Pot Pie Paradise and Deli

Recently I found myself down in Hayward on my way to the adult playground in Newark known as a skatepark. It was a hot day and as I made my way through a long section of business park I got an oh so sweet whiff of pot pies. When there’s a mirage can you smell stuff too? I thought I was delusional but soon enough I saw it. Pot Pie Paradise AND Deli.

Seeing this place appear out of the business park darkness was a revelation. It’s a Pot Pie Paradise, which is hard to find because usually pot pies create total slums of extreme poverty with flaky crust and tweakers everywhere.

Pot Pie Ghetto. People throw their shit on the ground because once the flaky crust gets on it it’s garbage.

But not only is this place a paradise, it also has a deli, which is an important distinction. Take it from me, just because some place is all nice and Heaven-like doesn’t mean they have potato salad by the pound my loyal readers! Plus according to the sign it seems like they also have Cum so that’s tight:

I went inside and was awestruck, similar to how one might feel upon entering the Pearly Gates of Jesus’ kingdom. Shit was all clean and organized and they even had an aquarium:

ONLY JESUS GETS TO TOUCH FUCK OFF

I got in line thinking, yeah whatever, I’ll just decide what I want when I got to the register. How many fuckin pot pies can they possibly offer? It turns out they have like 38 different ones! God damn!

Imagine rolling up on some random deserted island and finding some giant pot pie. That shit would rule.

I panicked and got the ‘Classic American Chicken’. Usually I’m not that boring but it seemed like that would have been the most solid option upon which to review a place’s pot pie skills. The Creole Gumbo and Indo Lamb Curry are definitely more my jam flavor wise but as a pot pie I just thought maybe that’s a little crazy. That’s like going to first base and suddenly someone has a finger in your urethra. Gotta work your way up to that kinda shit probably, but fuck if I know I’m a food blogger not a sex therapist.

Because California is disease ridden, I had to sit outside on this bench. It wasn’t that bad.

To accompany my meal I also got some macaroni salad because I’m a white dude and we love mayonnaise and pasta. I don’t know why but rules are rules. I eagerly ripped into the flaky crust of my pie to reveal its molten savory filling:

I can’t even remember the last time I had a pot pie prior to this, but god damn this thing was so good. It was pure comfort food. Like so comforting I felt like a fetus inside a womb again without a care in the world. Well, except for sitting outside in the hot sun because of a pandemic but still….almost fetus like comfort levels were attained. The filling was crazy hot but luckily I had a fat cup of nice cool mayo infused macaroni to cool my mouth down.

I would definitely recommend coming here, especially if for some reason you are in this business park conducting some sort of business. Check out this review from Hayward’s bootleg version of David Cross:

Sylvester’s Burgers

I hope this post finds you feasted and full of greaze dear readers, as we navigate our way through these strange and uncertain times of a pandemic. Luckily for you, I have been storing a blog post for these times of restaurant-going obsolescence, so let’s go back in time and down the coast to Los Osos, California for a fat fucking burger challenge. Does your faithful editor take the Glory of Victory or shit his pants like a baby? I guess you’ll have to read more to find out!

I was down at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo just finishing up a thesis for my PhD in Greasology when I saw this article:

On the list was Sylvester’s Burger ‘The Big One’ Challenge:

Friends can cheer but they can’t chew!

There is also this random image on the Sylvester’s site, the meaning and significance of which is apparently left to the viewer’s imagination (maybe it’s a different contest?), but in any case it fucking rules hard:

Everything about this is sick as fuck

I figured doing this challenge would be a great way to cement my academic pursuits into Greasology. What’s a piece of paper that says I have a PhD mean if I don’t have the field data to back that shit up? Also, looking at that image in the article got me thinking that if a bunch of little Mormons could do it I could definitely summon my demonic might and crush the challenge.

The first thing that one notices upon approaching this place is the plethora of graphics and an outdoor menu board:

Big, hot n’ juicy….that burger is thirsty and ready to get FUCKED

I can’t tell if this burger is supposed to look more like a piece of shit or a cigarette someone just put out.

