In the true days of Old, the days of the Forefeasters and Forefathers, there was a hunger amongst the Men and the Rackbearers (crude ancient tongue for Women). The toil of the fields and of pleasing the Gods Above made one have quite an appetite. Just the mere act of being Ancient as fuck made the people hungry. That was why those of Old left us such a rich history of imagery:

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So Ancient

But then Bozos started telling people to not eat a bunch for some reason:

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Dick move

The Men and Rackbearers refuted such dogma and continued to feast, despite heavy punishments, including getting nailed onto wooden stuff:

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Man on left is significantly skinnier. Historians suggest dude was bummed that he had not feasted harder. Dude on right appears unrepentant. 

 It is with this knowledge of Fate that I decided to acknowledge and pay tribute to the Ancients, stepping into the True World of Old, Ancient Fucking Szechuan:

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This particular Infernal Region happens to be in El Cerrito, CA. While there are an abundance of shit small-meal restaurants in the vicinity, Ancient Szechuan Restaurant has long served as a bastion of The Ways of Old, a gathering place for the practitioners of Ways That Have Passed. For this particular entry into the Electric Scrolls of Time (blog post), I gathered myself and 3 other feasters for a meeting of dangerous food proportions:

Inside the coven:

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Youth being reared in appropriate fashion:

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Gaze upon the menu and declare thyself unworthy as fuck:

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Its scripture is larger than most modern day magazines:

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Perusing such lengthy texts is a time-consuming process, a consideration the Server Boy seemed unwilling to take into account. There are seriously at least 300 items in here. My Will cannot be revealed unto me without undue process, without giving weighty reflection unto each and every choice. Just look at a small sampling of what Feasts are available to be called forth:

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Comes in a little fucking barrel. So sick. 

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The Chinese perception of what constitutes a tower make them an unlikely terrorist threat. 

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Finally decisions were reached, and desires were expressed in hushed and hungry tones. Minutes later, the Server Boy appeared, and continued to bring forth much Feast time and time again:

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Sauteed Cauliflower with pork belly

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Forgot what this is called. I think Combination Soup with Numbing Spicy Sauce or something. It’s got pork intestine, tripe, and blood cubes. 

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Sauteed eggplant with smoked pork in cask

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Potstickers

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Pancake of some sort. I forget. 

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Dumplings

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Forgot what this was called also. I’m just gonna call it Cold Noodle With Side Goo. 

Yes, the portions were ample, and many meats and fluids were squirting from orifices and crevices we didn’t even know we had.

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Fuck yes

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Fuck yes

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Greaze. Fuck yes. 

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Meat to fuck

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Fuck yes037

All I gathered from this is candle, curse, and darkness. Fuck yes. 

Oh dear readers, how I’d love to describe the flavors that were brought forth unto the mouths of us, but alas, The Ancient Cult does not speak of which that is consumed. In homage to the Old Traditions, I’ll simply have to leave you with the pictures. In fact, the only acceptable medium of communication for describing fat feasts in Olden Days is through decorative imagery, lest our language cheapen what is truly exalted:

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Beyond the words of man

And so it is with that note that I bid you readers farewell, and remember, to resist the Modern World and eat like a maniac:

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