Thursday, October 14, 2010
The town was still that night, people stayed in their homes.
They'd heard it was coming that night and didn't wish to be caught in the middle.
They couldn't believe it was coming to their town, impossible, they thought, not out West.
Well here it was. It was happening.
The Burger Shoot-Out
Here in this town the law runs things. And the law of Burgers is easy, In N Out. And I'm not talking about some first year cadets rolling around on ten-speeds in bike shorts and cotton-white polos, no, I'm talking some bad-ass, Earpesque mustache-wearing, whiskey-slugging law keepers.
And now we got this new kid in town, this hot gunslinging Johnny Ringo type called Five Guys.
I guess there's just one thing left to do. Say When.
First things first, they say never to judge a book by it's cover, well you might as well flush that down the toilet and quit lying to yourself. Seriously, I mean books? Who reads books anymore? Of course you're not going to judge a book by it's cover, who even wants to look at a book long enough to judge it. Those things are like 200 pages. No way. Just give me the blog version.
While I'm all in favor of brown-baggin it, the law comes out on top with a much sturdier, grease-concealing burger sack. Grease stains are so last season.
Bun to Bun they stood, Double-Double Animo style to the Bacon Burger with a tomato slice, pickles, onions, and a few sprinkled shrooms. And Cheeseburger plain to Cheeseburger plain. And not to be forgotten, a full round of fries for each.
Five Guys fired the first shoot with two magnificently meaty thick patties. As our faithful know, we've always preached, "the bigger the better," and believe you me, this burger is a mouthful of meat.
But the Double-Double wasn't about to hand over it's badge just yet. Although being undersized against the larger Five Guys, In N Out stood it's ground. As they say, "It's not the size of the dog fight you bet on, but the dog's fighting size."
What it comes down to my friends is quite simple, buns. So why don't you epoxy your tasty pair to that sitting utensil and listen to this.
With Five Guys packing two heftier slabs of meat, the buns need to be able to carry that weight, unfortunately this was not the case, and by the time of the "Holy Bite" (the last bite, for all you Darwiniacs) the buns had been sogged-down into a bisquit taste. Whereas the golden buttered buns of In N Out, sporting the halo-esque crisped edges on it's underbelly stay strong until the end.
(In N Out on the left, Five Guys on the right)
In the end, I do believe the final nail in the coffin has to come down to the two most gastro-orgasmic words one can hear, Cheese Paper. You know exactly what I'm talking about. That beautiful mess left on the wrapper after you've peeled that burger out from under it's blanket and so delicately scraped it with your teeth. I know. I need a minute too.
Five Guys throws a curve ball with Cheese Foil, but unfortunately it hangs a little high and In N Out jacks it out. Foil has plenty of strong points I'm sure, I can't think of any, but I know for a fact that scraping melted cheese from it is not on that list.
Lest we forget the fries. Notice the purposeful omission of "French." Here at WOS we believe fries transcend national barriers and shall not be pigeonholed. Five Guys again takes the cake on sheer size and spices it up with a nice thorough seasoning, albeit having the overall texture and consistency of the fry itself equal to that of In N Out.
Five Guys offers a host of toppings, barbeque sauce being one of which will definitely be smothered across the next burger eaten there. Not to mention a couple nice hot dogs on the menu as well, but in the end our affiliations still lie with the red and white, and dash of yellow.
Of course if you picked up on the Tombstone references I so thickly laid on, you would have known that by now. Johnny Ringo dies at the end, remember? Doc shoots him right between the eyes and then mocks him as he stumbles to his death. Stellar performance by Val in that one. Might be his best work I think. That or Top Gun. It's hard to beat those young statuesque features he had as Ice Man. How about that volleyball scene? Watch out. Nothing like a greased-up game of bare-chested beach volleyball to get you in the mood for some dogfight'n.
Sorry now, I'm ramblin' again.
In N Out
That's what a hamburger's all about.
Wasted On Steak
We'll be your huckleberry
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Don't try to argue, you will lose.
