Flying Solo

So I have returned from Hawaii after a few weeks of basking in the shade near sunlight. Overall I had a pleasant time eating and eating.  But like every good thing, it came to an end.  So I said goodbye to Chicken Hen, who will be spending time with her family there for a few weeks, and hopped once again on the friendly skies.  Unlike the flight over, the flight back to the coop was less than enjoyable.  First off, my departure from Honolulu left at 11pm.  So by the time I got to the airport I was already fussy and gassy from the Korean food I had eaten hours earlier.  I made sure to find a corner of the terminal to hide in, to avoid interaction and for sweet precious electrical outlets.  We can all agree that in an airport terminal, these plugs are gold.  I had two, one for phone, one for tabbie.  So about 30 minutes before our departure, some fat Hawaiian dude wearing smelly sandals came over and asked if he could use one of my plugs.  Immediately I was offended.  I crawled under a table for these plugs fair and square.  Even so, I agreed to relinquish one, as both of my gizmos were at 100%.  He very awkwardly unplugged my phone and tossed the cord onto the ground.  Such disrespect was afforded to my phone cord that I instantly hated everything about him.  I coldly stared at him for the next minutes.  Scrutinizing his shabby dress, his greasy sandwich he was eating, and his nasty soft coolers he was using as luggage.

As we boarded the plane, My overhead bin was already filled.  I tired to manuver to a different bin, but was getting shoved around by people trying to get their seats.  So, like every other time I’ve had any difficulty at all, I asked for someone to do it for me.  The flight attendant said she would find a spot for me, and I followed her.  About five seats back was a bin that had only two small cooler bags.  I looked down to see the fat bastard sitting right there.  The flight attendant began to move the bags to accommodate my carry on.  The guy said, “excuse me, don’t move my bag”.  The flight attendant said she was just moving it to the bin next to it, as it could fit easily elsewhere.  He looked right at me, and said “I don’t want my bags moved”.  That son of a bitch!  I gave up plug rights to him, and he threw this kindness in my face.  I said, ” you’re welcome for the plug earlier”.  He huffed at me.  I watched the 5′ 2″, 100 pound flight attendant lift my bag into the overhead with amusement.  I started to walk away, and the fat guy said “you’re welcome jerk” to me.  I said “fuck you” as firmly and forcefully as I could.  It was so tough sounding I scared myself.  I am a badass.  He looked acceptably frightened and I returned to my seat.
My seat was naturally flanked on all sides by babies.  Although I was thankful the closest babies were Asian.  Asian babies are good babies.  Only the whitey babies cry.  I don’t know why that is, but its fact.  Only white babies cry on planes.  I liked the good Asian babies on the plane.  They just sit there are shut up.  If I ever have a kid, I hope its 100% Asian.

My next flight from LAX to Denver was only like two hours.  That did not prevent the old man sitting next to me from getting ill.  He threw up all over his seat a mere 20 minutes into the flight.  After bouncing off his knees, there was significant splash back onto my pants.  Have you ever seen old people throw up? It’s not like human puke.  No, instead, its far thicker than normal.  I assume this is due to their oatmeal centered diet.  I wiped off my pants as best I could and relaxed to the sounds of him dry heaving for the rest of the flight.  They say you get used to smells after a while.  Apparently two hours is not enough to get used to barf smell.  When I got off the plane, I changed clothes and threw away the pants.  I was sad though, those pants had served me well, keeping my legs warm and covering my genitals.  But alas, I couldn’t keep them with the mark of shame on it, no matter how many times I would wash them.

My flight from Denver to DC was not so bad.  I sat next to a kid with his mom on the other side.  The mom listened to music while apparently being content having me amuse her child for the trip.  I was plenty bigger than the kid so I took all arm rest space.  He kept staring at me though the whole flight.  I did my best to ignore him.  With about an hour left in the flight, the kid needed to sneeze.  He quickly spun his head and sneezed right into my left ear and face.  He stared at me, and his mother instantly apologized.  I said it was ok, having been through plenty worse a few hours before.

Given what had happened to me on my flights, I half expected someone to throw their shit at me at baggage claim.  Thankfully, no one did, and I made it home.  I walked in my coop to be greeted by my dog Chicken Little.  I had been gone for 14 days, and was glad to see that the dog food bag I had cut open and left on the floor was enough for him to eat.  He seemed happy enough, having improvised Chicken Hen’s clothes hamper into a makeshift toilet.  For the next couple of weeks, its just me and Chicken Little.  I kept asking him what we should do, but he just stares at me.  Chicken Hen is in Hawaii, and I always forget the time difference, so I’m afraid to ask her what I should do.  Yesterday I ate some beans directly from the can.  Meal accomplished.  I will spend the rest of the days watching TV and shouting at youngsters out the window.  I sure hope Chicken Little will think of something good.  Frankly so far he’s contributed very little, I bet he hasn’t even payed the internet bill like we agreed.  If the internet gets cut off, I’m throwing his food bag into that hamper.

