Terra Zesty Tomato Chips

February, I think we can agree, is kind of a dull month. The College and NFL football seasons are over, March Madness has yet to begin, and the only exciting ”in season” produce item in grocery store seems to be the green cabbage. It’s cold but not snowing, light but not sunshining, and mostly just kind of “ugh” outside.

In an effort to boost my spirits and avoid a steady diet of processed grains and ice cream, I decided some vegetables were in order while at Big Lots a few weeks ago. Terra (aka land, thanks to my intermediate level college spanish education) chips bill themselves as exotic, and their Zesty Tomato flavor seemed to call to me like a Mediterranean cruise, only cheaper and with less chance of suburn. With a FULL SERVING of vegetables in every serving one could do worse nutritionally, while the allure of a seasoning blend of Worchestershire and celery appealed to the aristocratic snacker in me.

When I first bought these I was hoping for something Italian-themed, but the flavor itself is far from it. But that doesn’t mean the seasoning blend is anything short of exceptional. It seems a perfect hybrid of the cloyingly sweet Herr’s  ketchup chip powder and the celery salt and herb spice of a really good, kettle baked “Old Bay” chip that you’ll find at any seafood resteraunt in Annapolis. Likewise, there are strong notes of a sour a fruity tang which really brings out each of the spices, while the Worcestershire and tomato powder add a level of zing and even umami I can appreciate. All in all I’m feeling that the proper balance of salt and sugar has been met, and find myself imagining this to be a great meat rub.

The problem is the chips themselves. The sweet potato chips are almost offputting, with a less than distinct crunch (almost a crumble) that is too earthy to mesh with the tomato. For the most part, the cut of all the different vegetables is too thin to support a really strong crunch, and while a few are crisp, there is too much variability in texture. Some are even annoyingly jagged, and there while others come accross as overfriend and still others as baked. Not the most pleasent chip likable mouthfeel, of course. Above all the seasonings just don’t match the flavors. Each of the chips has a distinct flavor profile, and the almost southern/Chesapeake style seasonings — while a favorite of mine — can’t come through in vegetables that aren’t native to the region of flavor the seasoning is based in. Total fusion fail.

I was lucky enough to pick these up on sale. Call in an out-of-season special if you will, or just dumb luck at Big Lots. Based on the seasoning alone I’d almost be tempted to buy these again if it weren’t for the exotic vegetables, which, contrary to whatever claims Terra may make, probably won’t fool your kid in a blind taste test with actual fried potatoes. Zesty and exotic? Yes and yes, but so is the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, and thankfully that doesn’t come with jagged edges and less-than-crunchy sweet potatoes.

•  Price: $1.50 (Big Lots)
• Ranking: 5/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 25%

A Marathon Story

“Lent is a marathon, not a sprint,” my pastor said during his homily on Sunday, as I strongly resisted the urge to roll my eyes. You’ll excuse me if I nearly gave into this most grievous sign of boredom in the Lord’s House, but as someone who’s worked as a sports writer for the better part of his adult life, I’m more than familiar with the cliché, and I’m not a fan.

Forget that it’s used every time a team demolishes an opponent during week one of the regular season — or whenever a pitcher strikes out the side to begin the game — but the cliché is so tired and worn-out that even a freelance, can’t-get-a-job-in-writing-to-save-my-life journalist like me refuses to employ it.

But here was our priest making the cardinal sin (no pun intended) in dynamic metaphor. No way this homily was going to leave a lasting and life-inspiring message, I thought to myself. Might as well check out what’s going on in the bulletin for this week…

Oh yee of little faith, how you give up so easily.

The message, in case you haven’t been able to extrapolate, is that life, and faith, require a degree of patience that’s almost unfathomable to accept in our twitter-crazed, on-demand world. The growth of an individual’s spiritually through Lent — a period of 40 days of introspective discipline and hopefully sacrifice – is beyond the scope of the first few days, and not something we can easily proclaim won or loss after a week. Father Matt’s message was simple, his metaphor straightforward. Fall off the bandwagon and accidentally eat a steak last Friday? It’s not like you’re going to hell, just try to remember all the harder next week. Already drop a few F-bombs in front of your kids after resolving not to? Take a hint from a former curser and start saying “fudge muffin” from now on, and once more, go play catch with little Tommy and Jane! The point is that getting discouraged and giving up on something as spiritually worthy as trying to take a less of a me attitude and more of an others attitude is not worth it. The great thing about being a Christian is that screwing up does not preclude you from membership in God’s Grace, and it sure doesn’t mean growth and purpose can’t be found.