I mean seriously, the East Coast? What do you got? Nothin, I tell ya.
California is iconic. Try traveling abroad and when someone asks you where you're from and you drop the "California" bomb on their ass, all you have to do is sit back and watch a wave of wonderment peel across their face.
What other state will do that?
Get outta here.
Here's a little mental stimulation for you, what's the first thing you think of when you see these two words: California cheeseburger.
I know, I can almost feel the animal style fries clogging my throat right now.
That's right, In N Out. And like the slogan goes, "That's what a mother-effing hamburger is all about."
But now Virgina is trying to move in on our territory with these "other Guys." Coming in to our town, trying to rip-off our hometown red and white colors.
You may have heard of the "Five Imposters" restaurant made famous by our higher up.
So Virginia you can keep your "lovers" on the East Coast and we'll keep our California "Golden" 4x4's lodged in our guts, animal style of course.
We haven't eaten there yet, but don't worry, as you can tell, we're not biased.
"IN N OUT vs FIVE GUYS" food fight coming soon....
Wasted On Steak
knockin out your back door
Sunday, September 5, 2010
If you'd be so gracious as to allow me to introduce myself I'd be much obliged.
Wasted On Steak.
Pleased to Meat you.
Pardon? Martini? Why yes please. With a blue-cheesed stuffed olive? Fine.
That's the greeting we were welcomed with as we made our way through the hordes of dinner-hungry people waiting for an open table at the one and only Plums Cafe.
Located in the burgeoning French district of international wonder-city, Costa Mesa, this 17th Street staple elegantly blends French flavors with a certain, je nais se pas to ring out some great damn food.
To begin, and to set the mood, you may as well put on your best Bond voice and order up a Martini. And since you're feeling a little naughty, maybe even dressed the part with those new euro-inspired sous-vêtements, go ahead and make that a Dirty Martini. Don't forget to bring protection because this Martini is Nasty, seriously, Dirty is an understatement. This drink did things to me I'd never even thought of, and I've thought of everything. Just look at it up there, taunting and teasing you. Caveat emptor.
First thing up is just a little something to hold you over, the Plums Signature: Feta and Chive Popover. It's so fantastically complicated in all it's simplicity. Take a little Feta, Chives, Egg, and whip it all together with the derrière air of France's First Lady herself, Mrs. Carla Bruni Sarkozy.
(Feta and Chive Popover)
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmmm. The only way I know how to follow a little Derrière Air Popover is with a hefty plate of Clevelandic Steamers. Freshly gathered the morning of serving from the Clevelandic Sea, an unusually small, circular body of water located thirty miles off France's remote East Coast, this steamy, steamy plate will make all those preconceived prejudices you felt towards France, and the French, burn up in flames.
(A couple beaten clams)
The metaphorical gods must have been watching down on us this night because we were metaphorically blessed with a Talking Heads once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to try the two most beautiful Dinner Specials in recent years.
With our first special we traveled back to the Clevelandic Sea and reeled in the elusive Sword Fish. He put up a good fight, but in the end, to the victor go the spoils. Grilled in the Perfect Pacific Style and covered with Scampish Sauce and laid upon a beautiful bed of spinach leaves, this dish is quite simply amazing.
(Pacific Grilled Swordfish with Scampish Sauce)
With the Second Special we have a Filet of Beef Medallions with a Wild Mushroom Demi Glaci. I'm not exactly sure who that last part is, but her sauce is delicious. It's even more delicious when mixed with a mound of mashed potato.
(Filet of Beef Medallions with a Wild Mushroom Demi Glaci)
Sorry, I don't know what to write. I'm just staring at that unholy picture above. If that's not the most gastronomically erotic photo I've ever seen I don't know what is. My god, that should win a prize.
We also managed to make our way through a couple noteworthy sides as well. The Wild Herb Rissotto Cakes and the Grilled Asparagus. So good it won't make your pee smell in the morning.
(Wild Herb Rissotto Cakes)
Don't turn coy now, we still have one last parting shot to bid us farewell and bon voyage. The Chocolate Sundae.
