product review, rant, Uncategorized

Cradled In The Waves, A Little Bloated, A Little Tempest-Toss’d.

field notes from one among many increasingly underwhelming Prodigal returns, with the author’s glosses.

DAY ONE: started strong, delved well into the mysterious mimetic wellspring that is DORITOS ALL NIGHTER CHEESEBURGER CHIPS (also, to a lesser extent, LAST CALL JALAPEÑO POPPERS, which are pretty credibly jalapeñé, but with an admirable 10(ish) different kinds of cheese/milk ingredients). also LAYS BBQ RIB chips, which are a whopping letdown in contrast to the organoleptirepresentational power of the Doritos. i believe “somebody should send these guys to Doritos school” was uttered at some point.


you know, not once, but twice have people tried to correct me on the name of these things (“All Nighter” v. “All Night”), and tail-between-my-legs-in-deference-to-my-willingness-to-believe-that-others’-brains-are-not-so-moth-eaten-as-my-own, i usually take it. in fact, [sic] in hand, i was ready to bare my inaccuracy for all to see, and lo, subjected to my rigorous fact-checking, it turns out i was right all along!

anyway, have you had these things? it’s insane. and i don’t even like Doritos. in fact, there was a time when i could say honestly that of all the foods you could put in front of me (euhhh, within reason?), possibly the only thing that i would not eat just out of sheer compulsion was Doritos (it turns out Sun Chips are in there too – am i like, the only person who realizes that Sun Chips and Smart Food are awful?). anyway, all that has changed with the latest abomination-cum-breakthrough that is ALL NIGHTER CHEESEBURGER.

because they are delicious.

because they taste exactly like a cheeseburger. a cheap, shitty, fast McDonald’s cheeseburger. it’s….astonishing, but it’s all there, to an unsettling degree. you can taste the pickles and the mustard and the ketchup and even the goddamn semi-solid-diced-onions-in-onion-matrix that is so characteristic of just that quality of burger. oh yeah, and burger and processed cheese, those tastes are there too. it’s effed up. apparently in ‘Doritos Late Night Bad Idea’ series (of which ALL NIGHTER CHEESEBURGER and LAST CALL JALAPEÑO POPPER are a part) there is also a TACOS AT MIDNIGHT flavour which i’ve heard is not awful, but sort of disgraceful in its mere adequacy, given that even in its most basic form, the Dorito already consists of about 1/2 of the ingredients of your average taco (taco, cheese).

i’m hoping they pursue this line to its logical extreme, ie: SHAWARMA ON THE CAN, or for our local market, WAKE UP WITH A HALF-CHEWED MOUTHFUL OF POUTINE.


also, 1 normal, 1 large guru each? what are we thinking?
we’ll keep good time on a journey through the past.

surprisingly, at scenic rest stop X, my almond butter/chicory/fried egg/tofu pup/armenian string cheese sandwhich is holding up pretty good, if a little condiment sodden (i’m always wary of putting mayonnaise on something that is going to spend more than 5 hours in a car in the summertime, but it is a risk, i have decided, that is worth taking.

* * *

7:52pm, New Brunswick Time: we are approached on exiting the IRVING BIG STOP by a middle aged black woman, “Say excuse me, i heard you boys talking about energy drinks, and you know that those are full of bad stuff for you. Now i want you to take this card, and go to this website, where you’ll find some sources of energy that are all natural and good for you.”

see: business card (max GXL “the guanine activator”, and max N Fuze, with nano activators) Devere Walcott.

we momentarily were torn by the impulse to point out that we exclusively drank GURU, which are caffeine free, organic and just full of ASIAN MAGIC ROOTS, and VITAMIN WATER, which are full of FOOD COLOURING, MOONBEAMS AND WISHES. but decided to let it slide, b/c she seemed really nice.

which reminds me of this fucking effing ENERGY JUICE (enerjuice) that i had on the way to this blackmetal show (in the woods, in America) which was made of 100% JUICE* (*containing “fruit or vegetable juice, sucralose, or other ingredients”)

. . . (puzzled silence)

“OTHER INGREDIENTS?” you can’t just DO THAT. that’s like putting “etc.” or like “etc.” on an ingredient list. that informs me of basically nothing. OTHER INGREDIENTS?
that is like saying “the only things in this juice are things that are in this juice.” it’s like logically defining a set as “all things which are contained in this set”. don’t worry man, at least you know that nothing that is not in that juice is in that juice.


also, it’s fucking freezing in the maritimes. what is it, like 18 degrees right now? good thing i only brought shorts because last weekend i gored open my knee open and now i am Incapable of Wearing Pants. -unsarcastically-, at least i did remember to bring socks.

also, delicious gluten free fruit pie.

* * *

11:17 pm still more ALLNIGHTER CHEESEBURGERS and more VITAMIN WATER, prolonged discussion of the essentialist tendencies in german v. scandinavian music:
a. what’s with the germans? why do they try to recover their mystical transhistorical essence every, like, 10 yrs (wagner, the romantics, heideggar, nazism, krautrock)?
b. specifically krautrock v. blackmetal. why are the scandanavians so much less romantic? why they so sad?


(it’s possible a day or so passes in here. let’s say no less than 1, no more than 1 1/2)


discovering that keith’s white is mildly abominable, reminiscent of a soapy glass used to hold the perpetual dregs of a screwdriver, the ice of which has melted. Watery, Indistinct. unsurprisingly I have to pee again.