Like a lot of spiritual aspects, I find this particular dynamic to have merit for those who don’t even consider themselves particularly spiritual or religious. It comes at an especially important time for me and I think for a lot of young people, as the economic struggles of our country have the all too telling ability to deprive us of the one thing we all want, and need. Hope.

I can’t tell you how many job applications I’ve filled out over the past few weeks, but I can tell you exactly how many of the jobs have hired me: zilch. From Sports Information internships to government jobs as a historian (heck, even a gate attendant at a National Park) my list of ”thanks, but no thanks,” runs like a government expense sheet. This was not, to quote the poet T.S. Eliot, the “long looked forward to” of a college degree and several years of journalistic experience. I’ve been getting especially frustrated as of late, for some reason thinking that if I don’t find really solid, career-oriented work within the next few weeks, I’m suddenly destined to become an also-ran in society. The perpetual sinner, the unsaved, redeemable human spark, if you will.

I need not look at this period of my life as a sprint, just as those in my position (and we are many) need not either. It’s a marathon. A long – oftentimes boring, sometimes painful, other times exhilarating – marathon. Just as any period or trial in any individual’s life can be viewed through the lens of a short burst of highs or lows, so I’ve given into thinking that who I am as a person and as a member of society is subject to the past two months. But as Father Matt reminded me with his cliché, that’s far from the case. God, and life, have more in store  for all of us than the first week of our individual “Lents.” Our identity as a believer or a worker or a father isn’t accountable to our short-term success or failure, but rather to our desire, personal accountability, and continued vigilance in our task. As we make our way through Lent or whatever period of our lives we are in, we remember that it’s O.K. to stop and tie our shoes if we need to, and to press on at a slow and steady pace. We may not see the finish line, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Faith, like the young man’s career search, is the perpetual marathon. And as any runner will tell you, those are the kinds of races worth running.

French Toast Crunch: The Review

When I was a freshman in college I had to take a philosophy class called ‘The Classical Mind’. It was horribly boring and was taught by a man who looked like he should be teaching at Harvard circa 1853, but looking back on it now, it was honestly one of the most interesting classes I’ve ever taken in my life. In any case, one of the things Professor Krause (pronounced KrowSE) had us read was Plato’s The Republic. Aside from instilling me with a belief in the virtues of Republicanism over all over forms of government (including democracy), The Republic introduced me to the Theory of Forms. Asserting that material objects we perceive in this world are but incomplete shadows of the complete and untold awesomeness of abstract Substances in a higher realm, the theory comes with the caveat that we can never really know the innate greatness of these Substances.

To the American cereal eater, French Toast Crunch is a lot like the Form of perfect cereal. No longer available on shelves in America, it exists more as a conception of half-recalled memories hinting at an almost metaphysical tasting experience from our youths, an experience which we acknowledge to exist separately in a state above us. That state is Canada, and aside from hosting summer football with 12 guys and three downs, it also hosts my favorite blog reader. Recently, she sent me a box, and like Chewbacca’s life debt to Han Solo, I am forever indebted to her because of her noble actions.

I bring this all up because what you are about to see pushes the bounds of metaphysics, and threatens the very philosophical underpinnings which keep us filling our morning bowls here in the states. And please note: the following photos were not taken in the 1990s. They were not taken in some forest in an unidentified Canadian location. They are in fact fresh and the late February sun, and situated in God’s own US of freaking A. Yes, my fellow American cereal eaters, I bring you the long-awaited review of French Toast Crunch.

Receiving a box of French Toast Crunch from that foreign and exotic land of toothless hockey players and red-coated police people presented an unexpected conundrum. Like beholding a vintage Grand Admiral Thrawn action figure still in the case, I was at first seized by the notion of tearing into my box of French Toast Crunch with all the fury of a sabertooth tiger. But the thought of discovering that the allure of French Toast Crunch — or, to borrow from Plato, the Form of Kids Cereal itself — could never live up to the actual pieces of maple flavored goodness…well, that gave me some pause. Suddenly, I just wanted to sit and admire the cereal, perhaps placing it on my bookcase next to my Utah State Diploma and my autographed Doug Flutie football card. Hey, did you know Doug Flutie’s played in Canada but was born in Marland? Dum dum dum…

I decided against it just admiring my box though. For better or for worse, I needed to know. I, a cereal eater aficionado, needed to know if the cereal we Yanks have always proclaimed to be the best ever is truly the best ever, or if we’ve sold ourselves to the prosaic nostalgia of time, imagining something that either never was, or can never be quite as we think it was. And so, I opened the box.

