I don't necessarily know what this entry will be about once I get going. Whatever the final destination may possibly be is at this point a mystery, but what I can say about it is that we will likely take the sometimes frustratingly tangential route to get there. I can assure you though, if you're thinking of giving up this early, you are dumb and will be missing out on what I feel may or may not be a fun time. Seriously, whatever the hell is the underlying point we find ourselves discussing at length here is only the reward at the end of the journey, so in fact is not the purpose or duty of this blog, because there isn't one. There is no thesis here. There will be tales of food, tales of booze, and whatever we discover along the way, we will discover together.
If you can imagine, I'm not much of a beer drinker...per se. I mean, I'll drink the hell out of some beer, but like, "beer drinker" is not a character trait of mine. "Liquor drinker" is. Oh boy it is. But it is safe for you to assume that I have been drinking virtually non-stop for two days, because well, I'm about to confess: I have been drinking virtually non-stop for two days. That isn't much to brag about, I know, but I'm only two days into it, so leave me alone. See, last time we met here, if you recall, I was absolutely poor. But yesterday while I was online staring at my checking account status, my paycheck dropped in. It was almost surreal how intense the excitement was, like an out-of-body experience, like Christmas if you're into that sort of thing, and a birthday, and July 4th all at once--like if I was Humphrey Bogart but my birthday was July 4th. But Bogie would have played it alot cooler than I did. My first thought was almost startling it was so abrupt, even in my own head: "To the bar!" I listened to myself, because hey, if you tend to have great ideas like that, you should trust them. I decided to have a weekend of treating myself, because the occasion is only available so rarely, like every two weeks when I get paid. Yeah I know...don't get me started on the irony. Anyway, I figured I should start drinking right at that moment since later on I had to be at a "battle of bands" type of metal show down in Decatur, and let's face it, when you know that most of the bands--being metal bands, so naturally--will suck, it's best to have a buzz on to handle that accordingly (after many jager bombs at that show, I was having more fun singing Justin Bieber tunes with my friend's 14-year-old daughter than watching local metal bands who would by default scoff at the idea).
So, where do I go when I need a shelter? Where do I go when I need a friend? Where do I go when I need some helping? Where do I go? Back to the bar again. Yes I just paraphrased some Christian song lyrics to relate to drinking, but we're just going to keep moving. You don't have to believe this, but I am always welcomed at Bullfrogz, the closest bar to my house here in Kennesaw, the town I call The Krunk. Well really, there is a bar across the street from Bullfrogz that would make it closer to my house, but I get a weird vibe standing outside that place, so I've never been inside and don't even care to ever go in there. If you're in Kennesaw, Bullfrogz is the place to be, no matter what anyone else tells you. I'm telling you now, and you know you can trust my opinion, because my opinion is fact.
They love me at this place, or they really know how to pretend to love me; either way, I don't care, they make me feel special and appreciated (and not only for my tips, which yeah, are mostly ridiculously high). I get yelled at and judged and made fun of for going to this place as much as I possibly can, but hey, fuck you guys. I'm generally lonely alot, and bored, and what do lonely people do? We befriend the local bar staff.
It's my favorite place in the world. The girls are so lovely and friendly (yes there are guys who work there too, and they're all pretty cool, but come on, weiners don't talk up other weiners) if you treat them with respect, and YOU BETTER TREAT THEM WITH RESPECT. If you don't, you never know, I may likely be sitting right there within earshot, and I will end your life. Actually, I think my lovies get a wee bit frustrated with me when I get like that, but I can't help it. I'm not an angry or destructive drunk usually (though years ago I did throw a table across a kitchen...a table that had a chocolate cake on it), but what I do tend to be at Bullfrogz is a vigilant and overprotective drunk.
But anyway, what I should talk about is the food. It is seriously delicious. Everything I have had there is awesome, and I'd like to say I've gone through about half the menu. Well, it's all good if you're not a pretentious douchebag. When you're in a bar and you want food, you still have to remember that it is foremost a bar. Their business is alcohol, and not necessarily crumbling in fear of your every picky need. So when eating at a bar, I feel you should try and be somewhat easygoing--to a certain extent, of course--but really I feel that way about anyone at any place. Just calm down. Nothing could possibly happen during your meal experience that marks the end of the world. You are not that important, and society could theoretically get along just fine without you, unless you know something that we don't, in which case, don't be the loudly rude asshole at dinner who makes everyone in the place hate you. But hey, if you are deathly allergic to beef, so you order a chicken burrito, and it comes out with beef, then ok, send it back. I'm not allergic to beef or chicken, and I think both of those are usually equally satisfying, so I don't even like to make a decision between the two. But to avoid trouble and save time, when I ordered the burrito at Bullfrogz, I forced myself to just blert out "Chicken!" to keep me from sitting there overanalyzing something so trivial for another ten minutes. Well, my burrito came out with beef. I don't care about shit like that. I ate it. It was really tasty, as far as burritos go; there's not much to go wrong with a burrito, you know? It has whatever meat you end up with in there, some lettuce, some blah blah, some other blah blah. It's a burrito. It did its job. You should in no way take this as some kind of negative review of Bullfrogz, you should really be taking it positively. They make burritos correctly! Hooray!
