Posts tagged guy fieri
Posts tagged guy fieri
So, it’s Thanksgiving and I says to myself, I says, “Why cook a turkey, when I can cook a chicken whose corpse I’ve just sodomized with canned alcohol?” BETTER YET, a chicken with bacon strips spilling from its gaping headhole. BETTER YET, a chicken that sprang forth from the twisted mind of Guy Fieri. What better way to celebrate a beloved national holiday than to gorge myself on the tender, juicy contents of a cornucopia of American excess and confusing cooking methodologies?!
WHAT’S SO CONFUSING ABOUT COOKING A CHICKEN WITH A HALF-FULL CAN OF AMERICAN LAGER JAMMED IN ITS POOPER?
Listen. I’m an optimist (notice I said the can of beer was half-full), but I have a hard time in believing in the reasons beer can chicken is supposed to be better than regular roasted chicken, mostly because some ramrod who calls himself Meathead wrote an article for the Huffington Post about how we’re all living a lie, and, incidentally, I believe everything ramrods tell me. Also, when you cook a chicken with a beer can shoved inside it, you take it out of the oven and then you’re like, “How do I make that can of beer not be in it anymore?” Gingerly.
Hey. Look what we’ve got here … To follow the theme of inserting things into holes, those garlic cloves go inside the beer before it goes inside the chicken. I chose Miller Lite because I’m watching my calories.
It’s been a terrible week to be a Guy Fieri. First, he spends Monday and Tuesday generously donating fifty-percent of his Times Square restaurant’s profits to the Red Cross, which, granted, he erroneously believed was a motorcycle gang. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, New York Times critic (cri-dick, is more like it) Pete Wells comes along and so rudely reveals to everyone that Guy’s Times Square restaurant isn’t even a restaurant despite that it has tables and chairs and serves food-ish things.
Here are some excerpts from Wells’ review (actually just a list of questions he maybe wants Guy to answer, but mostly wants Guy to feel shame about) …
Did panic grip your soul as you stared into the whirling hypno wheel of the menu, where adjectives and nouns spin in a crazy vortex? When you saw the burger described as “Guy’s Pat LaFrieda custom blend, all-natural Creekstone Farm Black Angus beef patty, LTOP (lettuce, tomato, onion + pickle), SMC (super-melty-cheese) and a slathering of Donkey Sauce on garlic-buttered brioche,” did your mind touch the void for a minute?
Listen. Excessive acronyms aren’t for everyone. But, how were the cocktails, Pete? Look, I can ask questions, too.
Hey, did you try that blue drink, the one that glows like nuclear waste? The watermelon margarita? Any idea why it tastes like some combination of radiator fluid and formaldehyde?
I’m mostly impressed that he knows what formaldehyde tastes like. And is also alive. Then there’s …
How did Louisiana’s blackened, Cajun-spiced treatment turn into the ghostly nubs of unblackened, unspiced white meat in your Cajun Chicken Alfredo?
DID YOU SAY CAJUN CHICKEN ALFREDO? Ew, wait, better yet, did you say “ghostly nubs?” Incidentally, there are several body parts I refer to as my ghostly nubs, but I won’t say which (MY TITS).
It just so happens that I made Guy’s Cajun Chicken Alfredo on Saturday night for some friends who I like, but not enough to serve them food that doesn’t have enough fat to kill them onsite. I did make sure the nubs were all nice and blackened, though. Real nice and black nubs.
You know what’s a real hassle? Besides having segments of your beard meticulously bleached on a bi-weekly basis? DIPPING FOOD IN CONDIMENTS. UGH. Picking up french fry after french fry, hefting each over to a puddle of Hidden Valley Ranch, then bringing the deep-fat-fried and white-fat-drenched crinkle-cut piece of potato all the way up to your mouth. BUT WHAT’S THE SOLUTION?