Inside the restaurant is completely covered with pictures of quirky white people:

I finally stepped up to the plate and told the cashier I wanted to do the food challenge. She seemed very flustered by my request for some reason….maybe she wasn’t used to being around dudes with Big Gut Energy? I don’t know, but I put my order in and requested no cheese on top, as per the rules that allow for substitutions to be made on The Big One. The last time I tried to do a burger challenge (a blog post of which may have been lost to the sands of time) the cheese really fucked me quite hard. I don’t know what it is, but when you pile massive amounts of cheese on top of massive amounts of beef it makes for an instant Black Butter Blowout that would make even the buffest person’s asshole turn to a pile of muscles looser than day old instant ramen noodles.

While I waited for my burger, I peered around the restaurant some more:

This sticker on the napkin dispensers is fucking weird

WHAT THE FUCK

Finally my burger arrived and I was ready to show the town of Los Osos that getting a PhD in Greasology also means you have a (P)hucking (h)uge (D)ick.

At first readers, I will admit, seeing the unrepentant girth and sheer squalor of meat before my eyes had me nervous and doubtful of my own ability. But when one is faced with adversity there is no other option but to tear through the buns of fear!

I think I finished in like 20 minutes, well within the time limit. The burger was actually really good, and I definitely enjoyed the first half of it as I would any other delicious meal. The second half was when it became a grind, but check out this sick fucking free merch you get! Plus you get $50, which is pretty sick:

But as usual, it would be disingenuous of me to speak solely of my own experiences and not reflect the opinions of others, so here is a Google review for you:

I can’t tell from this review if she ate the burger or fucked it….well anyway, see you next time readers!

NYC Buffet

Welcome back my hungry fellowship. What better way to follow up SF Pizza than with another restaurant that is named after a city it’s not anywhere near? Since my family is tired of me treating Thanksgiving as a food challenge, I took myself to Fruitvale to eat to my buff as fuck stomach’s desire.

Upon arriving, one of my millions of fans saw me and noticed how fucking ripped my digestive tract looked and asked, ‘Excuse me, but are you the genius behind Summoning The Feast?’ I said yes, but of course! But although I love my fans dearly I had work to do.

Before going inside there was this on the door:

WE NORMAL NOT FREAKS

You pay before you go in, which I feel is pretty normal for Chinese buffets, or for that matter most restaurants where you’re not expecting the highest quality. A lot of reviews on Google seem to think this is ridiculous.

It’s like ok man, you are eating at fuckin NYC Buffet, don’t act like you are some upstanding citizen who doesn’t buy scratchers every day at the corner store. These people just don’t want to touch your greasy sweaty money after you fly like Icarus to the Sun of Shitting Your Pants. Calm down.

So I paid, and went in. My favorite part of going to Chinese buffets is seeing what kind of weird shit they are serving that is nowhere near Chinese. Maybe some tuna casserole? Some Doritos sitting under a heat lamp? Who knows? Let’s go inside and explore!

I don’t know what this is but I don’t fuck with milky ass corn

Green shit and pudding hell yeah

That is one GREAZED OUT turkey FUCK YEAH

‘Fried Bread’…except it’s some shrimp stuff

STUFF SHRIMP

STUFF SEAFOOD

The quesadillas were all gone : (

Sushi and cheesecake

Only a couple left…get while the getting is good!

As you can see from the pictures, the was a venerable plethora of shit to get your blowhole simply oozing with pleasure. I stuffed my plate fat although I knew I could come back for more. What can I say, I was stoked:

I got all kinds of seafood with weird stuff cooked on top, some pizza, and a yellow ball filled with yellow shit.

It tasted sweet but I had no idea what was inside. I had little time to ponder such matters though because I had a lot of food to pile into my feed hole. The pizza was probably the worst pizza I’ve ever had, and that’s kind of saying something. I mean, just look at that cheese. Looks like someone stretched out a dead dude’s nutsack over some dough. A short time passed and I was ready for more.

This is what the feeding stations look like

I got a bunch of sushi, some eggroll, and some sugary chicken stuff. It was all pretty delicious actually. Nothing to really complain about. I did get some cheesecake though, and that shit was pretty bad. Like the worst I’ve ever had. Still, it’s cheesecake though so it was pretty bomb. Then I had some pudding and some more sushi and some turkey. The turkey was actually not that bad. The greaze puddle at the bottom of the heating lamp probably lends a lot of flavor to the meats.

