Burns My Bacon: Whipped Cream at Mickey D's


Public Service Announcement: The Shamrock Shake is back!

While other stores stock up on Easter Candy and the new summer line, McDonald”s is proactively celebrating a true holiday: St. Patty”s Day. Other than Irish Car Bombs, there is nothing better than a Shamrock Shake on a not-so-near-Spring day. Just one thing:make sure you tell them you don”t want whipped cream on it. Or the damn cherry…

Sure, I like whipped cream, but not when it replaces one fourth of the shake! Oh yeah, and they put a cherry on top. If I wanted a sundae, I”d order a sundae (somewhere else). But guess what? I want a mint shake with green food coloring in it, Det er SkillOnNet som leverer spillene til EU casino online , en aktor som er anerkjent for nedlastbare casino online er. and I want it filled to the top, damnit. Only for less than one month a year do I get to drink green, minty, creamy, fatty goodness. I don”t want whipped cream to clog up my red and yellow striped straw—that narrow tunnel is reserved only for my shake.

I know, I know, this is not something new. I got screwed over last year. So this year, I got smart and told them, “no whip, asshole.” What did I get? Three-fourths of a cup of a Shamrock Shake (that will teach you for trying to be fancy with your clear plastic cup, “McCafe.”)  I went via the drive-through and didn”t notice the damage done until it was too late. Don”t let this happen to you. Check it before you take your first big SUCK through the straw. We deserve better. My Irish car bomb better be f”ing awesome this year…

Burns My Bacon: What the Frisee?


Am I the only one who thinks there is no worse food crime than being served a salad—or worse, a piece of meat—and having it arrive topped with mounds of frisee? What is the deal with this stuff? It tastes like shoving a handful of dried-out grass into your mouth, yet somehow it keeps showing up on more and more menus. And instead of hiding it underneath something tasty, chefs seem to want to build piles and piles of it on top of a dish, as if we might enjoy digging through this crap to get to the real food.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no salad-hater, but as far as I’m concerned, this blander-than-bland weed makes iceberg look like hen-of-the-woods.

Are you with me?

(Photo: Stu Spivack)

Burns My Bacon: 'White' Whiskey

The dame just stared back at me and cocked her gorgeous mug like a confused chicken. She’d never seen a Joe take as many shots and still remain upright. Yeah, I took the hits alright. I had eight slugs in me and they were all eighty proof. I asked for it, but I didn’t think they would kick so hard. Must be gettin’ old…

The name”s Whiskey. Nip Whiskey. And I’ve been walkin’ the bar beat to get the goods on this new bunch of clear pretenders that wanna share my name. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about. ‘Shine’ is what we used to call ‘em. White Whiskey *  is what the punks go by now. About as old as a melted snowball and just as clear, this new hooch is the American boy band of distilled spirits. It’s makin’ a lotta noise now, but it won’t be around for long. Seems that the big boys uptown decided to try and slip one by us by chargin’ extra for some grog that ain’t finished yet. And let me tell ya, it don’t go down easy with me.

Once upon a time there was somethin’ called ‘Moonshine.’ You know the stuff. About as refined as paint thinner and just as tasty. ‘Shine could be made outta just about anything—corn, grain, potatoes—you name it. It was cooked in the backwoods without any restrictions or standards and people only drank it ‘cause that was all you could get. Plus, it was ‘illegal’ which added to its attraction. Prohibition goes away, best online casino Uncle Sam steps in and bada boom, bada bing, the old time-tested methods of barrel-aged brews are brought back, get regulated, taxed, and everyone’s happier than a waterfront hooker during shore leave.

Fast forward to not-so-long-ago when some upper management numbskull gets the bright idea to produce legal whiskey that looks like ‘shine, but is made like their established brands. Except that it ain’t aged in charred oak barrels. In fact, it ain’t aged at all. They call it ‘rested’ because it goes from the cook tank to the bottle in less time than it takes a politician to break in a new intern.

But the real kicker is that these corporate corn holes are chargin’ more for something that costs them less to produce. See, regular whiskey has to sit around in barrels for years before it mellows in flavor and gets its color from the charred oak. That means storage space, temperature regulation, labor costs—all those things that you pay for when you buy a bottle of yer favorite loopy juice. So tell me this; why is the clear stuff about ten bucks more a bottle than the aged sauce? When I bought a bottle of this swill I asked the barkeep where my kiss was. “What kiss?” he says. “My kiss.” I said. “I like to be kissed when I’m being screwed!”

And taste? This crud tastes about as good as gettin” Frenched while chewin” tobacco. If they tried to make wine this quick, y’know what they’d call it? GRAPE JUICE!

You want my take on this counterfeit yack? Why waste yer dough on somethin’ that’s gonna age a lot longer on the shelves than it did before it got into the bottle? Take it from me, this White Whiskey fad is gonna last about as long as a Chicago Cubs winning steak. If you wanna spend a chunk’a moola on something that looks like fun but will just disappoint you in the end, I know a couple of strippers I could introduce you to.

Take it from the Nipper, and pass on the pretenders. It’s clearly not the real thing.

