Chris Walker Vs. Comfort (Is King)

NOTICE: While the new, improved Chris Walker Versus is still under construction, being built by the ever brilliant and completely hirable Brian Johnson, I’ll be posting new content. If I was ever not traveling it might be finished. Bare with us.

I was wrong. Oh lord, was I wrong. I was like Plato sitting up in his tower, spewing inapplicable rhetoric. I apologize, and I take it all back.

Over a year ago, I wrote this. At the time, my world revolved around export sales. Mexico. Australia. China. Those were the places I traveled for work. My Mexican Distributor, a great friend, would pick me up from the airport and we’d go get the best tacos de lengua in town. My Chinese Distributor would take me to spots where you point at a live fish and minutes later it’s on your table, steamed, and ready to eat. I was spoiled.

Recently, I’ve been tackling domestic sales, traveling the West Coast. While my excursions include the gorgeously lush Seattle, and the city where my I left my heart, they also include countless badland towns like… wherever I am now. My dear Guadalajarian friend is not here to greet me when I roll into Bumblefuck, Idaho. There are no street corner taco joints to lovingly adore here. There are no transplant Argentineans doing this. There is no melt-on-your-tongue prosciutto with sardines like there is here. There’s no trotter ravioli served with foie gras and cresta di gallo in any nearby, neighborhood champion. No; there isn’t. In fact, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

So, I’ve learned a valuable lesson: Comfort is king. Because, guess what? After driving over seven-hundred miles and arriving in a small town at 8:00 p.m. I’m not thinking, oh, I wonder if there’s any mom-and-pop spots where they’ve perfected a local delicacy! I’m thinking, where’s the nearest Chilis? Because that’s where I’m going.

I can depend on Chili’s. It may not be great but I know what to expect. I want a big, tall, frosty Budweiser, and an Oldtimer. I don’t care who made it; I don’t care about craft or skill; I want to watch some ESPN, drink a beer, eat a decent burger, and get to bed at a reasonable time so I can get up tomorrow and do it all over again. These shitty chain restaurants provide one valuable thing: Consistency. And that’s all I want after a day of bullshit and uncertainty.

All this being said, I ate at an Applebee’s last night, because it was the only place I thought I could get something resembling food near Pullman, Washington at 8:30 at night. I ate a salad. BBQ Chicken or something like that. I felt like throwing up afterward. It was miserable. Of all the chain restaurants I’m so happy to see during my travels, because I know they have 22 oz. frosty mugs and Budweiser on tap, Applebee’s is the absolute worst. I was almost excited to eat there once I remembered Tyler Florence had developed a menu for them. Where did that go? It’s not there now.

I hate Applebee’s.

Chris Walker Vs. Bitches Who Refuse To Eat Ham

Last Saturday, Anthony Bourdain and Mario Batali were at the Paramount in Seattle answering questions, sharing wisdom, and throwing good-spirited jabs at one another. Or, in this case, knock out punches. Bourdain said to Batali of his PBS show, “Spain… On The Road Again”, in which Batali and (presumably insufferable) actress Gwyneth Paltrow indulge in Spain’s bountiful, culinary offerings, “Why would you go to Spain with the one bitch who refuses to eat ham?”

Spain is well known for its pig products. Evidently, Paltrow, ever pretentious and (again) insufferable, follows a strict macrobiotic diet and did not eat meat during the series. I wouldn’t know because I didn’t watch the show. Sounds terribly boring, though.

Later in the evening Bourdain quipped, “The people who watch the Food Network are the ones with a gallon of soda and a bag of Cheetos going, ‘Oh, I could make that.’”

And the world seems right again.

LINK:

Saturday: Anthony Bourdain & Mario Batali @ The Paramount, via Seattle Weekly.

By the way, I never really cared for Black Lips until I read this. Now I love them. While I’m at it, this is brilliant. Today is full of wonderful gems.

Chris Walker Vs. Freeman’s Plastic-Filled Hotdogs

I’m an adventurous eater. That’s a fact. I’ve eaten chicken feet, fish eyeballs, duck testicles; you name it, I’ll try it. The only thing I don’t eat is cantaloupe. That, and hard, little pieces of plastic, two of which I found in one of Freeman’s “natural” hotdogs this afternoon.

Not adhering to a vegetarian or vegan lifestyle I wondered, is this one of the risks I have to take in order to eat more “healthy”? By cutting unnecessary hormones out of my diet do I have to add synthetic, amorphous solid materials? Or is this what Freeman’s means when they describe their meats as “raw” and “uncured”? I could already see their new advertisement; Freeman’s Hotdogs: Organic and Nitrate Free, Occasionally Legos.

Right now I’m looking at these two, tiny, white shards of whatever trying to figure out what they are. I’ve read owners Jason Freeman and Noel Judai have a son; maybe it’s a fragment from one of his toys. It could be part of a pen cap. I don’t really know. Maybe I’ve made a mistake and it’s actually a new menu addition. Should I have paid extra? I know pineapple chutney costs seventy-five cents; how much is plastic?

All jokes aside, when Dave, the bartender at Chapel, told me how ever many months ago that a guy named Jason Freeman was opening an organic hot dog restaurant in Reno I was enthusiastic. I loved the idea, and I’m a big proponent of natural, organic, pesticide and hormone free foods. My first experience at Freeman’s was mostly pleasant. I ordered the “Bun Burner” and, despite the fact the sourdough wheat bun was deplorably dry and split in half before I had even a single bite, the vegan chipotle sausage, chipotle-lime aioli, jalapenos, and salsa all tasted great. (Note: buns are provided by the House of Bread bakery.) My brother-in-law loves Freeman’s “F’n Hot Dog” — two beef hotdogs with cheese, tomatoes, onions, relish, mustard, ketchup, and jalapenos, served in a superior onion poppyseed bun — and has been getting their food to go on a regular basis. I had intended on eating at Freeman’s a few more times, trying many different things, before making a final judgment but this whole plastic-in-my-hotdog situation leaves me at a loss.

Initially, I was quick to write the bits of plastic off as a once-in-a-lifetime accident. After spitting out the pieces, I even managed to sit in my office and enjoy the rest of my F’n Hot Dog. Writing that last line, I now feel ridiculous. Pieces of plastic in my hotdog? That’s unacceptable.

Part of me says never go back. Part of me says this will never happen again and I should let it go. More than likely, this hasn’t happened to anyone else; it hasn’t happened to my brother-in-law and he’s eating Freeman’s food far more often than I am. Nevertheless, it’s disheartening and begs many questions. Questions like what are the kitchen conditions? How much are employees paying attention to cleanliness? Who is making these organic, nitrate-free sausages? Mr. Freeman, himself, his employees, or someone else entirely? (I was under the impression everything is made in-house.) Furthermore, how does something like this happen?

Time will tell if I completely dismiss Freeman’s. Chances are, I’ll give them another go. I eat Eggs Benedict, after all; I’m not afraid of a little bacteria… or plastic. At this point, I’m just extremely skeptical. And if something like this ever happens again, please believe you’ll be the first to know.

LINKS:

Freeman’s Natural Hotdogs