Yes, that’s right folks, you read the title correctly. Today we visit not ONE, but TWO eating establishments for your voracious blog reading needs. But why am I treating you readers so good, even though you don’t deserve shit? Well, on this lil’ outing I had a special professional blogging assistant: plattyjo.
PJ: Ever since I read your “Black Bear Fucking Diner” that chronicled volcanoes and squirting mouth juice, I became a diehard fan — your number one fan, in fact. So when I finally received a coveted invitation to accompany you on one of his sacred missions, I was definitely DTF.
Pro-level shit going down
So yeah, you said you were DTF. I was really hungry and not really in the mood, but you quickly clarified you were, “Down To Feast, you fucking idiot”. So off we went to San Leandro for some Aqua Fresh Seafood:
Not to be confused with the mouth-tingling, patriotic toothpaste:
They pretty much serve everything you can fry here. They got fried fish, fried chicken, teriyaki, hamburgers, sushi, deviled eggs, etc. Basically just enough variety to make sure only one person is ordering any given item every two days, ensuring you will get fucking sick if you eat here at some point.
It’s the kind of place you walk into and immediately you’re like, “Fuck, this place looks pretty dumpy and sad. I should probably leave.”
PJ: The generic menu board definitely didn’t make me wet with anticipation. The cramped plastic booths and folding chairs in the linoleum dining area make you feel like you’re slumming in a rundown OTB. But here you’re betting on whether your stomach will survive the greasy onslaught congealing in Styrofoam containers or whether you’ll be racing to the shitter faster than you can say, “Maybe I’ll get the horse’s dick if I’m lucky.”* Plus I don’t normally trust a place that fries the shit out of everything and yet also lists raw sushi on the menu at a suspiciously low price.
*actual wish uttered by STF
But by the time we were up front staring at the menu, the person behind the counter has already made it clear that they are super nice and sweet and now you’re gonna feel like a dick if you leave.
PJ: The owners seemed to be an amiable Asian couple, so I played the race card and cut them some slack for the general vibe of their place: “Here’s your goddamn mountain of fried food, and when you’re done — please wait to have your heart attack until you’re outside .”
They also had pastries wrapped up behind the counter, but it was unclear if they were for customers or for hungry cashiers:
Stop being nice! And it’s also ok to open a restaurant and not serve teriyaki and be Asian
But now that you, Miss Pro Blogger, were here, I didn’t want to look like a pussy, so I tried to order the sketchiest stuff possible. I asked for the Oyster Sandwich and an Aqua Roll, but the cashier said she was out of rice. Then she asked me what kind of fish I wanted in the Oyster Sandwich. It’s like, uh, isn’t that shit obvious? I asked for snapper, thinking perhaps it was a double fish sandwich?
PJ: She totally Jedi-mind tricked you and made you order a fish sandwich instead of one filled with oysters. But maybe you dodged a briny bullet since they might not have been the Aqua Freshiest.
So you ordered the two-piece fried fish meal:
Swirly ketchup to compensate for sadness of meal
PJ: I just noticed that the bicycle wheels on my t-shirt make me look like I’m wearing spoked pasties. The photo should be focusing on the fried food porn, not drawing attention to my nipples. Gonna have to keep an eye on your wily camera ways in the future.
It kind of pisses me off that even though they asked me ‘For here or to go?’ they still put all of our shit in styrofoam containers. It’s like, oh, thanks for packaging my meal for that long 10-foot journey from you to my table.
I forgot to take a picture of my sandwich, but here is a close up of its wet moisture sopping through, ready and willing for you to slide your tongue down the middle of its bready ass:
Oh yeah — I got hush puppies too. This is what they look like inside:
Crispy on the outside, yet soft and forgiving inside, much like this seemingly ‘crispy lager’ that actually contains a Pocket Pussy inside:
PJ: Or depending on your personal preferences, a Pocket Asshole.
My meal was all right, but it was also a big pile of fried food that kind of made my mind and body sad, a feeling which was not being helped by the decor on the walls:
I could tell you were not impressed. You demanded a fucking feast, and this place was pretty lackluster.
PJ: Agreed — I, too, felt a deep sense of existential melancholy after eating my meal, like that feeling you get when you try to justify a shitty one night stand by telling yourself it’s better than not getting laid at all. You temporarily filled that gaping void, but you still feel empty inside afterwards.
