It’s Wednesday, which means it’s time to tuck a napkin into our shirts and get to complainin’ in an all-new edition of The Gripe Report.
And this week, we’re talking about one of my favorite topics: food.
I know. Surprising given my chilled, Herculean physique and higher-than-average cholesterol.
I love food. In fact, I love it so much I actually eat it several times a day.
However, like anything, I have a lot of thoughts about it, and while we’ve touched on food in Gripe Reports past, I think everyone appreciates a good round of food gripes because we all experience food.
If you didn’t, you’d die. You don’t really get much of a choice in the matter.
So what do you say? Grab yourself a beverage and maybe throw on some sweatpants because we’re about to whip up a big bowl of complaints.
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Like a great many of you, we got some baked beans for our Memorial Day cookout. Now, those come in different flavors, many of which taste alike.
We had some like maple-y ones, and if you blindfolded me and gave me another flavor, I’m not sure I could tell the difference.
But, recently, the folks at Bush’s — they of talking dog commercial fame — uncorked this triumvirate of unholy bean flavors.
I’ll be honest, apple pie could work and dill pickle piques my interest, but rocket pop?
I hate that this is a thing now.
Companies seem to just sit around and go, “Hey, what if we made Pop-Tarts that taste like jerky?” then they do, and everyone’s like, “Whoa, that’s f-–ked up. Beef jerky Pop-Tarts,” and then maybe a couple people buy them to make a video and go viral.
Other than that, they just go away.
Call me old-fashioned; I like when things taste like what they are. I like coffee that tastes like coffee and beer that tastes like beer.
That’s my biggest problem with craft beer. Places are like, “Hey, try this beer; it tastes like Twizzlers,” instead of just making beer that tastes like a good beer.
It’s a fad, and will fortunately fall by the wayside like Pet Rocks and clear electronics (I kind of miss that one though the see-through N64 hit different).
I’m not going to lie, I’ve got mixed feelings about brunch.
On one hand, I love that it is basically a food all-star game.
Ever wonder what would happen if waffles played on a line with a club sandwich and a bowl of lobster bisque?
Well, brunch lets you find out.
But, like all good things, it has been bastardized to the point of not being worth your time.
For starters, I feel like brunch reservations are always hard to get, and that’s all because you get table after table of women playing dress-up, taking up space so they can snap photos of themselves with mimosas.
No one cares. Literally no one cares.
You’re just taking up space from the real heroes: those of us who have to make the Sophie’s choice of having eggs or a burger.
Eh, screw it, throw the egg on the burger.
I want to go back to the salad days of brunch (don’t waste your appetite on salad, but the way). I did a cruise recently and was chasing bites of waffle with bites of gorgonzola and grape pizza.
Now that is brunch. The only rule is that there are no rules.
I like an avocado, but buying those things is the absolute bane of my existence.
If you’re in the market for avocados, there’s at least a 50% chance that you should just save yourself some time and throw a few dollars down the garbage disposal.
There are really only two scenarios: you’ll either get an avocado that is about as hard as a diamond or one that feels like it’s full of pudding.
There is no in-between.
I always opt for the diamond-hard ones, because those will at least, in theory, make their way into the edible range.
The issue is that this window is small. Practically microscopic.
On more than one occasion, I have looked at an avocado sitting in the fruit dish on the counter, and said, “Okay, tomorrow, you will be perfect and are going on a turkey club or in a salad or on toast. You will be consumed in some manner.”
I go to bed, wake up, go downstairs, and that same avocado I was planning on eating is now some brown, rancid mess.
I know no one likes genetically modified anything, but I think the genetics on avocados could maybe use some gussying up. Maybe fix that turns them to s–t while I’m sleeping.
My wife and I went to one of our favorite Mexican joints a couple nights ago.
One of the greatest things about being married that no one tells you about is counter-ordering. I asked my wife what she was ordering, and she said the birria tacos. This was great because that was one thing I wanted, but I also wanted the grouper tacos.
I love grouper. Those big ugly sumbitches are tasty.
So, I knew I was getting both because my wife didn’t finish hers.
The only problem was her birria tacos were served on a plank, which we both hate.
Why do restaurants do this? It’s always “hip” restaurants too, and this was one of those. Are they too cool for a plate?
Usually these planks come with fries in a little metal cup and cost like $30 because it’s a “craft burger.”
I feel like this started with sandwiches and has now made its way south of the border. Sure, things you eat with your hands aren’t a huge problem, but this plank included a little domed igloo of Mexican rice.
It’s so hard to eat anything like that off of a plank because they lack the raised edges that plates have, which aid in getting things on your fork and keeping debris from getting all over the table.
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I’ve been served turkey clubs with shredded lettuce on planks, and when I’m done, there’s so much shredded lettuce on the table, it looks like I tried to cut it with a weed whacker.
So, if you’re ever in a restaurant and hear a loud groan, it’s probably me, and whatever I ordered just arrived on a plank.
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That’s it for this week’s edition of The Gripe Report!
Be sure to send your gripes to matthew.reigle@outkick.com for a future edition!
