I said, “No, why?”

“He needs to have a word with you.”

“About what?”

“I can’t say anymore.”

Oh, shit. This isn’t going to be good. I’m racking my brain trying to think where I screwed up, and Michael walks in to my office:

“Matt, I know you’ve been under some pressure getting these reports out lately, but I found something that I think we need to talk about.”

Shit, shit, shit. What did I screw up?

“I found some things in your desk and we might need to set up a Betty Ford thing.”

Then he opens my desk drawer and retrieves the bottles vodka, rum and a champagne he had stashed there to mess with me.

Heh.

We’re expanding our office into the vacant suite next door. Apparently, Michael was in there this morning trying to figure out the layout of the new offices, and just found all this booze under the kitchen sink in there. I think it’s a good omen.

“Open alcoholic beverage container” shall not mean any bottle, can, or other receptacle that contains any amount of frozen alcoholic beverage unless the lid is removed or a straw protrudes through the lid.

That’s right: daiquiris are effectively exempt from the open-container law. Excellent. So, on the way to Paducah, I stopped off at my favorite daiquiri joint in the whole wide world: The Geaux Cup.

Hell yeah.
The Geaux Cup is a little A-frame building just off Interstate 10 in Crowley, La. In addition to being the seat of Acadia Parish, Crowley is also the Rice Capital of America and the home of my good buddy Mary (aka Clotille). The Cup is renowned for the breadth of its menu, which features literally scores of frozen beverages, including — I am not making this up — the “Jet Fuel” and the “Fuck-Up.”

Wow.

I went with a Lime Kamakazi in a big ol’ Styrofoam up. Then I hit the road:

I love Louisiana.

Fast-forward a few hundred miles, and I came across this sign, pointing me to Cooter, Mo.:

Holland is nice, but…

Then I went to Graceland:

I have done it all.

Graceland was closed, probably because I got there at about midnight on a Thursday. Oh well.

Chris and Sean rock out to Peter Frampton at the post-rehearsal-dinner party.

One of several shots at the party.

The happy couple, riding the trolley to the reception.

Chris and me, in the Joe Hettler pose.

Chris, Mary and me. We are still sober at this point.

Drinking ensues.

Another one.

Mary likes the whiskey.

Shamil, Mary and me. We are quite drunk at this point.

Good times.

I’m not sure on the cooking time. I’ve seen figures anywhere from 4 to 13 minutes. I guess just take it out when it’s done.

Voila!

Breakfasts will be served from 7:30–8:30 a.m., and lunches will be served from 10:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Adults may also participate in the program by purchasing breakfast for $1.60 and lunch for $2.85.

HISD meals are nutritionally analyzed to ensure that children receive the vitamins, minerals, and calories required to maintain a balanced diet.

All that for under three bucks? How could I resist? So I skipped on down to the nearest government indoctrination center, which happens to be Sinclair Elementary School, less than two miles from MattCo.

After making my way past a mean-looking secretary and a bunch of kids who spoke less English than my pet fish does, I found the nearly empty cafeteria, and went through the serving line. The entire waitstaff consisted of one friendly woman in disposable plastic gloves. Here’s what she dished up:

It’s a six-compartment polystyrene tray, loaded with everything a growing boy needs. Today’s main course was breaded chicken strips, accompanied by broccoli cuts, a white roll and mashed potatoes. Accessories included a spork, an absurdly thin paper napkin, and a thin straw. I’ll address each compartment in turn, beginning with the chicken strips and going clockwise.

The chicken strips were thickly breaded, with only a slightly greasy feel. The breading, liberally spiked with black pepper, surrounded a rubbery bit of engineered chicken material. Not bad, as far as chicken strips go. Cream gravy would have been a nice addition, but it was nowhere to be found. The portion was pretty big — five strips! — but I attribute that to the server’s appreciation of my rugged good looks. Sources tell me that the standard portion is three strips.

The broccoli cuts were incredibly hot and somewhat overdone. Despite the overcooking, however, the vegetable’s flavor was unharmed. No seasoning was evident.

The tennis-ball sized dollop of mashed potatoes appeared to have been prepared from dehydrated potato flakes. The texture was perfectly uniform throughout: no bits of skin, no bacon bits, no cheese, nada. Similarly consistent was the utter lack of flavor.

The roll was tasty and dense, but for some inexplicable reason it was sliced latitudinally like a hamburger bun. I suppose the slice could have been an HISD hint, telling me where to apply butter, but none was provided. Pity. The roll was fine by itself, but a little butter or jelly would have gone a long way.As I was going through the serving line, I wondered what the fifth compartment would hold. Dessert, perhaps? Cherry cobbler with little crumbles on top would have been nice. Alas, the server completed her duties without putting anything in the fifth compartment. Was it a metaphor for the emptiness of an overreliance on government assistance, or just some sneaky bastard hoarding all the cobbler?

The sixth compartment was intended to hold utensils. As you can see, it’s designed so that the utensils face up when the compartment is oriented to the right. When you turn it around, the utensils are upside-down and the entree is far away. I’m deeply offended by this not-so-subtle slap at left-handed people, and I hope the superintendent takes measures to rectify HISD’s de facto policy of right supremacy.

No beverage was provided. I thought for sure I’d get a shot of 2% milk, but no dice. I guess calcium is exempt from HISD’s nutritional scrutiny. Instead, I hit the water fountain on the way out.

Anyway, back to lunch. The decor was pretty boring and institutional. The room was large, with round laminate tables, high ceilings, and way too much linoleum, glazed brick and harsh fluorescent lighting.

