I WANT YOU INSIDE ME... A New Blog Series.

I have told this story before, but...

I went to a deli one Saturday afternoon in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn a long long time ago... Pre-kids.

It was almost noon, I had slept in, I was very hungover, and I was starving.

Got my newlywed wife her go-to sandwich- Rare roast beef and white American (racist) on a gutted kaiser roll with lettuce, mayo, horseradish, and S&P... Side of macaroni salad... Can of Dr. Brown's black cherry.

Solid order from a young lady who has terrible taste in men.

I was going to hit an Italian hero on unseeded also gutted but swap out the provolone for fresh mozzarella, no onions, extra hot cherry peppers, extra red wine vinegar... Side of potato salad... Doritos... Canada Dry ginger ale

After ordering hers, a portly Italian gent emerged from the kitchen in the back with a small tray of freshly fried chicken cutlets... Nothing fancy... Just some pounded-thin chicken cutlets dredged through seasoned bread crumbs and fried to a golden brown.

I said to another Italian behind the counter... "Are those fresh chicken cutlets?"

He responded, "Yep... Fresh out of the oil... Would you like to try one?"

The resounding "YES!" that I lobbed back over the counter came back at him faster than a bolt of fucking fat lightning.

This gent was then nice enough to rip a cutlet in half with his non-gloved hand (deal with it) and hand it to me with no plate, no napkin, no fork... No nothing.

I gladly snatched it from him like an over-eager pit bull attacking a defenseless infant in a passing stroller, and, before I popped it like a Cert, there was something I immediately noticed.

Some say you eat with your eyes.

Some say you need to really let food wash over all of your tongue in order to enjoy the nuances of taste and texture.

Some argue that smelling food is more important than taste because the average mouth may contain around 10,000 taste buds, but those receptors are only able to differentiate a handful of different tastes. Namely, sweet, bitter, sour, salty, and the trendy "umami".  Whereas, scientists estimate the human nose can differentiate up to a trillion different scents... A TRILLION. 

So eyes, tongue, and nose aside, I think people often overlook another body part when talking about taste, and that is the human hand.

When this beautifully filthy gindaloon handed me the ripped chicken cutlet, the first thing I experienced was through my fingertips and it was that familiar residual warmth that emanates from something that was recently breaded and fried.

And then my fingertips were able to feel the faint crackle of kosher salt on the surface I touched, which is undoubtedly the product of a cook who knows salting food fresh out of the fryer is the absolute BEST way to salt food.

So it was the feel of that hot salty sliver of fried perfection that registered in my brain even before it was introduced to the rest of my sensory organs.

Then I smelled and tasted the cutlet, and there is really no other way to say it... It made me so fucking happy.

Salty.

Crunchy.

Juicy.

Scary.

Sporty.

Sorry... Went all Spice Girls there for a sec, but only because I went into Jimmy's Heroes for one thing but now I'll tell you what I want... What I really really want... And that was more chicken cutlets.

"What else you need?", said my new best friend.

And I said, "Can you give me the whole loaf of seeded semolina and gut the dough.  Then- chicken cutlets, fresh mozz, a little Proscuitto, slice up those cherry peppers in the jar that are stuffed with bread crumbs and smear then all over the inside of the top layer of bread and drizzle the whole fucking thing with that syrupy balsamic reduction.  I'll go no chips but a side of potato salad with a Doc Brown's cream soda AND a Manhattan Special"

I was so fucking proud of myself to freestyle that order at the drop of a hat, and I immediately perked up my ears in expectation of positive feedback from the guy who was about to create my off-the-cuff masterpiece.

But all I received back from the counter-man was, "Got it… NEXT!"

I waited quietly by the ice cream freezer until my order was done… Paid cash along with a HEALTHY tip…And then I rushed back to my apartment to essentially go-down on this bitch (the sandwich, not my wife).

My wife was on the phone in the kitchen, so I basically threw her bag at her, and I went into the living room to splay my feast out on the coffee table, turn on the TV, and go to town.