The initial flavor fails to deliver. The smell is not as intense as I’d expected (granted, I had high expectations), displaying a light, one might guess Grade A Light Amber synthetic quality to it. A faint aroma of glazed corn flour, not dissimilar to corn pops, rises from the mixture, which displays puffed pieces of truly golden toast pieces. It does not resemble the latter evolution of French Toast Crunch in America which I seem to recall.

That version was similar to Cinnamon Toast Crunch in that it was wheat and rice flour based. The Canadian version, or the “true” French Toast Crunch as I’ve been told, is made exclusively of corn derived products. The taste, as well as the glaze, resembles Corn Pops, and likewise, the puffed nature of the cereal allows for a very respectable serving size if you’re going by density. And I always do.

I am scientific and methodical in my initial forays. With no milk in the house and a preference to eat most sugary cereals (including CTC) plain, I alternate between sampling one piece at a time and chucking six or seven into my mouth. The glaze has a slight cinnamon flavor and a pleasant mouthfeel that doesn’t strike me as cheap as corn pops. It’s not as sweet as I imagined, but crunches more than I could have anticipated. There’s a certain “shred your mouth” crunch effect that reverberates in your skull, and I say that in a good way. The edges are sweeter than the interior, and while slight black specs give me pause for the cereal cause, I don’t notice any increased of flavor. The maple is there, but it’s light. Complex to a point, I nevertheless can’t deem it as any more authentic than Waffle Crisp or Eggo.

And that’s when it hits you. The moment when the novelty of that Grand Admiral Thrawn action figure dissipates. The realization that the book series you’ve been reading is about to end in a whimper and not a bang (oh God, please don’t let me experience that in two weeks). The inevitable writing on the wall that while good, the ideal is only the ideal when it is still just that, a freaking, you-can’t-have-me ideal. And when the ball drops, and you’re left with something good and bordering on great but truly not outstanding?

That’s when you realize you’re glad you finally know. Because French Toast Crunch is a good cereal, but so far, at least, it’s not the best cereal I’ve ever had. It’s better than Corn Pops. It’s different, and in some ways, superior to Cinnamon Toast Crunch. But it’s not Waffle Crisp. And hell yes I’ll say it, it’s not even close.

But I’m O.K. with that, and in the interest of full disclosure, I’m reserving final judgement until later this week, when a test in milk will determine if the magical properties of lactose can increase the french toastification of French Toast Crunch. For now though, I’ll be brutally honest with you. This is a very good cereal, but it cannot, as it has done so for some many of us, affix in our collective conscious as sugar-loving Americans the merits of Kids Cereal Form. It cannot be the 11 out of 10 on the scale of 10; the mythical memory of every nine-year old gathered on his or her couch with bowl and spoon and watching One Saturday Morning. That ideal, that platonic Form of which being a kid was about, that still holds over us with a question mark. For the time being I will enjoy the spicy, crunchy flavor of French Toast Crunch, but more importantly, I’ll be stocking up on Waffle Crisp until kingdom come. Because now I know that what I’ve long-held as the absolute pinnacle of cereals — Waffle Crisp — really is the pinnacle of the cereal shadows we see in our wordly cave.

New Turkey Hill Salty Caramel and Breyer’s Blasts

Anyone tried any of these yet? Knowing my current budget and love of salty sweet combos, I’d have to think I’ll be back soon to the store to try the Turkey Hill Salted Caramel. Bout dang time one of the regular ice cream companies took a page from the more haughty, premium price ice cream makers. And while I’ve yet to sample the Birthday Cake Oreos (darn that $3.49 grocery store price tag) I’m a sucker for anything with cake flavor.

Pistachio-Fig Chicken Liver Salad and Waffle Sandwich

I can distinctly remember the first time I had liver. It was Bison liver, and I made a taco out of it after grilling a strip up and sticking it between a tortilla. I was 19, and even though I grilled it to a tough, overdone pulp (not the mention covering it with some gringo-ey Ortega salsa) I instantly loved the grassy-sweet notes and the intense meatiness of the flavor.