An air guitar-playing Guy Fieri slides into the room on his knees and says, “Foods with condiments IN them, motherfuckers.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and when he pulls them out he’s got an onion ring jammed between each pair of fat fingers. This exact thing might have actually happened in real life …
Coming up die-rectly: Rojo Onion Rings. Onion rings dipped in red things (ketchup and sriracha) before they’re breaded and fried. WHY DO YOU THINK THAT’S SO WEIRD?
If you’re like me and most other good Americans who still think references to the early aughts are funny, you don’t trust things that are overtly French. This includes most art, many wines, several million people, and myriad food items. Haricot vert? Surely you mean green beans. (I’m with this guy, my new favorite guy — Fieri notwithstanding.) Cassoulet? A stew so French-sounding it might as well be made with hunks of Gerard Depardieu’s nose. In fact, how are we to know it isn’t? Enter Guy Fieri on a motorcycle built from the bones of deceased Playboy playmates …
See, even though most traditional cassoulet recipes include pork products — sausages, skins, etc. — Guy thought it best to just g’head and throw the word “pork” in the name to avoid any confusion.
“If it’s sunny out, get ready to put on sunscreen,” Guy writes. “And if it’s cloudy in Nor Cal, get out the pork-oulet ingredients.” And proceed to slather them on your flesh? I don’t know. Oh, look, here are those ingredients now …
Cassoulet is a French stew containing meats and beans and things. PORK-oulet is exactly that, but with a name that’s more likely to appeal to fatfucks.
Hi there. If you could make just one wish, what would it be? G’head, take a sec. But, seriously, I don’t have all day. OK, now that you’ve had plenty of time to think about it, you inevitably decided that the one thing you want more than anything else in the world is a book of recipes crafted by Smash Mouth lead singer Steve Harwell.
YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.
What’s a Smash Mouth? Oh, shut up and stop pretending you don’t remember wearing a funky bowling shirt, calf-length jean shorts, and vinyl Converse One Stars whilst mixing a Green Apple Pucker and Ecstasy martini for some lady with breast implants and a cold sore whilst also listening to Smashmouth’s 1997 mega-hit “Walking on the Sun.” (I just described in detail what Guy Fieri is doing at precisely this moment.)
Anyway, the impending release of Harwell’s cookbook (for-real cover seen above) was a thing people ended up talking about because Guy Fieri wrote the book’s foreward, and Steve Harwell and Guy Fieri are basically the same person except Harwell walks on the sun and Fieri looks like the sun. Heh. Oh, man. That was a good one.
This collaboration — this meeting of the minds — has been a longtime coming! Back in 2008, Guy force-fed us our first taste of how amazingly bland it can be when ’90s two-hit wonders and their chef-like fans combine as foodstuff when he introduced us to Smash Mouth Reds on his program “Guy’s Big Bite.” The recipe is barely a recipe: Boil red potatoes. Smash with palm of hand. Top with a dollop of creme fraiche, some lime zest, and salt and pepper. AREN’T YOU GLAD I’M TELLING YOU ABOUT THEM?
But, listen. I made it interesting. I made my own creme fraiche. And I smashed them with too much vigor.
You know, I love anthropomorphized animals as much as the next guy. Have you SEEN “Beverly Hills Chihuahua?” Well, neither have I and don’t you fucking dare tell anyone I have. “Beverly Hills Chihuahua 3” was pretty funny, though. And it’s out on video now! (This post is sponsored by Mexican stereotypes, George Lopez, and Mexican stereotypes perpetuated by George Lopez.)
Why oh why, though, are anthropomorphized pigs forever behaving like cannibals? If I’ve seen one pig in a chef hat endorsing the consumption of pork, I’ve seen a least a handful of pigs in chef hats condorsing the ensumption of clark. I’m drunk. With rage. Anyway, the artist who drew the drawings in Guy Fieri’s cookbook is all too happy to promote the myth that pigs are capable of preparing foods made of pigs. You’d think Guy Fieri, of all people, would be more sensitive to their plight IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN (I mean he’s pig-like).