(seriously, Keith’s White is probably the worst “beer” i have ever tasted. i don’t know how it even took me this long to realize that Keith’s a totally shitty beer. recently someone defended it to me in terms of “Had it not been for Keith’s I never, in the wasteland of Canadian and Labatt Blue in which i lived, would have been able to persevere in my deep spiritual belief that beer was something likeable, so in that respect i have a place for it in my heart,” which is cool – that i can get behind. but jesus, it really is bad, and i drink like, Old Milwaukee Dry and PBR and Budweiser on occasion. perhaps still worse is that it passes itself off as an IPA, which it most certainly is not, or i suppose is just legitimately the worst IPA ever. for babies. babies who like to barf. i even thought for a moment this summer that i liked it, because it reminded me of being a kid [not actually drinking it, i just had a natural inclination toward products with animal logos – see also, when cornered by some/any male peer asking what hockey team i liked, i would invariably say the Penguins, maybe the (Buffalo) Sabers, and in later years, i suppose the San Jose Sharks or Anaheim Mighty Ducks, the latter of which i even had a tshirt of. as if i knew one damned thing about hockey, NHL ’94 being pretty much the extent of detail i was capable of, visually if not conceptually.] but it turned out that a) i was wrong and b) Moosehead is totally better, and also has an animal on the bottle. a moose.)


“I just feel like I payed 7$ for the -experience- of eating a Louisiana-style cream sauce seafood crepe from a Der Schnitzelmann wagon in a parking lot in Sackville, New Brunswick at 12:35am.”


1:27am: in half-hearted search for real schnitzel we end up at the AULAC BIG STOP, trapped behind the Berry-Go-Round – laden transport truck. if you can believe it.


(well, this thing basically writes itself, eh?)
Aug 3rd: bobby hebb died today, salmon with mayo and cheese, white wine , growers, slaw, salsa, brocciflower.

(i was all geared up to write a post about mayonnaise, poor people food, and gastronomic drift, but it turns out the actual historical evidence for my intended argument was, you know, nonexistent. which is a shame, because it would have gone like this: see, as we were driving back from the beach, my friend Sam and i decide “hey, the last time we saw each other we were both vegan – we should buy some goddamn salmon for dinner tonight!” and of course, PEI being for once in its frigging life obliging, within 27 seconds of thinking this we drive by this shack with a big ol’ FRESH FISH sign, and pop in, pick up some nice pink salmon filets, and we’re on our way, happy as clams. we get back to her shack [okay, it’s a house, really, a wonderful little house, but it’s in the middle of the woods and has no electricity or running water. shack?] and her bf is like “oh, i’ll take care of this, an old family recipe” and sautés up some onions and garlic, proceeds to slather the salmon in mayonnaise, tosses it all together with a couple of slices of cheese, and hucks it in the oven for about a half hour.
now i know what you’re thinking, because people keep saying it to me, but shut up for a moment, because that shit was delicious. i know, blah blah blah, covering a good piece of fish with mayo and baking the hell out of it is some kind of sacrilege, but it was hands down in the top 5 salmon-based meals i’ve had in my life.
the bf was all half-apologetic, like, “yeah, it’s pretty ghetto, but i like it,” and i of course am like, “no dude, it rules,” because in my head i’m thinking (on top of how it ruled) about the disproportionate amount of shit-talking mayo is subjected to despite its fairly honourable seat amongst the Mother Sauces of Carême’s (okay, Escoffier, after Carême) classification. on the basis of which, i begin to develop the idea that more than likely this mayonnaise’d salmon recipe is some derivation, trickled down the line, of an older austere French dish. i mean, when you think about it, heavy sauce and all, it seems very believably French.
but as it turns out, as far as i can tell this is not the case. i spent a good little while poking around old french cookbooks, doing web research, etc., and didn’t come up with anything even cut from a similar cloth. i’d like to think i just missed it, but i can admit when i’m wrong.
it was, however, delicious. fuck the academy, fix me up with some mayo ‘n’ fish ‘n’ cheese. seriously. although i did have a salmon tartare w/ truffle oil the other week that was pretty legit. i’m gonna say it’s a toss-up.)
Aug 7th, 1:05am: twice in one night – once on a boat, again at The Old(e) triangle, I ordered Te Bheag by its name, properly pronounced (chey vek), to be met by the blankest musterable looks. i mean, I guess I can’t blame the Old Triangle, they are -Irish-, and thus should have no truck with Gaelic, right? RIGHT?

Does this make me a snob? I am inclined to the realization that “yes I am over,” the course of this trip, but this is not one if those times,

Intensely Irish bar

Intenslu unpronounceable name

How do you NOT make the effort?


by way of a little translation, my rationale here was that yes, it is a pretty unpronounceable name, and bartenders got a lot of other shit to deal with, they don’t need some asshole blah blah blah (not like i would ever call a bartender on something like that – what do i look like, The Worst Dude?), but really, that almost makes it worse. because a) you’re a bartender, where’s your pride?  your job is booze. where’s your sense of techne? b) the fact that it is a curious name with no immediately intuitive key to its pronunciation, means that the chances of someone reading it, thinking they know how it’s pronounced, and just getting it wrong, are pretty slim. more than likely you look at it and go “huh” and then, presumably, ask someone, or look on the internet, or, as i just noticed not 15 minutes ago, look on the back of the bottle, where it’s written.

come on dude, i mean, i’m on a boat.


One thought on “Cradled In The Waves, A Little Bloated, A Little Tempest-Toss’d.

  1. Pingback: On the Science Fiction Turn in Chips. | still crapulent

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