(All American Sudae)
So if you're feeling a little exotic one night and feel like having a little French stuffed in you, do yourself a favor and search out the hidden gem that is Plums Cafe.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Quite frankly, the experts at Wasted On Steak disagree. Every meal holds an equal opportunity to stuff that stomach.
But, in honor of the world's greatest sporting event and South Africa's unwillingness to accommodate those of us living in the only time zone that matters, PST, breakfast is going to be crucial for the next month if you plan on catching those 4:30am matches.
So wake up, wipe that eye snot off your face, indulge in the 3 morning S's, and let us present to you, the first establishment to serve food before noon, the one, the only, Sugar Shack.
A staple of Surf City, The Sugar Shack makes you feel more at home than your own folks do. So waddle in and grab a seat. "Mom, the meatloaf!! Now!!"
Coffee. We all know it's as vital as those morning vitamins. But if you need something a little lighter, go ahead and set your purse down and pick up a Surf. What's that you're wondering. Half coffee and half hot chocolate topped off with a generous heap of cream.
As far as Wasted On Steak is concerned, everything on the menu is worth the price of admission, but the sole standout, the one we would actually pay to just look at is the Keppy Spesh, or The Keppler Special if you're not into the whole brevity thing.
This modern mash up of the traitorous Eggs Benedict is so ridiculously good and wafting with aroma, you'll swear it was cooked in a Dutch Oven. Now this dish is generally served with scrambled eggs, but being the avid hunters that we are, we prefer our eggs poached and delicately placed upon a bed of tomato, avocado, bacon and dressed in Mr. Hollandaise's sauce. Plop it on a plate full of golden brown hash and have at it.
Next: The Main Street Omelette
I suspect anyone with a pulse knows what an omelette is so I'll save my precious breath and give you the vitals. Fresh Avos, grilled onions, mushrooms, sprouts, and a brick of melted cheese tossed up and beaten together with eggs. Oh mama! Take a look at that down there. Looks like a snake giving birth. Nature.
(Main Street Omelette)
Now on to some dessert. Yes you saw correctly, dessert, at breakfast. Don't forget to save some room after your first two courses for the most hedonistic of French Toasts. I'm at a loss for words in trying to describe this one, but I'll give it my best. Imagine for a moment you just woke up from the most glorious of naps to the sun's golden rays licking at your innocent little cheeks. You wipe up the slobber from your face to find you've been sleeping on a cloud of cotton candy and lying behind you, cradling you ever so gently is the one and only Peter Frampton and as you reach down to take a bite out of the cotton candy cloud, Frampton breaks out into the most angelic version of "Baby, I love your way."
It's kind of like that. I apologize again for my lack of creativity. Why don't you just have a look for yourself.
And so we have it folks. Breakfast, equally as important as any other meal.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Could it be, another installment of the saliva inducing segment known as Afternoon Delight?
Why yes it is my carnivorous friend so stop gnawing at your calf and mosey on up to the computer screen while I push in your stool because this one is sure to grab your attention.
While driving around this afternoon contemplating what it was I wanted to stuff my face with I ran through the options in my head:
First I thought why not a sandwich, maybe a nice teriyaki chicken on squaw. Sounded nice, appetizing even, but my mind kept racing.
Next I thought why not just a regular burger. Maybe the classic double-double, no lettuce, no tomato, onions, mustard on the bun and some chopped chilies. mmmmmmmmm, that still sounds good, but that wasn't it.
And then it came to me. It was obvious. Why had it taken this long in the first place, how could I have wasted two tanks of gas driving in circles contemplating when it was right in front of my eyes. Combine the two. Yes that's right. The Teriyaki Burger with Avocado. Oh yes, I thought, she will be mine.
(Fuji's Avocado Teriyaki Burger)
Just look at her up there, those perfect teriyakied buns glistening in the sun, taunting you, asking you to rub more teriyaki on her hard to reach places.
