Last month I went to Paradise, CA for a little food getaway to Izzie’s Burger Spa:

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I was seriously STOKED to be cleansed in Izzy’s holy burger water, but unfortunately, I got there at 8pm, just when they closed. Kinda lame to close a burger spa just when the sun goes down. Was I left to starve?

  As I loaded the gun to put a hole in my greasy head, my tear-filled peepers gazed upon COZY DINER:

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YES

Cozy Diner sounded like it had a fuckload of solace, so Cozy Diner it was. Now, if you don’t know your California geography well, Paradise is a little town on the outskirts of Chico, in the Sierra Nevada foothills. As is typical of most small towns in the middle of nowhere in California, it is mostly filled with scary looking white people with amiable back country charm, and Cozy Diner is no exception.

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I took a look around me and surveyed my surroundings. 90% of the males in the room could probably eat me whole, however, on this particular feast, I was rolling with a whole feast posse, so I was unperturbed. Lets take a look at the menu!

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As you can see, most of the food here looks like medical waste. My inner cannibal was ready for a feast of dismembered carnage.

They seem to be all about the Broasting Process here:

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You can choose between the OG Broasted and the Southern Fiesta Broast:

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As you can see in the above, the rice and beans look pretty on point, but I’m really an OG Broaster at heart, so I choose the OG. With your meal you can choose either a soup and salad, or one trip to the salad bar. So basically, you have a choice of either someone putting a soup and salad in a bowl and plate for you, or you can do it yourself. I opted for the former option, because I like to let the cook boys practice their craft.

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That Clam Chowder was straight popping off with flavor, especially when paired with those dank ass House Recipe crackers. The salad was kind of sad though. In fact, I’m pretty sure if this salad was a book, it would be this:

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A Salad Called It

My feast posse had similar impressions of their salad. This gentleman, who is from the South and has high standards for diner meals, was not impressed, even though he opted for the One Salad Bar Trip:

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Despite the high dressing to leaf ratio, flavor was still not popping for this man’s palate hole. 

The waitress, gushing with her small town charm, came forth with my meal after a short wait:

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Pictured above we have steak fries, garlic toast, and a big fuckin’ slab of Broasted Chicken. Hell yeah baby. When the waitress dropped my companion’s Fiesta Broasted Meal down on the table though I gotta admit a wave of regret that I hadn’t gone south of the border surged through me. Look at this messy ass little bad boy:

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Dear Readers, don’t even act for second like you wouldn’t tear this big plate of nourishment a new fuckin’ asshole in a SECOND. I mean goddamn, that Broasted skin on the meat is popping so hard, and then you have just the right smattering of like six tortilla chips on those beans…

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Beans got so much flavor the cook boys in the back couldn’t keep ’em on the fucking plate. 

Yeah, pretty sure I made yet another poor life decision by not going south of the border, but still, the OG was pretty sick:

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Obviously I don’t need to explain to you guys that the flavor of the Broast is juicy beyond comparison, although I think this particular meat zoom doesn’t do it justice. The chicken really does squirt in your mouth in each bite. And the crispy skin is seasoned just right to provide an excellent contrast to the squirts. The abundant pile of fries were satisfactory in their amount, and the flavor wasn’t bad either. The garlic bread was kinda whatever. My mom always got garlic bread from Costco when I was a kid, and I think it just got old for me at an early age. This meal would have been pretty badass with some King’s Hawaiian Rolls though. My Southern Companion ordered the Chicken Fried Steak:

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He seemed a bit apprehensive of the fact that everything on his plate was covered with gravy, including the things you use to remove the gravy from your face and fingers. This, coupled with the fact that his Southern palate makes him unable to enjoy anything except pulled pork, Kool Aid pickles and boiled peanuts, made him quite the cantankerous diner. All the better for me though, because I got to eat a large portion of his unwanted meal. Which reminds me that one of the greatest pleasures in dining life is sharing the tablecloth with friends and family, and then when their weak appetite wills crack, utterly devastating everything left on their plates.

So that’s Cozy Diner. Overall, totally serviceable diner. Perfect to take your dumpy family to. However, if your family is accustomed to Black Bear Fucking Diner 5-Star Quality, they might not leave totally satisfied, and that’s OK. Not everything can be as good as BBFD. So, until next time, stay Broasted my readers.

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