. After the Estonians managed to cajole us out of half our table (and seriously, you didn't need to send the one attractive woman in a large group of men over to ask for it, and more so, we really didn't need to see her sticking her hand down the back of one of the guys pants - geez, guys, poop comes from there!) we tallied up the bill and headed out.
At that point I realized, hey, I'm plenty buzzed, and you know what, I'm even more tired, so I made my goodbyes to everyone and grabbed a cab for home.
(My brother and his fiancee came home a bit later and reported that Idylwood Grill was "a lot like Vero, but cheaper" which means I may have to check it out sometime soon.)
I woke up today more than a bit hungry. I gnoshed on a Healthy Choice ice cream sandwich, but that was all I'd eaten before I picked up
tmfiii and we went down to Schneider's. While I was there, I grabbed a can of Coke Zero and on the way home we talked about El Pollo Rico - I think that's how you spell it - one of the many Hispanic chicken places around here that evidently kick a lot of ass. I've always loved Crispy & Juicy Chicken myself, but as we talked about the other place, I got hungrier and hungrier.
Dropping off Marshall, I decided to drive down Wilson Boulevard to see if I could find it. No dice. I came back up and as I approached East Falls Church I couldn't stop thinking about the Crispy Juicy chicken place up 29. I called Cathy to see if she wanted any. Nein.
Hmmm. There's something social, to me, about Crispy Juicy chicken - I've never gotten it by myself. I had to stop by Harris Teeter anyways, so I decided to just get some rotissiere (however you spell THAT - for whatever reason, my Google spellchecker will flag misspellings but not tell me how to correct them when writing an LJ post) chicken.
I did my shopping (some of which you'll see a report on in the
scofflaws_den community - and if you haven't joined it, you should, because it'd make me happy), got two chicken leg quarters (I love me the dark meat and SHUT UP), and went home.
All the way home that heavenly aroma pounded at my head. "Be gentle, kind stomach!" I implored. "I need to pee, and I need to call my grandfather, as he is ill and in the hospital."
But my stomach knew no compassion nor mercy. As soon as I got in the door I couldn't help myself but to open up that chicken and utterly devour one of the quarters.
OMG, as the kids would say, was that so damn good. There's something about being really hungry and getting a big, juicy, bad for you, hunk of meat and just gobbling it down. It was nearly orgasmic, and I can say that as someone who hasn't gotten laid in too long.
After doing that I cleaned myself up and came to my senses. (The parallels to self-love might not be worth thinking about. Don't try to imagine a chicken fat bukkake shot of me or anything. It might not be completely inaccurate, but it would be disgusting. I was by myself. That's why I didn't care. And why I'm telling you, I have no damn idea.)
It's even better than dessert. Just hot greasy chicken. Yummy. As a corollary, my grandfather hates chicken. But I called him anyways.
Now I'm satiated and happy. I ate some baked barbecue Lay's with the chicken, had a Coke Zero, and I'm debating making myself a drink. I've got nowhere to be for about four hours and no driving left to do today, nothing else I have to do (though Jason might argue I should finish zoning the map for the video game, I don't know if I can do that right now) and might just sit here with my copy of Smokehouse Ham, Spoon Bread, & Scuppernong Wine: The Folklore and Art of Southern Appalachian Cooking and just relax.
First though I think we need a Runo Knows post and an update to the Scofflaw's Den as to why I - as someone who hasn't liked Pernod a whole lot - had decided to buy a bottle of Lucid at nearly twice the price of Pernod.
But after that it was time to go to Roy's birthday dinner. He turned 20 yesterday (in hexadecimal, that is, 32 in decimal - and he was the one that kept pointing it out) and we went over to Ireland's Four Courts in Courthouse for dinner.
I don't go to 4 Courts much anymore. It gets insanely crowded there and the crowd almost always seems a bit surly to me. It's the only bar in the area that I've had people tried to start fights with me at multiple times - admittedly, once was on St. Patrick's Day, but we ain't making that mistake again.
I debated between two different meals. I've only really had corned beef and cabbage once, and that was over at my neighbor Conroys' last St. Patrick's Day (not long after someone tried to start with me at 4 Courts, natch). So I was looking at that, but I was also intrigued by the "Traditional Irish Bacon" dish. What the hell, I figured, I ordered the latter.