Here we are halfway through and taking a time out to enjoy the perfect combination of teriyaki marinated burger, cheese, lettuce, and our very own California avocados.
(I want another)
And so I leave you with the final bite and with it the perfect combination of East meets West in an atomic explosion of taste.
Sayounara friends, and don't forget to fix your hair because you've just experienced another segment of, Afternoon Delight.
Drop Burgers Not Bombs
Wasted On Steak
Thursday, May 13, 2010
But it's game time now. Time to step up to the plate and like the Sultan of Swat, call the shot. And so from the deepest, darkest dungeons that are our small intestines, Wasted On Steak presents to you, the one, the only, Clearman's North Wood's Inn.
Now up until this post there's been a lot of talk about "great" and "heavenly" and what not, but today is where we separate royalty (that would be us) from mere peasants (yeah, you guessed it, YOU). It used to be a well known fact that the bigger the belly, the sweeter the juice. Those were simpler times. When a man wasn't measured by his wallet size, but by his belt size, and by the fact that he couldn't see over his round, mound of a gut. Well, walking out of Northie's you're guaranteed to feel sweeter than a chocolate souffle covered in pixie-stix (yeah, I know, sounds amazing right?).
Enough talk of walking out, lets make our way in. And when you do burst through those heavy, wooden double-doors, underneath the snow-covered roof of the North Wood's Inn, you find your first step into a puddle of peanut shells. Yes, that's right, peanut shells.
Don't waste any time my friend. Flatten that fanny on a beautifully carved tree stump, grab a paw full of peanuts, and follow the rules. Throw those shells on the floor with some attitude and slug it down with a quick beer while you wait for your operating table.
As you head to your work station the warm, comforting sound of peanut shells crunching beneath your boots may distract you, don't let it, be sure to take in the stuffed Moose head mounted on the wall next to the rifle that killed it. Welcome Home.
It's time to get serious now. For starters, a 32oz Newcastle Brown.
(The lifeblood of man)
Take a quick glance at the wood-carved menu of meat and get ready to order.
"Good evening, I will be masticating on the Prime Rib Eye. Yes, medium rare is fine. And a baked potato bursting at the seams with your finest buttery cheese sauce."
(Prime Rib Eye & Baked Potato with Cheese Sauce)
"My turn? Fine. Lumberjack Large. Medium Rare. Potato. Butter. Sour cream. And more beer."
(Lumberjack Large & Baked Potato stuffed with butter, sour cream, and salad)
Hold on sweetheart, don't go choking on that prime cut just yet. We still have some minor things to get out of the way first. And by minor I only mean the best damn salad you'll ever curse yourself for eating. Times two. That's right two bowls of bottomless salad. One bowl holds the greens, and the other the purples, cabbage that is.
We here at Wasted On Steak have our own food consuming dream. In which our salads play together on the same plate, get picked up by the same fork, and go down in the same bite. So follow us on this crusade of desegregating salad bowls and mix those two beautiful colors together. It is well worth it. And while you're at it pick up a lonely cheese bread to spread it on.
(Purples, Greens, and Cheese before)
After three plates of literally the best salad you'll ever have, accompanied with three slices of perfectly toasted cheese bread you may be wanting to tap out. If you do, just get up and walk home now because you don't deserve a ride.
Steak. Steak. Steak. And one more Steak. And a rack of ribs. Here we go. Not much to say, just slide into a pair of your favorite stretchy pants and enjoy the ride. Go ahead and click on a pic for an extreme close-up.
Let's start the ride with the tenderest of cuts, the king Filet. Are you kidding me? Look at that. Sooo Noiiiiiccccceeee!
(Filet Mignon & Baked Potato with Cheese Sauce)
Or maybe you're feeling like you want to dress it up a bit. Maybe put a little lipstick on that cow. Well I think you've found the perfect shade of Golden Onions to paint on that Sirloin. Oh Papa.
(Ground Sirloin Steak with Grilled Onions & Baked Potato)
Just take a long look at these beautiful ribs. Oh Babu! What more could you possibly want. And onion rings!!! Get out of here!