Since then I’ve enjoyed liver in many ways, but almost never in the traditional Liver ‘n Onions approach.  As a college student and now as a thrifty postgrad who cooks for himself, I love that liver comes at an affordable price, and admire the challenge of transforming the often passed over organ into something even my close-minded, blow their money on boneless skiness chicken breast eating parents would enjoy.

For the longest time I stuck with red meat liver (mostly beef) but now I almost eat chicken liver exclusively. I find that it almost never costs me over $1.49 per pound, and for the protein and the nutritional profile you really can’t beat it. But mostly, I’m sold on the taste.

Smooth, with an almost creamy interior, it was a new revelation for a longtime “enhanced” chicken breast eater like me, who lived too long with the conception that poultry lacks its own flavor. It definitely doesn’t, and I find the complex savory notes and sweet finish of chicken livers enjoyable on their own, or just eaten with crackers, fresh cracked black pepper, and a little yogurt.

Seriouseats.com features a Cook and Tell segment each week, and by some bizarre coincidence this week’s ingredient of choice is liver. Bizarre because I just so happened to have a 20-ounce tub of Perdue chicken livers sitting in my fridge and approaching the “use by” date. Going to me prefered method of boiling the livers, I tucked most away for snacking but reserved several pieces for my favorite way to utilize any ingredient — in sandwich form. But not just any sandwich form, mind you. Combining just about every play on chicken I could think of, my mind not only led me to conceive a chicken salad sandwich, but a chicken and waffle salad sandwich. And because everything is better with cheese and because I just happen to own a panini maker, it didn’t take long for me to tap into my inner dorm cooking skills and give into the spirit of “why not?” The below is designed for one, but it can easilly be doubled or quadroupled should your entire family jump on board the liver bandwagon. And yes, those are frozen waffles. What can I say? It’s a semi-hommade Chicken Liver Salad and Waffle Sandwich.

Pistachio-Fig Chicken Salad and Waffle Sandwich

Serves 1

2 ounces boiled chicken livers

2 Tablespoons diced cucumber

2 Tablespoons diced red onion

1/4 cup hulled pistachios, chopped

1 dried fig, diced

1/4 cup lowfat yogurt

1 Tablespoon mayonnaise

1 Tablespoon lemon juice

1 teaspoon horseradish mustard

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon fresh cracked black pepper

1/4 teaspoon dried dill weed

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon sugar

flaky sea salt, to taste

2 frozen waffles

1 slice of American cheese

1 hanful of spinach

Step one is pretty simple. Boil the chicken livers. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you need to boil the proverbial “piss” out of them, but you’ll want to bring a pot of water to a boil and then simmer your livers for a good 10 to 15 minutes, or until tender. 

Once cooled, go ahead and chop a modest portion of the livers up and add to a bowl with the next four ingredients.

In a separate bowl, combine the yogurt through garlic powder and mix well with a whisk. Don’t be a sodium-phobe and taste as you go, adding flaky sea salt as you see fit. When it tastes nice and “eat off my shoe” good, go ahead and add the liver mixture to the dressing, mixing just enough that you’ve still got some nice chunks of liver sticking out.

Prepare a panini press, then toast your waffles on it while it’s heating, about 3-4 minutes with the lid down. Following successful defrostization, lay your slice of cheese on one of the waffles (or two), and pile your chicken liver salad mixture on top, leaving enough room on the edges so as to not jettison the mixture out once grilling begins. Flip your other waffle on top of the mixture, close and secure the lid, and wipe the drool on your face for how amazing this is going to taste.

Once your cheese is nice and melty (and if you’re using a slice of Kraft American like me, it won’t take long) and your waffles have a little crust on them, take the sandwich off the press, cut in half, and admire your handiwork.

Then, in the words of the Sandlot’s Hamilton Porter, “stuff it.”

