OH... burger? (Oyster House)

You know what's a really dumb name for a burger? "OH." While I realize that it's nothing more than an abbreviation for Oyster House, in my head I kept reading it as "oh... burger." See how demented that looks? Whatever, stupid names and awesome food are not mutually exclusive things. Anyway, if you've been reading my blog for a while, surely you know I have a somewhat mild shellfish allergy. You might be saying "why the fuck would someone with a seafood allergy eat a burger that has fried oyster as a topping? You must be a huge dumbass." Well jokes on you. I know that already. But like I said over on AHT, this burger has quite a reputation as a winner. Who cares if I have to sacrifice my health to review it? Remember people... "life isn't about how many breaths you take, it's about how many times you have your breath taken away." What better way than to have a swollen itchy throat and arms full of hives?!? Correct answer - there is none.

If you didn't read my post over on Serious Eats - you should. That shit takes me a long time to write yo - here's a quick rundown on the "oh... burger": Moderately awesome buttery sweet bread, completely intoxicating mesh work of finely cut beef, mush of fried batter and shellfish, and giant pile of sock-smelling bleu cheese. Yep. As you can tell, there were things I absolutely adored about the sandwich as well as constructional elements I definitely questioned. As I explained in my other post... what ruined this burger for me wasn't the fact that I was developing hives or that my throat was itchy... it was the fact that the bleu cheese overpowered all the other elements. It was the fact that while the patty was texturally perfect and remarkably flavored... there was a squishy little oyster that sat on top all useless-like.



This post would be pretty dumb if I just rehashed what I already said, so instead... I'm going to complain about superfluous toppings in burgers.

I am a prototypical Asian person. I like to get value with my burger. What better way to get value than to stack costly oysters and bleu cheese on top of an otherwise plainly constructed burger? From a fiscal standpoint, it makes much more sense to get more expensive toppings than to get something plain. This is not a phenomenon unique to Asians. I feel like more and more places are dolling up plain burgers as a marketing ploy. Pancetta-onion fondue? Sure! Chocolate-covered bacon? WHY THE FUCK NOT? In the beginning, loading the hell out of burgers was awesome. It was cutting edge. It made me feel alive. But now, everyone's doing it for the sake of doing it (oh heyyy, that sounds like food blogging!). At some point, even my overwhelmingly Asian "VALUE" gene realizes something isn't right. Oyster House's burger is a prime example of this. An otherwise mindblastingly good burger tainted by the a fried oyster, the ocean's most lecherous shellfish, and a dollop of cheese it most certainly didn't need.

TL;DR - Oyster House, the way you named your burger is stupid as shit. It tastes pretty good though. It'd probably taste even better if you didn't put nonsense on top just because you can. Dear all burger places: Stop being idiots and putting toppings where they don't belong. The end.
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Pepperoni bread (Sarcone's Bakery)

Remember those stupid Lunchables things from Oscar Mayer? The ones where kids could "assemble" their own lunches out of components so idiot proof that not even a dumbass could make a mess? Yeah, I'm not ashamed to admit I used to cream my pants over those things. There was one in particular that made me pop a food boner instantaneously... every time. Pepperoni Pizza. Little more than a doughy disc of cardboard like flat bread, some marinara sauce in a plastic packet, and a small package of small pepperoni pieces - it actually didn't taste great, but to my adolescent brain, that ish was the best... I thought I was basically an 8 year old Emeril Lagasse makin' some bitch ass pizza. What's the point of this stupid story about my sad/demented childhood? Sarcone's Bakery in Philadelphia serves up something called pepperoni bread. It tastes nothing like the crap that my fat stubby hands used to churn out from Lunchables.

Sarcone's has been around since 1918 when it was opened by some dude named Luigi. It has been passed down from generation to generation to generation. They are boss. Sometimes if you go too late in the afternoon (by which I mean 3 pm) there will be no bread left. If that's not proof enough of how awesome they are, then I don't know what is. Maybe a sensual photo of pepperoni stacked inside of oily bread... aw yeah.