(Rack of Ribs with Onion Rings & Baked Potato with Cheese Sauce)
I know what you want, maybe some more of the Lumberjack Large. Ok. Well here you go, take a look at it's innards. You could slice through this with the dullest of axes.
(Inside of the Lumberjack Large)
Or maybe you want to sneak another peak at the Prime Rib Eye. I know I do. Look at this bite jumping off the screen at you. Watch out. Imagine if this was in 3D. You'd need a bib to stay dry.
(A bite of Prime)
Well folks, I think you've had enough for one day. Maybe even the week. This was one for the record books, without an asterisk. So take your time and enjoy, eat and drink and be happy, because after all, life is too short to not eat meat.
We leave you with some parting shots.
(Mangled on Meat)
Until next time.
Wasted On Steak
Monday, May 10, 2010
I know things can get a bit slow on a Monday afternoon, maybe that hangover from your beer pong marathon with mom is wearing off and all you can think about, besides how she was able to drain those shots from cross court with two ice cold silver bullets in one hand, a cigarette clinging to her lips, and an eye patch over her right eye from last years 4th of July incident, is damn it's only 2:30.
Well don't worry because unlike that godawful commercial, I'm not going to offer you up a shot of 5 Hour Energy.
I am however going to offer up a shot of a gloriously sliced steak sandwich oozed on with all American cheese and lit up with sweet and hot peppers. Oh Babu!
Courtesy of Philly Grille on Beach Blvd. these cheese steaks were the perfect afternoon snack. We decided to venture outside our comfort zone of the traditional Cheese Steak and opted to dress it up a bit with some freshly chopped lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers.
What a decision it was. As your teeth, or tooth for some of you, dig into those luscious buns and hit that crunchy lettuce and juicy tomato you think, "Oh no, I didn't sign up for no stinkin' veggie sandy."
But don't worry, because like my grandpappy used to say, "Don't dook in your Dickies yet." What comes next is a birthday present of thinly, but not too thinly, sliced steak wrapped up in melted cheese and tied with a ribbon of peppers, both hot and sweet.
Yes, you heard it right folks.
(Original on the left, with lettuce and tomato on the right)
And of course you can't go wrong with the original Phildo Chez Steak. Toss some peppers and onions on there and you'll think you've been transported back to Philly, minus the terrible sports teams (sorry Lizzie).
(Original with peppers and onions)
All in all I have to say Wasted On Steak enjoyed some damn fine afternoon delight.
(Our vegetable intake for the day)
There's a famous quote by Hubert Selby Jr. about what it takes to be an artist. He says it takes "everything you got," in not so many words, it's a life/death symbiosis that allows you to "transcend all this meaningless gibberish and hang out with the gods."
We here at Wasted On Steak like to consider ourselves eating artists. And here to attest to the skilled craft we've come to perfect is a first hand account of what it's like to ravage with the gods. Enjoy.
Ravaging With The GodsBrandon Russell
I’m in the back seat of little miss White Lightning, racing down the 605 toward Taco San Pedro, with Kyle riding shotgun. It’s a beautiful car, immaculate and well kept for its 300,000-mile age. It’s familiar and comforting, and Sako won't let you forget that.
This is the way it is much of the time with the two of them, a lot of back and forth, the way Will Smith and Martin Lawrence bicker in Bad Boys, though I’m not sure who would be who.
I just sit back and enjoy all of it.
The Band pulsates through the car’s honeycomb speakers, lights glide over the highway from passing traffic. Kyle belts out a few lyrics, tapping his fingers against the passenger door, belches, scratches his face, and continues on with the music. Sako debates out loud to no one in particular what we should order as a group.
“I’m thinking fully. And a Burrito. And a Ques…” he says.
I’m not sure if I should answer, so I remain silent, and after a while that’s all there is: a silence, a calm. The two of them, with all the belching and growling and laughter, look ready to eat.