I honestly didn’t know what to expect, but I loved every bite of it. The reinvented mixture of pistachios and figs (subbing for pecans and apples, neither of which I had on hand) gives a wonderful spicey-earthy-sweetness to the mixture, while the lightness of the yogurt and spices cut the heavier notes of the liver. There’s both a cooling effect from the salad and warming effect from the grilled cheese, which oozes a salty flavor into the nooks and crannies of the usually mundane frozen buttermilk waffles. There’s an interesting dichotomy going on here, and it speaks to me as a cook. Thriftiness, no doubt, and a desire to take what’s on hand in the pantry and make it work, but also a converging of culinary traditions and methods. From the play on the soul food concept of chicken and waffles to the concept of grilling the sandwich, it’s as if I’m taking the livers themselves and unbinding them from the stereotypes of traditional Jewish cooking and highlighting their egalitarian utility.

If you’re a creative cook I say fool around with this concept. Have the time and resources to fire up some real-deal waffles? Do it. Have something in your fridgebeyond the scope of a boring slice of processed cheese? My God man, give that thing some love! Insist on deep-frying your livers and applying a dill-pickle potato chip crust? Holy shinazy I should have thought of that! Just have fun with it, and just be open to using one ingredient you may not have otherwise thought of.

Cereal Throwdown: Fiber One 80 Calorie vs. Honey Nut Cheerios

I have a cereal confession to make: I’m a sucker for Fiber One.

Annoying ad guy notwithstanding, I’ve never thought the “healthy” cereals produced by the brand tasted like cardboard. I mean, their bars basically taste like candy, and their cereals beat the sox off most sugary adult cereal you can get. Even the Fiber One Original has a special place in my heart. The bran-ey taste gets such a boost from aspartame that it’s like sucking down the flavor of a Sara Lee Bran Muffins, while the crunchy little twigs make it both an ideal mix in with chocolate chips, as well as a great topper for yogurt.

It’s a double edge sword eating Fiber One, no doubt. While it tastes good going down, my small intestines will often be kicking myself later (literally), so much so that I have to restrain myself from buying both the Original and Honey Clusters varieties. The Original is tough to duplicate, but I’ve earned to get my Honey kick on by replacing the Honey Clusters with good old fashioned Honey Nut Cheerios. Despite a newfound love for Multigrain Peanut Butter Cheerios, the box with the smiling bumble bee remains the most purchased Cheerio variety in my house.

But how does it compare with the newest member of the Fiber One cereal line? Fiber One 80 calorie cereal clearly is targeted to the dieting women crowd (lets not mince words here) but that’s never stopped me from trying out a Fiber One product in the past. Looking to test just how authentic that honey taste is, I put it up against Honey Nut Cheerios in the blog’s first ever Cereal Throwdown.

Appearance and Texture: Honey Nut Cheerios have a classic shape that seems different than every other Honey-O knockoff your local grocery store is producing. The O’s are fairly small with a distinct glaze that renders a smooth mouthfeel. I love snacking on them because the glaze dissolves slowly in your mouth, and you can literally suck on the peices like candy. Fiber One 80 Calorie, meanwhile, comes in two shades. There is also a slight honey glaze, although it doesn’t seem as distinct because of the ridge lines. The peices have a slight puffed nature to them though, and aren’t as liable to spill when you go digging around for them in your grab-n-go pouch while at work (what, eating on the job?). Likewise, they have a bit sturdier of a crunch, which allow you to get more dissolve time in your mouth. Because of these two facts, I give a slight edge to Fiber One 80 Calorie.

Taste: It’s a lot closer than I thought going in. The good news is that if you’re a honey fan both pack a punch. While Honey Nut Chex might just hold the record for most potent honey sweetness, Honey Nut Cheerios and its nine grams of sugar (from honey, sugar, and brown sugar) hit you with a mellow and classic taste that also gets a big boost from an almond flavor on the backend. Once more, you can actually taste the oat base, which isn’t marred by any off chemical or excessive corn flavors. The flavors of corn bran are more apparent in the Fiber One cereal but not as off-putting as the ingredient list might hint, and the honey flavor is all but identical in sweetness to Honey Nut Cheerios. However, each piece lacks the certain depth of flavor that is encased in each Honey Nut Cheerio, and something just doesn’t seem to mesh as well as the tried and true combination of oats + honey + almonds. Honey Nut gets first crack here.

Nutritional Considerations: Per serving, you’re looking at 80 calories (duh) against 110 calories. From a density standpoint you’re going to get more servings at fewer calories per bowl of Fiber One, and while a serving of Honey Nut Cheerios definitely hits the spot, it’s easy to overload. But I like that Honey Nut Cheerios doesn’t kill you with fiber. Too much fiber is gonna straight up make me not want to move, so even though the whole low calorie angle might be the way to go for the desk-ridden crowd, Honey Nut Cheerios supports my lifestyle better. Gotta give the bee the edge here.