It was actually quite tasty. The "bacon" was thick cuts of dark pork, very rich, but not salty or otherwise "bacony" like you might expect. I'd consider it more like a very rich tenderloin. They'd put a mustard creme sauce on it that was very good, and I tore my way through the mashed potatoes (which there always remind me of instant mashed potatoes, but sometimes, that's what you want) and had some of the mashed carrots and parsnips (I'd never had parsnips before, either). The cabbage that it came with was simply a quarter of a head of steamed cabbage and I avoided it. Not that I don't like cabbage, but honestly...sigh. Put some work into it. I was glad I didn't order the corned beef and cabbage.
All being told, even including a few pieces of fried calamari before-hand, I didn't eat that much. We had a bunch of beers (Smithwicks for me), and under urging by Bobby, did a round of car bombs. After the Estonians managed to cajole us out of half our table (and seriously, you didn't need to send the one attractive woman in a large group of men over to ask for it, and more so, we really didn't need to see her sticking her hand down the back of one of the guys pants - geez, guys, poop comes from there!) we tallied up the bill and headed out.
At that point I realized, hey, I'm plenty buzzed, and you know what, I'm even more tired, so I made my goodbyes to everyone and grabbed a cab for home.
(My brother and his fiancee came home a bit later and reported that Idylwood Grill was "a lot like Vero, but cheaper" which means I may have to check it out sometime soon.)
I woke up today more than a bit hungry. I gnoshed on a Healthy Choice ice cream sandwich, but that was all I'd eaten before I picked up
tmfiii and we went down to Schneider's. While I was there, I grabbed a can of Coke Zero and on the way home we talked about El Pollo Rico - I think that's how you spell it - one of the many Hispanic chicken places around here that evidently kick a lot of ass. I've always loved Crispy & Juicy Chicken myself, but as we talked about the other place, I got hungrier and hungrier.
Dropping off Marshall, I decided to drive down Wilson Boulevard to see if I could find it. No dice. I came back up and as I approached East Falls Church I couldn't stop thinking about the Crispy Juicy chicken place up 29. I called Cathy to see if she wanted any. Nein.
Hmmm. There's something social, to me, about Crispy Juicy chicken - I've never gotten it by myself. I had to stop by Harris Teeter anyways, so I decided to just get some rotissiere (however you spell THAT - for whatever reason, my Google spellchecker will flag misspellings but not tell me how to correct them when writing an LJ post) chicken.
I did my shopping (some of which you'll see a report on in the
scofflaws_den community - and if you haven't joined it, you should, because it'd make me happy), got two chicken leg quarters (I love me the dark meat and SHUT UP), and went home.
All the way home that heavenly aroma pounded at my head. "Be gentle, kind stomach!" I implored. "I need to pee, and I need to call my grandfather, as he is ill and in the hospital."
But my stomach knew no compassion nor mercy. As soon as I got in the door I couldn't help myself but to open up that chicken and utterly devour one of the quarters.
OMG, as the kids would say, was that so damn good. There's something about being really hungry and getting a big, juicy, bad for you, hunk of meat and just gobbling it down. It was nearly orgasmic, and I can say that as someone who hasn't gotten laid in too long.
After doing that I cleaned myself up and came to my senses. (The parallels to self-love might not be worth thinking about. Don't try to imagine a chicken fat bukkake shot of me or anything. It might not be completely inaccurate, but it would be disgusting. I was by myself. That's why I didn't care. And why I'm telling you, I have no damn idea.)
It's even better than dessert. Just hot greasy chicken. Yummy. As a corollary, my grandfather hates chicken. But I called him anyways.
Now I'm satiated and happy. I ate some baked barbecue Lay's with the chicken, had a Coke Zero, and I'm debating making myself a drink. I've got nowhere to be for about four hours and no driving left to do today, nothing else I have to do (though Jason might argue I should finish zoning the map for the video game, I don't know if I can do that right now) and might just sit here with my copy of Smokehouse Ham, Spoon Bread, & Scuppernong Wine: The Folklore and Art of Southern Appalachian Cooking and just relax.
First though I think we need a Runo Knows post and an update to the Scofflaw's Den as to why I - as someone who hasn't liked Pernod a whole lot - had decided to buy a bottle of Lucid at nearly twice the price of Pernod.