“Almost there,” Sako says as a reflective Hawaiian Gardens city limit sign passes.
“Oh Babu1,” Kyle replies in earnest. “Can’t wait.” His voice raises a few pitches.
Taco San Pedro is a small, cash-only place just off the 605 on Carson St, an earshot from the Hawaiian Gardens Casino. If not for frantic Southern California traffic you could almost hear the clanging slot machines releasing and devouring up people’s money. The parking lot is like most hole in the wall places, with little to no room and an ever-deteriorating pavement being overtaken by weeds.
It’s 9:45 when we step out of the car, and immediately we’re welcomed by the incredible smell of TSP: Carne asada, tortillas, guac, salsa, all of it seducing our taste buds and inviting us inside. This just about drives the two of them wild, sending both into seizure-like fits of giddiness. Witnessing their excitement I come to realize that over the years eating with these two gentlemen isn’t just about enjoying the food, or chugging smooth, cold beers, or talking shit even; there’s a spectacle involved, an almost subconscious ritual complete with dancing and animalistic calls and chants, like a primate offering himself up to a female in heat.
“Ohhs” and “Fuuuhs” are heaved out with great conviction, and we aren’t even through the front door!
The loudspeakers clamor with Hispanic music, metal spatulas tap dance over the open countertop stoves. My stomach churns and growls. An assortment of customers are seated in booths along the walls, their meals set before them.
“No line?” Kyle says.
The inside has been redone since I last came, with a clean, waxy looking hardwood lining the bottom half of the walls along with a medley of bright, cultural paintings. It’s homey, cozy. I’m not sure what to do with myself, so I just stare up at the menu on the wall.
Sako throws his shoulders back and strides to the register where he proceeds to order what seems like the entire menu – and all in Spanish: Carne Asada burrito, Asada quesadilla, Asada flautas (extra crema), and a dish that resembles a sort of hamburger; all for twenty-four dollars. Not bad when split three ways, especially for such quality and quantity.
“Nooiiiice,” Kyle says, “cheeks.”
As we wait for our order, the conversation never strays too far away from food. “I can’t waaaaiiiiiit to eat this burrit,” Kyle says, opening up his camera bag. He examines the body and adjusts a few settings. “And that ques with some salsy rojo,” Sako says. I nod, unsure if I should chime in. Kyle takes a picture of our receipt, for the good of the blog, and Sako lays into him on his use of flash. They bicker, I jump in, we talk about food some more, laugh, grunt. Our number is called, and almost in unison our heads whip toward the register.
“Ohhhhh yes,” Kyle says like he’s won some special award.
I know how he feels.
Sako’s mouth almost drips with saliva.
It’s a mauling. As soon as the trays of food hit the table, Sako swoops up the burrito and proceeds to stuff his face, hard, with big, snarling bites. Kyle does the same, only with the flautas, carefully picking them up so the lettuce and crema stay on top. Every so often he stops and snaps a photo of the action. If a mom had been there she would have told them to slow down, chew their food, breathe. But this is Wasted On Steak we’re talking about, grizzly, hungry, smelly men, forget breathing.
I join in, first with the burrito that is being passed around like a stogie, then with the flautas and quesadilla.
“Oh my God,” Kyle says, his mouth full. “Just, oh. Incredible.” Cilantro and lettuce and crema hang onto his beard.
“Amazing,” Sako says.
Kyle takes a drink of Pepsi. “That burrito’s got some kick to it,” he says. “I love it.”
Food is passed around, arms are tangled up, forks and knives are lost and shared, napkins are used, a frenzy of chewing and gulping. In the end, there’s practically nothing left. The table is smeared with guac and salsa and bits of tortilla (mostly on Sako’s side), but the plates are absent of any food. I sit back and admire our work, what the crew is capable of, like Spartans taking out an entire army. Kyle belches and snaps another photo. Sako sighs heavily, dejected that it is over.
There’s a satisfying tranquility, one of those special moments reserved for only the best meals, where the silence speaks volumes.
“Round two?” Kyle says.