I left feeling disgusting and content, as you should. Don’t take my word for it though, check out this 4 out of 5 star review by another customer:

San Francisco Pizza

With the days getting shorter, it’s easy to get depressed and sad. People have always told me it’s good to take initiative though, so instead of just waiting around for it to happen I decided to go to the saddest restaurant I could find and clog all the happy parts of my brain with fucking cheeze and greaze, which actually usually just makes me happy but maybe once I get obese I’ll be bummed . I had to look no further for a bummer than Richmond, CA. The place? San Francisco Pizza:

Yes, San Francisco Pizza, in Richmond. Which is not San Francisco.

Just walking up and looking at all of the signs on the outside, you know this place is going to be fucked.

I don’t remember the first time I kissed a pizza, but I do remember the first time pizza gave me head. The day after my dick looked like this:

Pizza head feels bomb but will fuck up your dick complexion

Rice and meatballs is a straight up pile of mess

I slowly walked inside and feasted my eyes on the rich decor. Lots of generic pictures of San Francisco to emphasize how not inside the city limits of San Francisco you are.

Everywhere inside there are little signs advertising different menu items, like post-it-notes on a stoner’s desk.

They have a lot of different items here, which I will get into later, but for now I decided to just order a pepperoni pizza. After a short wait I got it and carried it back to work.

I offered a slice to my coworkers, but after telling them where it came from nobody wanted a slice, so I pretty much ate the whole thing by myself. It was pretty standard. Medium thick crust and acceptable cheeze and greaze.

I like when the peps curl up to hold the greaze and then you can drink the greaze out of it like a little martini.

Promptly after consumption of pizza, my little blowhole trembled with the anticipation of sweet release. I ran to the bathroom and was barely able to aim my hole into the toilet enough so the anal cheese water didn’t get all over the floor. It was a majestic mass.

The next day at work I got hungry again, and couldn’t stop thinking about going to San Francisco Pizza again. Just look at this menu. There is so much to choose from! It’s like Whole Foods for people who are trying to get obese:

Chef-owned and family operated? I’m not Gordon fuckin Ramsey but shouldn’t that be the other way around? Like maybe the chef should make the food….just a thought.

They have burgers, burritos, calamari, eggplant parmigiana, meatloaf, ribs, steak, Philly cheese steaks, basically anything you can buy frozen at Costco they can reheat that shit for you. I realized I can order online and have it delivered to my work. After my recent diarrhea episode, I felt lazy and didn’t feel like going out so that sounded nice. This time I opted for some Mexican food.

With all the different sauces they have here for the hundreds of items they sell I decided to go a little custom and add some Spicy Cajun Cream Sauce, which I think usually goes with some shrimp thing they sell, but it sounded good in a burrito.

My coworker saw I was ordering and decided he wanted a burrito too. I was kind of annoyed with him so I decided to add a little note to his burrito order:

MY, IT WOULD BE SUCH A SHAME IF SOMEHOW YOUR BURRITO SUDDENLY FELL THE FUCK APART

Shortly after placing my online order San Francisco Pizza called me. I was expecting them to ask me how fucking loose of a wrap I wanted, but they instead told me they can’t put Spicy Cajun Cream Sauce inside a burrito. They only do that sauce for the shrimp. I pleaded that I needed Spicy Cajun Cream Sauce but she wouldn’t have it. Only Salsa Verde can be applied to the burrito. I thought that was fucking lame but I consented. Soon the food arrived:

I’ve been doing Spanish Duolingo but I don’t know what the fuck this means

My coworker opened his burrito first. I tried to contain my laughter, but then I realized shit was not even loose:

Weird….

Maybe they just ignored my loose wrap request, I wondered. I then opened mine:

God damn it, they messed up and wrapped mine loose instead. Fucking beans and rice were already halfway outside the burrito. I tried picking it up for a bite and beans were flying all over the place.

Everything about the burrito was kind of gross. It didn’t taste like Mexican food. Don’t get me wrong, I still ate it all and half of my coworker’s, but yeah it was kind of gross. You can tell just by the picture that the beans are wack. The salsa they give you is straight up Herdez poured into a plastic container. Something about the cheese here just makes you have to instantly squirt out of your ass, I don’t know what they are doing but yeah I had to go right away.