*Just so ya know, here”s the line-up of the mugs that I interrogated for this piece; Hudson New York Corn Whiskey, XXX Shine White Whiskey, Bully Boy, Slow Hand and Deaths Door

Burns My Bacon: Anti-Booze States

Do you know what a State Store is? If you do, then you understand my endless rage. If you don’t, then you’ll most likely be enjoying the recent endless wines super-cheap case of wine gift with no frustrations. The rest of us are scrambling to find somebody in a neighboring state willing to open their doors to a case of wine while also willing to refrain from drinking it. (I’ll explain)

I know for most of you, you have no idea what I’m talking about. Some of you can stop at a gas station on your way home from work and pick up a pounder of Keystone for your enjoyment the minute you get home. Or you could stop at your local grocery store and get wine, beer, or yes, even liquor. You have no idea how much the rest of us envy you.

I live in the great state of Pennsylvania. We are home to two great cities, great sports, the Philadelphia Cheesesteak, the Liberty Bell, the homes of Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, and a site of which the constitution was drafted. We bring to America great pride in its history. But then there is this giant ink blotch on our state that we just can’t get rid of: The State Store.

Here in Pennsylvania, we are restricted to where and when we can get our booze. If you want beer, you need to go to a distributor. You want wine or the hard stuff?! Who the hell do you think you are? You need to go to what we call “state stores” run by the LIQUOR CONTROL BOARD (not controlling nanny-state-like at all). But wait—you can only go during certain hours, and we do not allow anyone to get any form of alcohol on Sundays (depending on where you live IN PA). God forbid. Phew. So those are the rules here.

Well…there is another catch. Apparently if these state stores (which have a giant selection and are run by experts in wine and booze…er…sarcasm) don’t have what you want,  you can’t even order if from  another state without going through the state store. And paying a tax nearing 20% on your purchase. You better pay for your booze you drunkard!

So that awesome deal that you’re trying to get…that’s hilarious! They can’t ship to Pennsylvania—that would be blasphemy.  I mean, unless you ship it to the state store and pay us back in taxes for allowing you to send a package to our door and hold it for you. That takes a lot of resources you know…

The deal is awesome. I’m pretty excited, and contemplating having the girlfriend let me ship to her house in New Jersey (just don’t tell anyone!). The rest of you…well, you know what I think about you. Pick up a 40 for me next time you’re out…anywhere. Celebrate the occasion that you’re free to buy whatever beverage you want, wherever you want. I’ll be lost in the maze of Pennsylvania legislation trying to figure out HOW THE HELL I CAN GET ME SOME NAKED WINE!

(Photo: Our Awesome Wine Sponsor)

Burns My Bacon: Quinoa, The Boss of Grains

Y’know what I’ve be eating a lot of lately? Quinoa. Y’know what tastes like mini packing pellets regardless of how it’s cooked or how much cheese you throw on top of it? QUINOA!

What the F? Why don’t I get it? Is it possible that over the last six weeks on the seven different occasions that I’ve eaten this crap that somehow I’ve been given bad examples of how it is supposed to be prepared? I’ve had it cold, hot and creamy, mixed in salads and served as side and main dishes, and each time I’m like, “Who really likes this shit?”

Why am I the only one who is out of the loop on this? This reminds me of when all my friends were way into Bruce Springsteen. I could never figure out what they were hearing that I couldn’t pick up in his music. I even recently went to a concert and I remember standing there looking around at everyone going apeshit over “Born in the USA”, and I kept thinking, “What is going on? There’s no chorus. It’s just the same flat tune repeated over and over with different words. Why don’t I get this?”

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Burns My Bacon: Fast Food Cheaters

WATCH OUT! Taco Bell has a new chef in town, and she’s changing the way of Taco Bell’s menu by adding a healthy option to help make you more regular after chomping down on a Doritos Taco. Unstinking offices everywhere after the lunch break. Thank goodness a “renowned” chef has come to the rescue of FAST FOOD.
You’ve heard and saw the commercials— Celebrity Chef Lorena Garcia has been wined and dined by Taco Bell and she accepts her new position as face of the franchise. Yes—a human has replaced the famed speaking pup that brought Taco Bell to a new level. Let me say that again – a professionally trained chef, has taken on the role of a strung out Chihuahua.

Why is this cheating? It’s not that I don’t enjoy the occasional guilty pleasure of a quick trip through the drive-through. But more that Lorena Garcia has completely sold out to a corporation that houses their “mexican cuisine” stores in the same buildings as KFCs. Rather than creating her own restaurants and using fresh, local ingredients, she is “making it big” with the fast food industry. Now, she has the distinct honor of having her foods frozen and shipped across the country to drunks everywhere.

I don’t care if you open a dive bar or diner—but make it your own for goodness sake! But at least she made the burrito healthy by…get this…taking out the tortilla. I think there’s another restaurant chain that does that…and I’m willing to bet their ingredients are ten times fresher and real(er?) than Taco Bell. Do you see Bobby Flay “crunchifying” burgers at the BK and Golden Arches? Is Gordon Ramsey making Au Bon Pain a more “refined” establishment? No. And they shouldn’t. I know most celebrity chefs “sell out” on occasion, but I feel like this is beyond that. Packaging your own “unique” and “special” recipes, freezing them, and selling them at your local Taco Bell is cheating. And we really don’t like cheaters here…C’mon Man!

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