Well, luckily this place was just the appetizer. That’s right, off we go to Porky’s Fucking Pizza Palace:
PJ: The twofer was my “good” idea, despite the fact we just ingested a bucketload of fishy grease. But I’m glad it was Banjo Night at the ol’ PPP; nothing like some downhome tunes to pep up your mood!
Yes, unfortunately for me it was actually Banjo Night, which sounds funny but in reality there is nothing more grating that a bunch of elderly people beating on shitty stringed instruments to create their hillbilly cacophony.
PJ: I can think of a gajillion things that more grating than a bunch of happy-go-lucky seniors following their bliss with their music. And my adorable beagle puppy who happens to have the name BANJO says you should go fuck yourself.
Let’s go inside. There are about a 100 little teenagers who think this job is what having a real job is like:
There was a ton of old people here getting ready to see the one band in the Bay Area that caters to their demographic:
They got lots of cool decorations on the walls too, like the myriad of old awards from softball tournaments with creepy dads on them:
Pretty sure the guy in the blue sweater was still on probation so he technically wasn’t ‘on’ the team but he still chilled at the games.
PJ: Definitely not DILFs.
They have a game here called ‘Pizza Zone’ which looks like a fun game to play if you show up to a social family restaurant like Porky’s by yourself and you don’t want to sit by yourself be sad like a rapist:
There is another game where you can win stuffed animals, stuffed candy and other weird shit:
A stuffed Oscar Meyer wienermobile? What child wants that shit?
PJ: Come on, I’d totally burn a whole roll of quarters trying to win that stuffed Sriracha plushie.
Let’s take a look at what they feed people here to make them more obese:
PJ: It drives me fucking nuts when people use alternate spellings in an attempt to be kool or kutesy.
I have been known to fuck with some weird food, but ‘special cheeseburger sauce’ on the Bacon Cheddar Cheeseburger pizza? Oh hell no.
PJ: Nothing like a “special sauce” — probably just expired shit mixed together and dyed yellow — to give a pizza some pizazz.
They also have the ‘Three Sauce Boss’, which not only gets a cheeseburger sauce drizzle, but also has Creamy Garlic Sauce and BBQ Sauce:
I don’t think I’m eloquent enough to describe how much of a heaping pile of greazzzy shit that pizza probably is, but I think if that pizza was a person it would be this guy:
The ‘Three Sauce Boss’ is a monthly special because if it was available all of the time it would eventually find a way to kill itself.
I ordered the ‘Porky’s Combo’ and a ‘Chicken Snack’:
The photography on their website looks a lot better than the dark shadow of a meal I got:
I’m not even sure why I ordered this. Potato wedges, fried chicken, and garlic bread? I just got done eating a pile of fried shit and then for some reason I ordered another pile of fried shit.
PJ: Well, all of that Aqua Fresh grease did get us nice and lubed up for round two of craptastic eating.
I did specify dark meat for the chicken and it was pretty good though.
They come correct with the toppings here. You can barely see the cheese because it’s so stacked with toppings. Hell yeah. The pizza itself was pretty good too. I fucking hate how every place that opens up in the Bay serves thin slices. People like to fold the pizza when they eat it and pretend they are cultured or something. How about you get a good portioned slice like the gods intended?
PJ: Sorry, dude — the gods actually intended good pizza to be thin, folded and eaten with one hand. So you stand corrected. (And don’t be a fuckhead like Trump and eat it with a fork.)
Anyways, since you weren’t eating much, I ate as much pizza as I wanted while I watched the banjos do their thing.
PJ: To be fair, I was distracted by my delicious beer. They did have some great stuff on tap.
Unfortunately, I am pretty sure I was sitting behind the Grand Wizard of San Leandro Ku Klux Klan:
Dude definitely looked back and gave us the hate stare
PJ: I’m pretty sure he was just sending me the ‘get back on the boat’ vibes since you look like the poster boy for the Aryan Nation.
Watching the banjo players do their shit actually started to make me feel old too, and eventually I even lost my appetite for more pizza.
Pro blogger and I at Porky’s, feeling the sands of time washing over us as the banjos play on.
Anyways, yeah — that’s pretty much it. Porky’s food is kinda whatever, but it is pretty rad that there is a place where all kinds of different people go chill that isn’t a fucking Applebee’s or something.
PJ: And don’t forget that they have 10 flatscreen TVs and an indoor basketball hoop. There’s something delightful for everyone.
Here is a review from Google Maps:
This person pretty much hates this place. 4 stars
PJ: Stay tuned for our next San Leandro outing that includes hot dog assholes and cum milkshakes made from banana cocks.