SIMULATED EXPERIENCE FOR THE READERS

Don’t let me do all the talkin and deciding here though. Listen to these reviews:

This guy would rather eat a hot dog with diarrhea….damn…

MIXED EMOTIONS

This fool ate a chicken patty with pigshit inside. I think he fucked up and went to Guantanamo Bay instead of San Francisco Pizza.

Gas Station Pupusas

Welcome back to another tour de feast. Today we are going to Richmond for a fat fucking plate of pupusas.

As most readers of this blog know, I am not one to eschew the lush decors of a fine dining establishment. That’s why we are headed into the utmost of the fancy. Get your tuxedo and bow tie on, we’re headed to the Arco:

Fear not readers, we are not here to pound Four Lokos and Doritos, although a true foodie does not discriminate against the flavor and calorie laden delicacies these things are. We are headed past all that to the VIP spot in the back:

Just look at that sick menu. So much to choose from! Although apparently not as much as usual:

Finders keepers losers weepers

They have regular pupusas, and then there is some shit called ‘Pupusa Loca’. I figured that was probably the sickest shit to get so I ordered that and also one rebuelta pupusa in order to contrast flavor/girth. While I waited for my order to be ready I looked around the beautiful decor. For one, there is this utterly appetizing bean zoom:

I also saw this:

I don’t know where the fuck the milk comes from here if you don’t open a milk carton, but I’m guessing they have to do that shit the old fashioned way:

Flavor blast!

I shortly ran out of visual stimulation, so I googled what a pupusa loca was, but I only stumbled on this picture:

When you go too hard at the gas station and pass out

Since there is no where to sit to eat my food except in a pile of trash outside on the sidewalk, I walked back to work to eat my feast.

Two forks means they assumed this was for two people hahaha

As much as I like pupusas I’ve never been that into the sauce they give you for it. The little container they give you is basically a trial version of V8. I dumped all the sauce and the cabbage on top anyway. The baggie of cabbage had a lot of wet shit in it:

Soooo wetttt

I ripped into the pupusa loca first:

Its grease was abundant. Meats and cheeses and other flavors practically oozed into my intestinal tract.

As the grease slowed down my body’s movements I had to switch eating tactics:

You can judge by the slippery underside of the pupusa how much of a grease beast this fucker truly was. Next I tore into my regular pupusa:

It was also very flavorful and would definitely recommend. Potential feasters should be forewarned you may be overwhelmed with massive anal blowouts that may require special cleaning equipment:

Bill’s Place

While going down the street I noticed a place that advertised “Home of the Hamburger”.  Of course, me being a professional food connoisseur/blogger/food strength trainer I rose from the rainy sidewalk and stepped inside:

This is how food bloggers dress. You want to remain anonymous so beautiful people don’t try to get in the way of your work. 

To be honest though, ‘Home of The Hamburger’ is pretty dumb. I mean, I don’t know if you know this or not Bill but everyone has fucking hamburgers dude. Bill probably has a sign on his doorstep that says ‘Home of the Person’. Anyway, I’m tired of eating little dinky burgers like this:

So hopefully Bill’s has something more substantial. Let’s take a look inside.

They have iced creams

 

They have a lot of seating inside but it doesn’t seem like anyone gives a fuck about this place except for one dude watching sports and his lady. But what do the people in the neighborhood know? Chris Fucking Isaac likes this place and even his fucking flaming guitar shred dogs like the moist meat crumbs Chris drops on the floor:

So you people in SF can continue sucking down your avocado toast and let me and Chris eat the big boy meals in our quaint retro 50’s setting. Let’s see what’s on the menu:

So I don’t have a fucking clue who any of these so-called ‘celebrities’ are but god damn that first option on the list is pretty fat, even worthy of a feast I dare say:

So that’s what I ordered. I had a beer while I waited and after stroking myself in erect anticipation of the feast to cum the food came too:

It looks exactly as they mentioned on the menu: A big pile of meat shit squirting its juices into the greedy bun below, surrounded by a moat of fried stuff to guarantee your asshole gets enough greaze to keep it from getting chapped. I dug in full force:

Picking this thing up feels like picking up a wet dead cat from the gutter with your bare hands. It just feels fucked.