While I was enjoying my meal, I was approached by a gentleman who asked what I was doing. Apparently, school administrators don’t get a lot of food reviewers, because at first he seemed unconvinced by my explanation. He told me I should have gotten a visitor badge when I came into the school. Okay, no problem. I checked into the office on the way out, and they scanned my driver’s license into some massive HISD database. Pretty intrusive for some chicken fingers, if you ask me.

All in all, it was a pretty good meal, as long as you don’t stop to consider the fact that its mere existence encourages irresponsible parenting and complete, pet-like reliance on government.

Pros: Extra chicken; low price; convenient location; opportunity to mess with befuddled school administrator.

Cons: No drink; getting hassled by The Man; failing our children with a massive educational bureaucracy and welfare state; no gravy.

Decor: (out of four)

Food Appearance:

Taste:

Nutritional Value:

Bang for the Buck:

Overall:

A few days ago, I skipped down to my local McDonald’s hamburgery and bought an Asian Salad from the drive-thru. The salad comes with a little packet of sliced almonds, which provide a nice contract in flavor and texture to the greens and sweet dressing.

At least, they’re supposed to. I don’t know what these almonds tasted like, because when I opened the packet, I found the nuts covered in blue-green mold. I don’t mean a few spores here and there. This was a fully-functioning mold city.

I didn’t have time to deal with it then, so I just threw out the almonds, checked the rest of my salad for rot, and munched away. Eventually I called McDonald’s corporate headquarters and talked to a very helpful young guy who took my complaint and promised to forward my concerns to the franchisee. Okay, whatever. At least I bitched to someone.
To my pleasant suprise, I got a call Friday morning from the restaurant’s owner, a woman whose name eludes me at the moment. She was very apologetic and seemed genuinely interested in my complaint. She was pretty embarrassed that there would be problems with such a high-profile, much-ballyhooed product, and she pledged to investigate the matter.

She even offered to send me some gift certificates so I can come back in for free (hopefully) non-fungus-riddled food. I haven’t gotten them yet, but I figure it’ll be five bucks. Fine by me.
I am now once again a satisfied customer, and I’ll gladly go back to that McDonald’s, because that business proved it wants my patronage.

Directions:
For each time the president mentions the following words or phrases do the following…

- Welcome- Salt Glasses
- Welcoming Society- Swig from “XX” Drink!
- Jobs Americans won’t do- down one “XX” Drink!
- Nation of immigrants- Tequila shots Drink!
- Family values don’t stop at the Rio Grande- Drink, Si?
- Good-hearted people- Bottle of “XX” Drink!
- Path to citizenship- Beer bongs! Drink!
- Vicente Fox- Beer bong! One “XX” Drink, Si?
- The distinguished senator from Massachusetts- Chew tequila worm, Swallow!
- This is not amnesty- Naked pyramid,… tequila, chug!

I’ll watch the speech tonight and report back tomorrow morning at some point. Buena suerte, gringos!

Meg gives me a dirty look.

A bottle opener — dubbed “The Popener” — with a likeness of Pope John Paul II, of happy memory.

A nugget of fried macaroni and cheese.

Meg, expressing her approval of the fried macaroni and cheese.

The most extensive soda fountain I have ever seen.

A Rum Runner. It was good.

[gv data="E7PPxEmeig8" height="300" width="400" alt="beer pong video"][/gv]

Until then, happy St. Patrick’s Day, lads!

[gv data="JYJRG7GjcvM"][/gv]

WP Express is a combination fast-food/sit-down experience, sort of like Cafe Express. The menu features salads, pizzas, sandwiches, pasta dishes, etc., in addition to beer and wine. This was a brand-new store, in the Town Center area of Sugar Land, and Saturday’s meal was a dry run, which gets the staff trained and broken in before paying customers arrive. It’s a win-win scenario: realistic training for the waiters and cooks, and free food for Matt.

I had the meatloaf, which was served atop a bed of deliciously creamy, garlicky mashed potatoes, with a side of grilled veggies. The meatloaf was delicious. I have to agree with Rorschach:

And I have to tell you, meatloaf is not normally one of my favorite foods, but this stuff you’d loose a finger if you tried to take it away from me.

Pretty much. Diane had a chicken pesto sandwich, which was really good.

Overall, a great place with very friendly service. And it was free. Hells yeah.

He kinda looks like Benzion.

Here’s the text:

Oh hell yes. Anyone who would like to reward my long hours, hard work and single-minded diligence on behalf of the voiceless, feel free to email me. In addition to t-shirts, I also accept alcohol, tobacco and firearms.

IT’S THE SMELL OF TEXAS HOME COOKIN’ — and I don’t mean that beef stuff they pass off as barbecue.

That’s it, Reynolds. This means war.

UPDATE: The lovely and talented Anne Linehan pledges to muster her forces, even going so far as to lure invite Reynolds in for a devious trap meal.

UPDATE 2: Laurence Simon joins the fight.

UPDATE 3: Josh Wills set up a blog to battle the Instadeception.

The discovery of a pot of thin yellow noodles preserved for 4,000 years in Yellow river silt may have tipped the bowl in China’s favor. It suggests that people were eating noodles at least 1,000 years earlier than previously thought, and many centuries before such dishes were documented in Europe.”These are undoubtedly the oldest noodles ever found,” says Houyuan Lu at China’s Institute of Geology and Geophysics in Beijing.

Researchers are still digging, hoping to find a millenia-old packet of duck sauce.