In protest, I made Guy’s Ginger Pork Potstickers with ground turkey instead. And because it’s healthier. And also because I already had ground turkey in my refrigerator. But mostly in protest.
So here are the ingredients … modified thanks to a trip to the “Jennie-O Turkey Store.” I’m so glad that’s not an actual place …
You know what really whets my wet sandwich appetite? WET SANDWICH ANECDOTES. The story of Guy’s first encounter with a gravy-drenched Italian Beef Sandwich goes something like this …
He was in an airport in Chicago and found an Italian beef stand. The guy at the counter noticed Guy’s last name on his credit card and gave him a hard time because he’s of Italian descent, but had never had an Italian beef sandwich, which isn’t exactly fair since Guy’s last name is “Ferry” in real life and since no one who doesn’t live in Chicago knows what an Italian beef sandwich is.
Then everything gets worser.
“My mouth is watering just remembering what happened next. With that first bite of salty wet beef [winces], soggy bun [whimpers], hot pepper, and the crunch of vinegary, sweet, and salty giardiniera, I thought I was going to die [emboldened by him, not me — I was busy breaking out in a cold sweat, then vomiting]. I engulfed the whole thing, then went back for another [no!]. As I unwrapped the second sandwich on the plane [NO!], the aromas wafted out, and let’s just say my fellow passengers experienced some major sandwich envy.”
I’m gonna g’head and guess there’s a 75 to 85 percent chance Guy mistook looks of horror and disgust for looks of sandwich envy.In fact, I bet the person sitting immediately beside him was so “envious,” they spent the rest of the flight locked in the bathroom, feigning illness and reading US Weekly. It should be against TSA rules to bring anything with “aromas” that “waft” onto a plane. Especially meat sandwiches that are wet and are being “engulfed” by a man who’s already filled with and covered in a previous sandwich’s gravy.
Hi. I currently live in Chicago. So, I happen to know what an Italian Beef Sandwich is. Come closer and I’ll tell you what it is, but only if you promise not to tell the Italians or the Chicagoans that I said it … IT’S A FRENCH DIP WITH PICKLED PEPPERS ON IT. Shhhh. Our secret. You guys are my best friends.
Hey, look. The ingredients. OOPS. And I already lied about you guys being my best friends. Charles Shaw is my best friend, obviously …
Last year, a former “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives” producer accused Guy Fieri of being a gross pig who hates gay people and requires advanced notice if he’s going to have to interact with them on his program.
Reasons to believe this is true: Just look at the guy.
Reasons to believe this is not true: Just look at the guy. He wears more accessories than Charles Nelson Reilly (RIP). And spends more time at the salon than Charles Nelson Reilly (RIP). Also, he is very profoundly in love with Sammy Hagar …
“I’m a rocker, so of course I’m a Sammy Hagar fan,” Guy writes. Well, of course. That’s like saying, “I’m a dinglebag, so of course I have a two-toned goatee.”
Let’s read on …
“… Sammy found out that I was cooking with his Cabo Wabo tequila … so we decided that he’d come up to Johnny Garlic’s to talk about tequila. I pulled up in my new Corvette just as Sammy pulled up in his GT500. So we immediately went over to each other’s cars and started covering the specs. It was so cool, like I’d known him all my life.”
Aw. Soulmates. But in a tequila-titties-and-cars-related, totally-not-gay way.
How do we tell our platonic lovers how we feel? WE MAKE SANDWICHES ABOUT THEM. Red Rocker Margarita Chicken Sandwiches.
Hey. “Why is Sammy Hagar called the Red Rocker?” is a question I asked that I didn’t know I’d ever want answered. “Sammy Hagar almost always wore red leather outfits onstage, especially as a solo performer.” Also, not gay.
Guy’s love for Sammy is very much a mutual thing! Hagar recently appeared on one of Guy’s hundred-or-so television programs “Guy’s Big Bite” and subsequently posted pictures on his blog, on which he calls Guy his “brother from another mother.” Let’s take a look …