Cums on a signature plate which is pretty tight. 

My assistant got a veggie sandwich I think, and she was jealous of the greaze and throw mad hater vibes:

Despite how wet and limp my burger was, shit was pretty good! The meat was a little overdone but to be expected from a place like this. I don’t think I would order it again though due to the fact that it was like $30 and I don’t even get a free shirt or a cool souvenir plate or anything. I just my blowhole blown out later after finishing it all:

That’s all for now loyal readers. Come back next week for a ‘China Taste’!

Egg Slut

Recently on a trip to SoCal, my car broke down in Glendale, California, and I was delayed about 18 hours. While wandering around the area in the morning, I stumbled upon what is possibly the most perplexingly named fast food restaurant: Eggslut. I had been looking for coffee and a breakfast snack and was reluctantly headed towards a Philz across from the Americana at Brand mall. I’m a huge fan of eggs, and I immediately decided to dump Philz for Eggslut, which for sure looks like the kinda place that would put out…some steamy eggs on toast.

Eggslut- Could this place egg-sist anywhere but the outskirts of morally bankrupt Los Angeles?

The name “Eggslut” filled my mind filled with so many questions: namely, what the fuck happened to censorship?  Polite verbal utterances? How many people think that being a “slut” is a good thing now? If being a slut is positive, then how can I berate my partner for our mutual sexual pleasure during our BDSM sessions? How will we get off if the word “slut” has lost all of its power?

History’s most famous egg sluts:

Edie from Pink Flamingos 

 The Easter Bunny

        Simone from The Story of the Eye     

Eggslut is the kind of place where you can grab food to go or sit and eat if you need a break from the mall. I LOVE eggs (aka breakfast babies), all kinds really, and I hadn’t yet eaten breakfast, so Egg Slut came on me at the perfect time.

The menu was fairly small, and the man who took my order was egg-stremely friendly, actually one of the most cheerful and nice restaurant employees that I’ve ever met, no egg-aggeration. He suggested that I try the Fairfax, a “cage-free soft scrambled eggs and chives, cheddar cheese, caramelized onions and sriracha mayo in a warm brioche bun”. I also got some fresh orange juice.

I was very egg-cited to reach into the egg sac and start egg-samining the food offering.

First of all, the sandwich was a good sandwich. It was warm, the bread was toasty, the eggs weren’t over or under cooked, and overall, it tasted good. But, even for fast food, the ‘wich was pretty greasy. I often wished that I had grabbed more napkins to dab some of the egg-cess grease. I think that the sriracha mayo disin-egg-rating into the sandwich greatly egg-sasurbated the greasiness, making the Eggslut a sopping wet mess. Then again, the spice from the sriracha mayo definitely lifted Eggslut above ho-hum, dime-a-dozen breakfast sandwich whores, such as McDonald’s. The chives were a delicious addition as well.

The Fairfax is egg-tremely greasy.

The ‘wich was also was unreasonably salty. I could have used two more glasses of OJ to combat the salt and grease. But, overall, this sandwich had all the right makings of a good breakfast sandwich, and I can’t really expect anything more from the price.

Eggslut egg-ceeded my egg-spectations.

Did the Eggslut sandwich bring me to lip quivering, knee weakening egg-stacy? No. Did it scramble my vision and poach my heart? No. Would I eat there again? Yes, because like most sluts, I don’t do it for pleasure, I do it to fill an insatiable void likely caused by an unstable relationship with my father.

Food and sex temporarily distract you from the feelings of abandonment and low self-egg-steem. Daddy, why did you leave me?

 

Favorite Indian

Before I start this review, I must say that I went to this restaurant like 2 years ago for Thanksgiving, or maybe Christmas. One of the holidays you have to eat Chinese or Indian food if you go out. Every time I look in my media library I’m like “Why do I have a picture of Aziz Ansari and a cow shitting in here?” And then I realized I have yet to review Favorite Indian!