Avast Landlubbers! (Somewhere in the Caribbean)

Dear reader (s?), in a matter of mere days, Chicken Spy will be hitting the high seas on a voyage of grand adventure. I have been preparing for not only exotic eating locations, but new and exciting cuisine. However, I would like to digress from my prepared food related posts, to discuss my mental preparations in regard to being on a boat for an extended period of time. I believe these preparations have helped me learn various lessons that will be invaluable in maintaining a cat like state of readiness should the need arise to take action. I’d like to share these lessons with you now.

Lesson 1. Be Rich

Naturally, in the event of a disaster, the poor will be the first to go. It’s not their poorness that causes their imminent demise, but two contributing factors as far as I can tell. First, the poor always get the most unsafe and shoddy sleeping quarters. These arrangements, combined with a panicked crowd, create human crumple zones that assures death for most of the masses. The second reason, is that the poor’s overworked and undernourished bodies create conditions that foster a mix of tired muscles and brittle vitamin deficient bones that simply can’t perform when a desperate struggle for life is required. This is why I have ensured that my quarters are at the finest class I could acquire, so I wouldn’t be mixed in with the riff-raff. Being in a more expensive room assures rescue personnel that my life is indeed worth saving.

2. Do Not Cross Willem Dafoe

Willem Dafoe, was the villain in the above film. Even if I did not reference this movie, you would know this because Dafoe is evil in every film he is in. Even when he is not the villain, his character is still menacing and scary. I intended to include a photo of him for this post, but upon googling him, his wolf-like visage frightened me so much I was unable to stop shaking my hand for enough time to execute a copy and paste. Nevertheless, rest assured, should I see Willem Dafoe on my boat, I will concede defeat immediately. He can then do what he wishes with my property and Chicken Hen, I will not raise an objection, and will avoid eye contact.

3. Follow the person that makes the most impassioned speech

In a time of crisis, you can’t look to just anyone to lead you to safety. Sure, I’d like to think of myself as being able to find my way out of danger, but there would be others there too. Im not sure if I’m comfortable trying to lead others at my direction. Rarely do people ask the advice of a gentleman as portly as myself, and I don’t see that changing on a boat. So who do you follow? Well time is of the essence in these kinds of situations, so I suppose I would give each potential leader candidate a few minutes to convince me to follow them. Well reasoned arguments are not welcome in a time like this, I want them to yell quite loudly and employ a lot of arm movements. The trick I would imagine, is to get me so worked up with abject terror that I will blindly follow whoever is claiming they have the answers, no matter what those answers are. Unless of course these answers interfere with lesson 2.

4. Kidnapping is ok sometimes

I’ve been at the Richmond coop with Chicken Hen for a while now and we’ve had a good time or two, but I’ve never been on a cruise before, what happens if I find miss right? Well, like most ladies, I suspect this miss right will not immediately take a shine to my lumbering sweaty appearance. There is only so much time on a cruise though, so I wouldn’t have my regular tactic of months of pathetic begging. As I understand however, under certain boat related conditions, I can ensure that miss right suffers some sort of blunt force trauma to the head. Then upon her waking up from her hazy post-comatose state, I would inform her that I have already been sleeping with her on more than one occasion. Sure she’ll be a little dismayed at first, but then I will inform her that I was very gentle, and that she now has free reign of anything in Chicken Spy’s apartment (except my candy and pornography drawer, that drawer is for me and me alone). Eventually she’ll come around and accept her fate as Chicken Hen 2. A name I hope she comes to enjoy, as I will be addressing her as that exclusively.

I think that about does it. I stick to these pointers and I’m sure I’ll be just fine. In the meantime, hopefully I will be able to post something amidst the high seas.  Caribbean food ahoy!

The Original Pancake House: Your Move Stranger (Chicago, IL)

Recently, one of my two readers informed me that Yolk in Chicago pales in breakfasty goodness to Chicago’s Original Pancake House. At first, I was naturally alarmed that anyone has been reading this. Then I was angry that this reader would disagree with my analysis. I have a website sir, I think I know a thing or two about judging things. Like the stages of grief though, I eventually came to accept this person’s claims as perhaps legitimate. So I jumped on the next flight out to the windy city to find out for myself.