The VERY FIRST channel that came on had The Godfather Part II playing… Which is almost like a sign from God that I was doing something right that afternoon.

I moved the Manhattan Special to the side. That was going to be dessert… Poured over ice with a little bit of milk (don't judge) served alongside a black and white cookie from Leske's Bakery.

It was a perfect situation.

Spring afternoon, but still a little chilly in the apartment.

The movie was on TBS, but I didn't care… There was a pillow and blanket right next to me, so it didn't matter whether or not I took a 3-hour post-meal nap that had commercial interruptions playing in the background.

I unwrapped the hero, skewered the open container of potato salad with a plastic fork, tucked a straw into the soda, and began to attack.

BUT FIRST.

I brought the sandwich up close to my mouth and quietly whispered into what I perceived to be its ear, "I want you inside me."

It was the fattest and gayest thing my perfectly shaped lips have ever uttered.

AND, as I said it, my wife happened to be walking by the living room towards our shower and faintly heard what I uttered to my food.

"What the fuck did you just say?", she asked.

"I just told my sandwich that I wanted him inside of me.", I replied.

And she went off to the bathroom shaking her head and laughing.

She gets me… And this is why I am 10 times more likely to kill her than divorce her (if that makes any sense).

I then attacked everything I bought like I had a tip on a famine… Just demolished every edible morsel on my coffee table.

Afterward, I slumped back onto my couch utterly exhausted.

That's when I looked down and saw a glob of potato salad on my chest.  White and creamy and just laying there… Like an errant load after a sloppy blowjob.

I barely had any energy to remove the coagulum, and, like clockwork, my wife came walking back across the entrance to my lair and spied her husband sitting there, covered in protein.

Anyhoo… "I want you inside me." has therefore become synonymous with any occasion I gush over food.

I've used the term before in blogs, and I used it during quarantine as a title for a handful of at-home cooking videos that everyone ABSOLUTELY LOVED.

And now I am using it again.

I need to blog more, but I don't need to race to blog about headline shit, and I am not equipped to ever blog about whether or not Virginia Tech will cover this weekend… Plus, I really don't care.

What I do care about is food.  And if you're supposed to "blog about what you know" then I should blog about food.

So, from here on out (or until I decide to stop), I am going to sample what I perceive to be an ICONIC dish from anywhere I may be… More specifically, I am going to try it, hand in the receipt for whatever it cost, and then I am going to write about the experience.

As I am thinking about how it'll go, I think a couple of things- Maybe I will have someone with me.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe I will include pictures taken from my phone.  Maybe I will do it once a week, or twice a month, or whenever quarantine rules provide me with opportunities.

Those are how I "think" it'll happen… Here's how I KNOW it'll happen- I will try dishes that I am certain are good (mainly because I have had them before OR I trust the recommendation).  I will not be judging the dish on a scale of 1 to whatever, but I will still be brutally honest in regards to the taste and price.  I will only be trying food sober because everything is 50% better when I am bombed.

At the end of the day, I would love for people to read these blogs and maybe make a note on their phones to try it next time they are in town… I do something similar when I watch a Guy Fieri show, even though I don't particularly like Guy Fieri, and I am relatively sure the chances are slim I will be in downtown San Antonio any time soon with a hankering for Phô.

And I am fully aware that starting a regular food blog during a global pandemic is not ideal, but we all have to eat, so I will pivot my choices to fit quarantine restrictions… For example, I have been to Rao's a handful of times, but I have never taken advantage of their new to-go service (mainly because they have never offered takeout in the 124 years they have existed).  So, for the sake of the blog, I will dial some of it up and then give you an idea if waiting to sit down at a legendary spot OR simply picking up the phone to order from their kitchen makes the most sense for you.

SOOOOOOOO… Be on the lookout for the first installment of I WANT YOU INSIDE ME sometime next week.  

I regret I already used up the chicken cutlet hero at Jimmy's, but that is the type of review you can expect going forward.

IWYIM

-Large