Winner: It’s no secret I hold Honey Nut Cheerios to be the gold standard of golden honey deliciousness in boxed, cartoon character form. That being said, the honey taste was very evenly matched by Fiber One 80 Calories, which in a “close my eyes” taste test was tough to call out. But the giveaway — and the element which makes Honey Nut Cheerios so great — is that complex almond taste, which compliments and brings out the flavors of the oats. Truth be told, both of these have become repeat purchases for me, but if you’re going to twist my arm and make me buy one or the other, I’m going with the Bee every time.

Honey Nut Cheerios

• Ranking: 9/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 100%

Fiber One 80 Calorie

• Ranking: 7.5/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 80%

Fat Tuesday Pizza

Food, I have often said, is a vehicle for stories. This is one of those stories. A very long story. A 16.42 mile story, to be specific. So perhaps you should get some popcorn while I start at the beginning.

One of those most difficult aspects of being in a career search is the inexhaustible boredom which comes with waiting. Yes, one can always be filling out applications and casting his/her lot into every open position, but there comes a time when you’ve just got to step back and embrace the virtue of patience while the wheels of HR Departments go to work. I’ve been stuck in one of those cycles for a week now, and given some transportation limitations, have had to come up with creative ways to pass my time. Aside from the usual chores, comic book reading, and graduate school studying I may or may not accomplish in a given day, this often includes kitchen experiments.

Fat Tuesday, or Mardi Gras, would seem like the kind of day to indulge my sense of culinary creativity. Pancakes are pretty easy to make and unemployment definitely supports getting fat. Only problem is that I’m stubborn, and I knew the pancakes I could make in my house would hardly do justice to the kinds of over-the-top gut-busters that the diners a good six miles down the street could make. I haven’t gotten pancakes at the Forest Diner in Ellicott City in years, but the thought of 8-year old me slogging through a stack of thick banana griddle cakes was enough to inspire me to do something potentially pretty stupid this past Tuesday.

Not that it mattered to me as I was hitting mile three or four on my leisurely jog out the door and into town. It’s been awhile since I’ve busted out a 10+ mile run, but I’ve done them before and packed plenty of snacks to keep me going. Besides, I think it’s good to do truly bizarre, seemingly “impossible” things every once in a blue moon. It reminds me that with a little will and some effort, I don’t need to let anything hold me back. Whether it be in applying for a job or asking someone out or eating a bunch of pancakes in between a half-marathon, it’s good to know my mind and body have some fight left in ‘em. Anyways, I figured I’d hit up the pancake house, stuff myself silly, then do some volunteering at the historical society down the street before passing out from a food coma. All the same by me. Ash Wednesday demands fasting, so an extra meal (or two) was in order.

It’s at this point I should mention doing an odd thing during that first half-hour of jogging. Stopping briefly on the side of the road, I spotted a sleeve of Hostess Mini Chocolate Frosted Donuts with two uneaten donuts still inside. Sick, right? I know, but like George Costanza eyeing a half-eaten eclair in the trash, I couldn’t help but stop and actually consider the donuts. No, I didn’t eat them, but I’d remember them in about an hour. More on this later.

Around mile 4.5 I passed a place called Kolache Kreations. I’ve heard about this place for some time and have driven by it for all of forever, but had never gone in. I made a mental note. More on this later.

Eventually I made my way to the Forest Diner. It’s a crummy looking shack, and when I walked in I saw a few old people mulling around and a very limited menu. I checked out their griddle cakes and at $6.99 I thought about it. Then, the old lady at the counter came over and said in a thick, mean-sounding coarse Baltimore accent, “you gonna order anything, HON?!?” If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the word “hun.” Confirming every negative stereotype about Baltimore and Maryland that I have, I quickly left and made for the Double T Diner next door. At least there were a bunch of cars over there.

Having never been to the Double T, I was initially put off by the retro, “New Jersey” diner feel that I had really only ever seen on Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives. A menu offering the cheapest pancake option at six bucks didn’t encourage me (eh, I guess I’m more or a McDonald’s ‘hotcakes’ guy when it comes to paying my own way), and feeling a slightly irrational fulness, I decided to just keep running and see what else I could find.