A belch flies across the table and I take that as a yes from Sako.
Forget silence. That just wouldn’t be their style.
1 Babu is a term of endearment often used to express feelings of intense pleasure.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Feliz Cinco de Mayo hermanos y hermanas!!
How fortuitous it is that we bring you yet another fantastico post covering the most fantastico Asada eatery on the most fantastico American holiday and subsequently the best excuse to drink margies and tequila during the week. You know what it is. Say it with me now...
CINCO de MAYO!!!
We here at Wasted On Steak don't like to delve too far into the vast septic tank that is the political spectrum, we consider ourselves to be democratic in our food consumption, non-discriminatory in what we clog our arteries with, in essence we pride ourselves on being an equal opportunity employer of what gets us Wasted On Steak. Therefore it seems only fitting that amongst all the commotion in Arizona, we give a shout out to our brothers from the south for the best thing to come our way since California. Carne Asada.
Taco San Pedro
(The Starting Lineup)
Nestled away in the majestic city of Hawaiian Gardens lies this hidden gem. It may be easy to get side-tracked on the drive in, with all the glitz and glamour of such an illustrious gambling hall as that of the one and only Hawaiian Gardens Casino, but trust us, stay focused and you'll make it to the Holy Land.
If you, by the grace of the devil, make it to TSP, count your lucky stars for the opportunity and go ahead and thank your mama for carrying your lazy ass for nine months because everything else you've done in your life means nothing. And then park behind the restaurant. It's usually less crowded and the spaces in front are quite small.
Back to business.
Recent renovations, new tables, benches, and interior paint, have taken away from some of this hole-in-the-wall's charm, but don't worry, just like MJ's transformation, the meat was left untouched.
Walking through the doors of TSP is like walking back into the womb. The Asada scent hypnotically dances up and around and curls under your neck like a loving boa constrictor waiting to devour you whole. Because at TSP, you don't eat the meat, the meat eats you.
Enough hyperbole. Let's eat.
First up: The Fully.
Six taquito-sized carne asada flautas layered with chopped lettuce, dumped on with a load of guac, and doused in the creamiest of creamy cremas (not sour cream), and generously sprinkled with queso blanco. This is what we live for. The Fully has been in the repertorio since day one and like any mustachioed Mexicano, only gets better with age.
(Carne Asada Flautas)
On deck: The Quesy.
A three slice tower of Carne Asada Quesadilla. Ingredients: A brick of cheese. Roasted meat. Tortilla. What else could you possibly need? Nothing I tell you. Melt that brick down all over the roasted meat and slap it between the cheeks of that tortilla and watch as the artist with the spatula in his hand flips up this year's Mona Lisa.
(Carne Asada Quesadilla)
In the hole: The Burritskees.
Whew. I have to take a deep breath just to write this. A hand grenade of Asada and guac with a nuclear explosion of taste. This one has a little kick to it so keep that ice cold pepsi close at hand. This baby arm of meat will sit nicely in what little space is left in your food sack of a stomach.
(Carne Asada Burrito)
Batting clean-up: The Tortskas.
Following the policy of full disclosure, this was my (Kyle) first time wrapping my lips around this Asada concoction. So it's only fitting that a grizzled veteran like my meat-master partner Sako take the mic to describe the Carne Asada Torta. "Fresh avocados, jalapenos, cheese, and lettuce. The Mexican BLTA if you will, but for men of course."
(Carne Asada Torta)
And so it is my friends, another glorious day at the ballpark of eating. The final score: Wasted On Steak - 4, TSP - 0.
Let it be said that any meal ordered at this particular establishment must, and I do mean must, be generously dipped into a cup of salsa roja y verde.
Unfortunately no beer is served here, but don't let that deter you, the horchata will slosh in your mouth before wrapping your belly full of gifted meat.
And so we leave you with more gratuitous pictures of meat.
(Carne Asada Quesadilla)
(The Damage Done)
Cheers my friends. Until next time, I hope this leaves you, Wasted On Steak.