Like Yolk, there are a few Pancake House locations in town, I went to the Near North Side location. I couldn’t tell which one was supposed to be best, so I just chose at random. Pancake House opens early, but I do not, so I rolled in around 1030am, which apparently was prime eatin’ time. There was a huge line out the door, probably 40 people long. I wanted to give up, which is usually what I do when things get at all difficult, but Chicken Pot Hen reminded me of my quest. I’m glad she had me stick it out, as the line moved quickly, and we got our seats after about a 30 minute wait.

The inside is like an old style diner cafe, very little decoration. Here they skimp on the frills to make way for more seats, and seats they most certainly have a lot of. Its hard for me to judge how big the dining room is, as there are so many seats, everyone is practically piled on top of each other. Although I was literally bumping elbows with the table next to us, the service didn’t slack at all. Our waitress was quick and snappy with every order and coffee refill, I’m sure she had another 100 tables to help. The menu is mostly, wait for it, pancakes. Many different kinds with many different toppings. A lot of fruit toppings and unique syrups were available, but to me the specialty pancakes were best. By far the greastest was the potato pancakes. I’ve had a potato cake once or twice, but these were fantastic. They don’t just have cakes though, I enjoyed a big southwest style omelette, which I consumed with terrifying efficiency.

Its a toss up, Yolk or Pancake House. They really are separate breakfast experiences. Yolk is a chill out and relax kind of atmosphere, while Original Pancake House is like a cram them in and get them fed kind of joint. I think the food might be a touch better at Pancake House, but the wait is certainly better at Yolk. Either way, good breakfast in Chicago.

By the way- My twitter is @chickenpotspy. Let me know what you think, or where you think I should check out next. Don’t worry, if I disagree with you and feel threatened, I will just delete your posts!

Terrapin: Wait a Minute, This Place Doesn’t Smell Like Cigarettes (Virginia Beach, VA)

You may have read before, I’m no fan of the beach.   Beaches are always so sandy.  Wow, that was profound of me.  Pearls of wisdom in this post.  I think I’ve been to maybe two beaches I didn’t hate.  The shore at Virginia Beach is not one of these two beaches.  I found out I hate this beach after taking a trip there recently.  Richmond is about 90 minutes away from the coast so Chicken Hen and I figured we should take a long weekend.  When we went to book the trip, we just picked an average place on the shore.  Little did I know that all of these hotels are horrible.  Well, that’s not fair.  The hotels are adequate.  The people that stay in these hotels, however, are disgusting. For two nights, we were subjected to screaming, shouting, arguing, loud laughing, at absolutely all hours of the night.  At one point, at around 3am, someone from another room decided to have a smoke on the outdoor hallway. However, instead of delaying their existing conversation, they chose to prop their room door open and shout at each other from 100 feet away.  The people in this room weren’t even arguing.  They just wanted to continue chatting, past several different people’s hotel room doors.  I was about to swing my door open and let them have it, until I remembered I’m far too cowardly to do that.

Most of the days at the beach were spent avoiding obnoxious families or gangs of rowdy youngsters.  The beach is so friggin crowded. I did go into the water briefly, but quickly got out when I tasted the brownish green ocean.  Around the shore, there are a number of restaurants catering to the “relax at the beach” crowd.  All of these places were horrible.  They were extremely overpriced bars with terrible greasy slop that tasted frozen then deep fried.  Even the higher end places were only slightly better, even then still trying for that “margaritaville” vibe bullshit.  I was about to give up hope of a good meal when I got wind of a place called Terrapin.  I actually assumed it would be bad, keeping on par with everywhere around it, but I decided to go there anyway because I LIKE TURTLES. I’m glad I did.

Terrapin is about two miles from the shore.  Still near board shops and motels, the outside is very unassuming.  Other than a little turtle sign, its in a strip mall that you would otherwise completely miss.  Once you go inside however, you can tell the place is all class.  They went for a dark intimate set up, and it works here.  The place is small, maybe twenty tables with a six seat bar near the front.  There is also an outdoor patio area with additional tables.  The server we had was polite and friendly, which was nice considering we looked like crap from being at the beach all day.