20 minutes later, nature called, so I made sure to duck into a Dunkin Donuts to use the restroom. After contemplating a donut I decided that wouldn’t be keeping with my Lenten resolution not to blow money of fast food, so I made my way back another two miles or so to Kolache Kreations. I had heard they had a Pulled Pork kolache, and that sounded like it would hit the spot before making my way back the four miles to home. Key word is “thought,” because by the time I got there, they were out, and had only a few stale looking sausage and cheese kolache’s left. All due respect to the Czech’s, but I am not a sausage and cheese kind of guy.

Still feeling oddly not hungry, I continued on my run, thinking I’d just go home. Not 10 minutes later though I started to get hungry. Really hungry. Like runners-high-wearing-off, hit-the-wall hungry. And suddenly, I remembered that donut. Having a hobo moment might not have been such a bad idea, because at that particular moment I was either locked in towards running back home, or attempting a slight detour. In spite of my inner cheapskate I chose the detour, remembering the obscene amount of “5 Dollar Special” signs I had seen near the Italian place in the Waverly Woods plaza. Knowing full well it would be another few miles to get there and then another four or so to get back home, I had clearly lost my mind to the delusion of low blood sugar and a pizza craving.

I ended up at Tattoria Montese, and expecting to be greeted like a marathon runner at the finish line, was instead greeted by a not-so-happy looking Italian lady who impatiently waited for me to order. Noticing that the guido-looking crew was in the habit of reheating the monster, Sbarro-like pizza slices, I asked to get a piece from the previously uncut pie at the end, saying, “I want the freshest you have.” She didn’t take too kindly at that and bit back that “they’re all fresh.”

Clearly, Fat Tuesday is an excuse to lie before Lent begins as well.

So how was the pizza? About what you’d expect from New York Style reheated pizza. It was, I should say, overpriced and comparatively average. The idea that it should cost five bucks with a fountain drink and a few hunks of lettuce (and coming with some rather rude service) won’t make me a repeat customer, while the feeling of running back another 5+ miles to my house with the whole shabang in my gut was among the worst physical experiences I’ve endured since getting my chest hairs ripped apart at the hospital during my junior year of college.

But, for a good five minutes on Fat Tuesday, that pizza tasted like the best damn pizza  I had ever had. Forget that the cheese wasn’t optimally stretchy or that the crust sagged more than Pam Anderson will in a couple of decades, but the greasy, salty taste of mild mozzarella warming run-of-the-mill, generic Italian-herb sauce and chewy pizza dough was subject to that omnipotent “x” factor of taste. It satisfied something desperately primal and, after not having this kind of cheap, mall-type New York Pizza style in years, brought back warm memories of my once loved Mama Illardo’s.

I left altogether satiated, both in mind, and in stomach. And that’s pretty much all anyone can ask after forking over five bucks for lunch, right? It may not have been a traditional Fat Tuesday, but it sure was an adventure, and a nice reminder that you really can do anything you set your mind to.

I’ll just never do that again.

Because I do not hope…

I am taking today off from blogging (and to a certain extent, eating) in observance of Ash Wednesday. The start of Lent, Ash Wednesday marks a time when we Christians look to remind ourselves that we come from ashes and will return to them, remembering that this earth is not our true home. By giving things up and fasting we draw closer to God and our less fortunate brothers and sisters, and build a sense of discipline and mindfulness that often gets lost in the hustle and bustle of the world (especially the online world.)

There is a beautifully calming poem from T.S. Eliot I like to read to myself on days like this, and I think it resonates on a lot of levels. If you’re looking for something to reflect on today, I’ve always found the poem to help me center myself and “ease” into being.

I’ll be back later this week, included a look at what I was chowing down on on Fat Tuesday.

French Toast Crunch Found!

I often wonder how the stuff that gets into Big Lots makes it in there. With a strange assortment of Megablox lego knockoffs and a plethora of European cookies biscuits, my gut feeling is that its part of strange effort by a Dutch mob group to exert its influence over our children, but then again my conspiracy theories have been known to crash and burn.

Case in point, the amount of off-the-wall American treats that line the grocery shelves. From Paula Deen’s peanut line to potato chips from every backwater town in Appalachia, Big Lots doesn’t discriminate when it comes to bringing in, well, stuff.