I’m not sure who my favorite Indian is, maybe this guy:

But is the restaurant as good as Aziz? Or will it give me a disiz? I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out. I went here on the weekend, and I was hungry as fuck. Good thing they have a fat buffet to feast on. This is what it looks like inside:

The best thing about buffets other than the plethora of food is that you don’t have to wait for anyone to bring food to you. You just sit down for a sec, establish to the waiter that you can take it from here, and then go over to the food. Let’s take a look at what they have:

I forgot what this white shit was. I didn’t try it, but I think it was a dessert. I’m just going to go ahead and say it’s probably pretty good because the cauldron it’s in is sick.

If you ever eat at Indian buffets you know there is a high potential for some pretty epic greazzze. That okra ain’t gonna take itself to flavor town.

India’s answer to Swedish Fish

Many slops to choose from!

Not sure why that little baby chalice is in the middle of the buffet but as far as chalices go that shit is wack

They apparently have Indian pizza here. I think it might be for the kids? I don’t know. Shit was good though.

I would normally attempt to recount and describe each individual food item on their unique merits, however as you can see here it’s a fuckin pile and when I rip into the pile everything is kind of blended in together. The combined food pile was pretty good though! I had to go back for just a little more slop though, so I pulled up the slop dispenser handle:

And helped myself to some more:

I’d probably go back for next holiday season. Let’s get a second opinion from a Google review:

All I got to say is that if Y AND MOTHERFUCKING T say something that shit is legit cuz they rule:

 

 

Ramen Yamadaya-To Spice or Too Spice?

Now that it’s 2019, Summoning The Feast is going to be moving in a new direction. Since hip ramen spots are all the rage now, we will be checking one out. Also, this is going to be the first STF review in SF. No more shit hole restaurants in shit hole towns anymore!*

*post content subject to change back to shit hole restaurants at any time

 

So today readers I take you to Japantown. There are lots of places to eat around here, as you can see on the map:

How are you supposed to know which ones are good? Some people like to Yelp, but since I don’t suck at life I instead rely on plastic renditions of the food outside the restaurant to show me with my own two eyes that shit is gonna be good:

Shit looks  pretty good!

Not all looked good though. I don’t know who’s dick they’re trying to pull here but this thing looks like a big chicken tender with some kind of old person diarrhea sauce and a dollop of minced Swedish Fish:

NO THANKS

Also, I think this is supposed to be for kids because it’s fucking small. I’m pretty sure it’s just some baby animal’s brain on some white rice:

I hate kids but even I wouldn’t feed my kid a little baby brain

I decided to step inside the restaurant. Because it’s so cool and hip, just like STF, there was a wait. As much as I hate waiting to fucking feast, it wasn’t too bad, and soon a menu with prices that are larger than normal was in front of me:

Apparently they serve pretty spicy ramen here:

 

Spice levels sound like some Bathory shit, which is cool:

With the enormous surging popularity of this blog, it’s rare to walk into an eating establishment and not have people recognize me for my blogging prowess, so in order to please my fans I of course had to order the ‘DEATH’ spicy ramen. I had some tea while I waited:

Hand was injured from handling a burrito that was too fat for my bone structure to support before I crushed it in my mouth

This is what the restaurant looks like inside:

Yes, it’s really this dark in here, totally not my piece of shit phone

Again, yes this place is lit like a little league baseball field, not my phone

Finally my food came:

To be honest, this was actually my second time here. The first time I came I asked the waiter what was up with the ‘DEATH’ ramen, and he told me ‘It’s like a cop pepper spraying you in the face’. Although I am extremely food and spice buff, the conviction of his sentiment dissuaded me and I decided to order a ramen with the spice level one down, ‘HELL’. But the ‘HELL’ turned out to be pretty fucking weak. So here was Yamadaya’s chance to show my how much spice they really fuck with. I took my first slurp and waited for the burn anxiously. After several seconds, still not much going on, so I decided to continue eating.

Even all the way this far into the bowl, shit was not making me bummed on the food decisions of my life. It simply was not spicy, much to my disappointment. Was the ramen good? Yeah, it was pretty good. Lots of really good pork and egg and other fatty stuff that tastes good, and the noodles were great too. I’m not sure if the ramen is quite good enough to make up for my spice disappointment, but if you don’t care about that I’d say you should go. My assistant got the vegan ramen, which she said was really good as well:

This is the point of the post where I show you a Google review of the place to defend my position:

However, I’m not sure if this person is taking about ramen or this:

Anyway, until next time….