Anyway, my afternoon pressed on, as my so-beautiful bartender Chandee poured sweetly delightful Royal Flushes for me. A Royal Flush is a drink introduced to me by a couple of Kenyan guys I met at Bullfrogz one night. Crown Royal and something and cranberry juice; I was pleasantly pleased, and it has since become one of my favorites. In times of unbearable depression when I find myself at Bullfrogz (from here on referred to as "the bar") looking for the loving company of my bartender besties, I sometimes don't even want to make a decision of what to order. But if I say "I don't even care..." I know that I am in good hands--there is a known list of select drinks that can be given to me without specific request, and my mood is instantly improved. Royal Flush is on this list. I forcefully suggest you try it if you never have before!
While we're on the subject of the bar, something I always knew would be a prominent topic of my "food blog", let's use that to change gears so I can talk about chicken wings. The bar has phenomenal chicken wings. Really. They are great, I have them often, and I had some earlier tonight (yes, Bullfrogz is at the beginning and end of this story). But let's be real here--it is almost impossible to fuck up chicken wings. I'm looking at you, Hooters. Yeah, you suck.
There are so many places across the greater Atlanta area that offer some truly remarkable wings: Mobeta Wings in Decatur was a favorite spot of mine when I lived down that way, having those tiny wings you expect from an Asian-operated "American" deli, but which can be so spicy but flavorful that you really can't complain about the small size (but I like small wings, so I don't complain about that anyway); surprisingly, the late-night drunk's fastfood go-to, Krystal, has some very not-disappointing wings which I tried last night; of course, Beef O'Brady's, where I worked for 5 years (Peachtree City location), has some of the best hot wings I have ever had in my life; Pizza K and Rocco's in Decatur are worth a nod; Jack's in Atlanta; you can even buy delicious wings at Kroger for crying out loud, which I'm enjoying right now, so I really have no idea why Hooters' wings are so awful; and then there's the absolute tastiest wings you will ever have, wings you otherwise may not have ever thought to order if you didn't read about them here-- the chicken wings at Los Loros in Decatur. Let's talk about these wings.
Los Loros is your "average" shopping center storefront Mexican restaurant, honestly a dime a dozen type of place. The traditional Mexican dishes are, well, traditional and Mexican. You can't expect much from that, but this is where most people would write off Los Loros with an "ehh". You have to think outside the box, and if you do, Los Loros will be a memorable pleasure. When I lived in Decatur, we went here at least once a week for four years. At least. Sometimes it was three or four times a week. For one thing, I found out the first time I was there that they have the cheapest and strongest (therefore, BEST) margaritas in all the land. So many Los Loros-virgins go there ignoring the advice of "take it slow" and are black-out idiots halfway through a pitcher. I'm not trying to steer you away from them, but I honestly have to say that the margaritas are something like drinking ammonia with tequila in it. It's that awesome.
But anyway, so, Los Loros is really good for two things (three things if you build a four year relationship with them like we did, making the third thing the outstanding service and loyalty to their regulars), and that's the margaritas obviously, and then the surprise spectacular dishes. It all started when one night we saw two of the waiters in the corner eating food from nearby Yami Sushi (I recommend!). We looked at them with drunken baffled expressions, to which one of them replied, "Can't eat Mexican all the time." It was so true, and we hadn't ever thought of it. You can't eat Mexican all the time. But what you do have to do all the time, once you're a regular of Los Loros, is go to Los Loros all the time. So you have to find a middleground, and boy, we were amazed. My roommate and I decided to be adventurous enough to order the kids meal cheeseburger. It is seriously the best burger ever. I SAID IT. THE BEST BURGER EVER. GO GET IT.
And then there's the wings. Oh my god, the wings. I don't know what they put on them, but it is something you will go back for again and again and again. I pretty much stopped eating "Mexican" food at this Mexican restaurant. The wings are like buffalo style that seem to have some kind of...almost orange-y flavor. I can't even put it into words. Those wings are the shit. You should have them, you should have them like TODAY.
So there, aren't you happy about this? This isn't the best blog entry ever, because though I've been guzzling booze for two days, I'm only minimally drunk. We all have our off days I guess. But boy do I get excited about chicken wings, and so I feel that this blog is still a success, and if you disagree, well, no one is forcing you to come back, fucker. So here, this is where this blog ended up: CHICKEN WINGS. I SUGGEST YOU EAT THEM! But not at Hooters.