The menu is top notch.  They had Contemporary American cuisine with added classy twists.  We went for the reasonably priced 4 course tasting menu. The first course offered a seasonal soup or a variety of fresh salads. The second course offered a mushroom stack, risotto, truffle mac & cheese and a foie gras salad. We ordered the truffle mac & cheese and foie gras salad.  Both of these were amazing, and both perfectly portioned.  The truffle mac & cheese I could have eaten by the bucket full, but they mercifully give you just enough to have a great taste.  The foie gras salad was crisp and flavorful.  The dressing was certainly house made and the meat moist and delicious.  The entrees continued the classed up traditional theme, with fried chicken, seared duck breast, and local caught rockfish. The duck was some of the tenderest I think I’ve ever tasted, with not a bit of fat that so easily ruins duck dishes.  The fried chicken was also flawlessly executed.  Light breading with a satisfying crunch, while having an incredibly juicy chicken center.  The rock fish was very fresh and flavorful. My mouth is watering just thinking about these dishes.  After stuffing my face, the smaller portioned desserts weren’t a problem at all.  They had probably four different choices.  The sorbet sampler was refreshing, and the berry cobbler was amazing.

I heard somewhere that the menu changes seasonly, so by the time you go there everything could be different.  Don’t worry though, a changing menu is assuredly a sign of a confident chef that still enjoys what they do.  I don’t care for Virginia Beach, at least near the touristy parts.  Its crowded and annoying and you feel dirty just walking around.  With that being said, shortly after going here, friends asked Chicken Hen and I if we wanted to join them for a day at the beach.  My first reaction was that I would rather die, but remembering Terrapins, I told them “Sure! I know just the place for dinner…”

Roy’s: Sweet Shell Necklace Brah (Oahu, Hawaii)

If you’ve been reading any of these posts, you can see I eat out a lot. I’m sure you want to ask me how I’m not so fat. Well I am fat, and that was rude of you to ask. Although my doctor likes to play fast and loose with terms like “inevitable heart condition” and “morbid obesity”, I prefer the term “husky”. Nevertheless, I do try to stay away from the beach, no one wants to see what’s stuffed under this Hanes v neck. Even when I go to more tropical places like Hawaii , you’ll find me in the same places I’d be in any other part of the world, in the restaurants. Hawaiian cuisine is quite unique, given Hawaii’s history, it has many food traditions very much their own. If I had to describe Hawaiian Food, I’d say it’s like hillbillies that tried to have a BBQ but only was allowed to shop at an Asian food market. That’s not to say its not good. In fact the poke and roasted pig are succulent staples there. I really mean that most of the food, even the really good food, is relatively cheap. Much of the best food on the islands can be found at little hole in the walls. But when you do feel like classing it up, Hawaii can deliver that too. One of the best classier dining experiences can be found at Roy’s in Hawaii Kai Town Center.

Roy’s sits on a stretch of road that overlooks the beach. When I went there, we were entering the building just as the sun was setting, and the sky looked a pinkish purple, the kind of sight you image when you think about Hawaii. The great view didn’t end outside, inside the dining room faced the ocean, with the entire wall being windows. Some of the customers appeared dressed up, others were dressed in essentially beach wear. Hawaii is like that everywhere there so I’m told. A formal event is when you throw on your classy flip flops and your finest shirt with palm trees and surf boards on it. I was ok with the dress code of course, I’m not one to throw on a top hat for dinner. The decor was a simple white with a large open area into the kitchen so you could watch the chefs at work. The chefs were working on a menu that seemed like a “best of” Hawaiian cuisine. They had beef short ribs, many fresh fish dishes, and original sushi creations. They also featured quite a few desserts. Naturally, chose to get all of them.

The sushi was fantastic. Probably as fresh and well made as you could get outside of Tokyo Bay. The first roll was an Ahi Tuna and crab meat combination. The second was actually grilled eel wrapped around some macadamia nut mixture roll. It tasted very usual, but not bad at all. Tasted weird having eel mixed with nuts. Very Hawaiian though I guess. My main course was a steak filet. I forget exactly what cut it was, but I remember it being nice and juicy. The chef did a good job of getting that nice sear on the outside without drying the inside to shit as so many unskilled cooks do. Accompanying the filet was mashed sweet potatoes and some sort of demi-glaze poured all over everything. The glaze was good, although a little too much of it was dumped on the meat. The desserts were great. There was a fresh made red bean ice cream, a macadamia nut tart, warm chocolate soufflé , and a pineapple upside down cake, just to name a few.

Roy’s was a great way to remind myself that, although I could try to hit the gym and toss out my size 50 pants, I’d rather be going to places like this. Roy’s is pricey. In this case, you might be paying as much for the view and the food. It’s not outrageously expensive, but certainly not a just pop in kind of place. If you’re ever around those parts, consider Roy’s as a good way to end your trip. Good food, great atmosphere, and watching that sunset will make you immediately yearn to come back.