Dick’s

I have always urged people I know to write a guest review of a place they think is Summoning The Feast worthy, but no one ever takes me up on the offer. That is until now…here is a guest review by an esteemed colleague. – Summoner Of Feast

When I was a kid I used to eat dicks with my dad. Wait, wait, wait, I mean, when I was a kid I used to eat Dick’s with my dad. Dick’s Drive In is an old-fashioned fast food restaurant in Seattle. Dick’s was my favorite place to eat out as I kid. My corgi Casey and I recently made a trip to the Wallingford Dick’s so that I could wax nostalgic and share my family jewels of Seattle knowledge with the Summoning the Feast reader.

Since Dick’s opened it has been a throbbing, hot member of Seattle’s dining community.

 

First erected in 1954, Dick’s Drive In was Seattle’s first fast food joint. Dick’s sprung up when fast food was just starting to sweep the nation. Note that the Oxford English Dictionary first records the use of the word “dick” as coarse slang for “the penis” in 1891. This means that Dick’s cocky owners were well aware that the name they were using would likely conjure images of one-eyed snakes. Luckily for the owners, the name didn’t deter patrons, and Dick’s has been a Seattle institution since it began. Fast forward to modern times, while other fast-food joints (like Burger King and McDonald’s) modernized to include bizarre food-like fillers in their food, Dick’s prepares their menu items the same way they did since their beginning. These offerings include 100% real beef burgers, 100% real ice cream shakes, and fries made from local potatoes.

Casey and I are a couple of bitches thirsty for some Dick’s.

 Perhaps Dick’s most unique item is their fries. The fries are made from unpeeled Pacific Northwest potatoes. Often charred on the ends, the fries are (paradoxically) both light and oily. Each bag has lots of little crispy fry bits at the bottom. Often Dick’s fries are very greasy, but today mine were just right. My only complaint about the fries is that they leave a chalky aftertaste. All and all, they are a good value and better than any conventional fast-food competitor.

These fries are uncircumcised – the tips still possess their original skins. 

Don’t worry, I’m just getting the tip wet.

Dick’s isn’t some trendy frozen yogurt slinger or custard launcher (in fact, Dick’s hasn’t changed added any food item to the menu since 1971). Dick’s serves shakes made with 100% real ice cream. Dick’s shakes are thick and creamy, but you don’t have to suck too hard to get your reward. Easily my favorite item on the menu, the shakes aren’t too thick like many sit-down restaurants or too thin like most other fast food restaurants. Of course they come in classic flavors: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Personally, I love dipping fries in my shake because, like most Americans, I need every bite I consume to have salt, sugar, fat, and starchy carbohydrates.

Sometimes you don’t get all the Dick’s in your mouth, making for a sticky mess.

 I don’t eat meat, so I can’t review their burger. I can say that Dick’s burgers are made with “100% real beef, delivered fresh and never frozen” and served on buns that are fresh baked daily. The regular burger comes with an ⅛ patty while the deluxe comes with two ⅛ patties. And while I did not partake, I thought I would treat my dog Casey to a nice hot beef injection. Usually Casey has to content herself with my trouser meat, the treats I keep in my pocket, that is (aka my pocket sausage), but today she got to eat like an American human: messily, in the front seat of a car, with an unnecessary sense of urgency.

Casey ate her burger all in one “bite”.

She must have loved her burger because it was gone in about 45 seconds. She seemed to have no gag reflex at all as she sucked it all up. And for the next two days, she was extra sweet and affectionate to me, proving that when you give your bitch your Dick’s, she’ll keep coming back for more.

 

Thank you for letting me show you my Dick’s. I suggest you all to check out this gem of fast food restaurant next time you are Seattle. And, it’s open till 2am daily for all your late night snacking needs, so grab some post-whiskey Dick’s before you go home and give your girlfriend your whiskey Dick.

 

This post is written in honor of Anthony Bourdain, whose ability to unite people by celebrating food and culture is in no way replicated in this 6 paragraph long phallic joke.