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Posts Tagged ‘Food’

Questing in Des Moines

While in Des Moines this week, I was tasked with a holy crusade – to become the “hero vendor!” Well, I’m a title-whore, so I had to take the challenge.

Hold on a sec – are you my wife? If you are my wife, you must stop reading now. Compromising pictures are to follow, and you cannot know what I did behind your back in Iowa.

Not gone yet? No, I’m serious – leave now!

Dammit, why are you so stubborn?

Alright, let’s partake of a little background. My mother-in-law once doubted I could finish off the last pound of mashed potatoes at some family function. Silly mother-in-law. She was unprepared for what followed – a gorging she hadn’t witnessed in many years, since she raised 2 girls. At any moment in time, I can consume an unlimited amount of potato-material. It’s just a fact.

Likewise, I can usually polish-off any quantity of cheesy macaroni. So, when I was challenged this week to finish an entire bowl of macaroni gratin at some floofy french restaurant, I rose to the occasion.

Armed with my furnace-stomach and unhealthy love for the macaroni, I eyed the bowl as it was placed before me:

The enemy. Human hand is in there for reference. It's larger than it looks! (the bowl, not the hand)

Ahhh… heart attack in a bowl. My favorite.

Let’s elapse some time here:

Halfway there! Ugh...

Did I mention there were large bits of bacon waiting inside as well? Who knew the french could make such hearty food!

I was surprised to learn I would be the first to pass the challenge. Now, I’m small of stature, so this fact surprised me. As the end neared, I knew I was going to taste victory, even if the Marriott bathroom would be soon declared “ground zero” after the attack upon my system.

Fin!

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Novi, MI: hellz yeah!

Look what I found in Michigan!

Novi, MI - Alpha Zulu 1700 hours, near-ish the contested Canadian Border

An ugly, bald dude? No, look behind the bald dude. BM! Hellz yeah.

For those of you who don’t know me, I have an addiction… as sickness, really. You see, for some reason that cannot be identified (or explained), I love Boston Market! Comfort food just hits the spot, and BM serves it all up for me.

Rotisserie chicken? Can’t get enough.

Meatloaf? Munch munch.

Mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, stuffing, broccoli, mac-n-cheese? Drool.

Pot pie? Fuckin’ jackPOT!

So, yes, shortly after finding my hotel I typically punch “Boston Market” into my Garmin to find the nearest one. Don’t believe me?

(warning: the following pictures contain graphic baldness. Not suitable for all viewers)

Atlanta, last year

No clue where the frak this one is

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