Stuff makes me curious, especially when it reminds me of other, better stuff that was egregiously taken from store shelves without due process or proper explanation. I am of course speaking of French Toast Crunch. Consistently ranked as one of the top foods we will “never” see again, it was discontinued in the United States in 2006 and remains one of the only reasons I’d ever consider moving to Canada (the other being an attempt at a CFL career, but that’s another story.) I only vaguely recall eating the cereal, but to my knowledge it remains the only real experience I’ve ever had with French Toast anything, unless you count a sunburn I received at the age of 14 while I was napping on one of those boring river cruises through Paris.

I don’t bring all this up to just jog your memory for the sake of depressing our collective national conscience, but rather because I spotted this while in Big Lots:

That’s right. CRUNCHMANIA. Produced by Kelloggs and not General Mills, mind you, each individual, 50-gram pouch cost me a quarter. A self-proclaimed “good source of Calcium” and a whopping 4 (count ‘em, 4) vitamins, it promises Bite Sized French Toast Graham Sticks which are both naturally and artificially flavored. In other words: it’s a cereal disguised as a 230-calorie pack snack.

The taste is exactly how it’s described, and surprisingly reminiscent of what I can remember as French Toast Crunch. A strong graham flavored base mixes with a cinnamon sugar sweetness almost exactly like a Nabisco cinnamon graham cracker, but there’s also a buttery-taste that mixes with a slight maple flavor. I wouldn’t say it’s authentic, but it bridges a line somewhere between Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Waffle Crisp, and reminds me of the faux French Toast taste of my youth. In milk, the story isn’t so positive. Despite their hefty nature the thick, toast-shaped squares dissolve easily, and don’t take on any added flavor. Once more, they don’t leave a sweetly satisfying end-milk, and just come across as altogether “meh.”

Which speaks to the problem of these as cereal. Crunchmania pieces lack the essential lightness of cereal texture, and fail to give off the more aptly described “crisp” that comes with Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  Likewise, their size makes them awkward to eat in the bowl preparation method, and better support snacking from the bag.

French Toast Crunch Found? In flavor, I believe so. But an exact and even breakfast worthy substitute, not so much. While I’ve become addicted to snacking on Crunchmania and would buy them again, something tells me their existence was limited in production, and aren’t readily available.  Still, I’m keeping one pack unopened, and will report back further once a certain box the customs agency may or may not have intercepted reaches my place of residence.

Kelloggs’ Crunchmania

• Price: $.25 (Big Lots)
• Ranking: 7/10
• Chances I’d Buy Again: 60%

20 Cent Sausage Biscuit

Q from the website Brand Eating once defined McDonald’s Sausage Biscuit as “simplicity in itself, it’s a grilled sausage patty in a warm biscuit for $1.”

I don’t eat much fast food as it is and am making a point to give the impulsive buys up, but the novelty of an economics lesson of drive-through marketing hit me while buying milk in the grocery store the other day. Ever the curious cook, I wondered; What if I could make a sausage biscuit for just a fifth of that price, and a fraction of the heavy calorie and fat content?

I see a lot of $10 for $10 adds in our local papers. So I snagged a tube of Pillsbury Simply Buttermilk biscuits and Banquet Turkey Sausages thinking for a cool two bucks thinking I could make a healthier, cheaper alternative to McDonald’s Dollar Menu staple.

To channel Derek Zoolander; “What is this, a Sausage Biscuit for Ants?!?”

Is it the equivalent of eating a homemade, made-from-scatch biscuit with maple flavored pork sausage from your pig named Wilbur that you killed last winter? Good God no, and I hope for the children’s sake you did it with a quick shot to the head. But in all objectivity, it’s a damn good twenty cent biscuit. The Pillsbury Simply Biscuits aren’t flakey or super airy, but rather have a denser crumb that nevertheless is mildly sweet and lemony in flavor. While the Banquet sausage is about the size of a large McNugget, the taste is pretty good. A bit sweet, mostly salty, but generally falling into the “tastes like sausage” camp, the stringy and tightly packed sausage may be dry, but it has a nice black pepper and garlic taste with, I think, hints of fennel seed.

The best part about it all? At 150 calories a pop and more or less coming from my fridge, I’ve devised a reasonable and cheapskate way to get my fast food breakfast fix without having to walk the seven miles to McDonald’s every morning.