Fuck yeah... look at that. Pepperoni bread in all its glory. The bread itself is kind of hard to describe. Somewhat flaccid and oily on its own, it's really nothing to behold until you fill that cavity full of processed/fatty cured meats. When you get up in there with a fist full of pepperoni - then it's on. Count them stacks of pepperoni. I'll wait. You done? That shiz goes like 8 deep. I don't think Oscar Mayer even gave you 8 pieces of pepperoni - period - per box (thinking back, those things were a real ripoff). Basically... Sarcone's pepperoni bread is an oiled up giant rod of layered bread stuffed with 8 full layers of pepperoni along the entirety of the cross section. There is nothing in that equation I don't like. Oily bread... check. Pepperoni... check. It's not fancy (it probably falls under the stupidly simple category), but it gets... shit... done.

Disclaimer: I felt pretty awful after eating the entire thing for dinner, but whatever. Going in, Sarcone's pepperoni bread is more awesome than a robot ninja punching a dinosaur in the dick. How many other things can make that claim?
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Open-faced pies (Tartes Fine Cakes & Pastries)

I've often said that Philadelphia architecture is "quaint" and "homely." If you read closely between the lines of how I truly feel about Philly, that actually reads... "old" and "ugly." Yeah yeah, I'm a heathen for insulting historical landmarks. National treasures! Whatever, that -ish happened like 200+ years ago. It's time to move on yo. The British aren't going to attack us again in the near future. They have more pressing issues... like weddings and the dreaded fight against dental problems. Anyway, in the middle of the craptacular backdrop of Old City is a bright pink brick shack. It takes balls to paint an entire building bright pink, but that is exactly what Tartes bakery did. Just a lonely bright pink shack with no tables and no chairs... just a window and an old lady. Why? Because she runs everything OG style - barebones. What a baller.

OT - I like thinking of tartes (it feels weird spelling it this way, but that's how the store does it...) as mini open-faced pies. I once said this to someone and they actually went on to correct me about how the crust or whatever makes the two distinctly different. Fuck that. Wikipedia says "the categories of 'tart', 'flan', and 'pie' overlap, with no sharp distinctions, though 'pie' is the more common term in the United States." The hivemind of Wiki is surely smarter than any singular person. I will continue to refer to tartes as open-faced pies. I'm just being a good American.



Behold! A glorious blackberry almond tarte. To be honest, I don't really know what went into this thing, but let me try to explain in my own demented way. The crust is flaky, buttery, and everything I want in a pastry. It's not without sweetness, but it's not strong enough to cover up the heavy-handed use of butter. It's curiously uneven in thickness and texture, but I guess that happens when shit's done right, by which I mean homemade. Inside this cup of flour and butter goes a brilliant blend of some custard-like filling, blackberries, and slices of almond. You know what? I don't even really like blackberries, but this shit was heavenly. It's like if you forced Keebler elves into slavery and caught a unicorn to fart rainbows into pastry bowls. Magically delicious yo. Lucky Charms ain't got shit on Tartes.

Their stuff is a little bit costly, with their single serving (ha!) tartes all teetering around $5, but goddamn it is good. It probably costs a lot to catch Keebler elves... so I guess that's fair. So... I know I harp on Philly all the time for being a crappier version of NYC, but once in a while there's things that make me feel otherwise. Like Tartes.
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Why I hate 90% of food bloggers

Sorry in advance. There will not be all that much food content in this post, in fact... there won't be any, just a lot of bitching. If you're not a fan of the latter, then it's best you just move on, because today I'm going to tell you why food blogging has gotten out of hand as of late i.e. why I hate 90% of food bloggers. Let's begin. People start food blogs for a buttload of reasons - because they want to share recipes, because they want to hone their skills in writing, because they want to wax nostalgic about kick ass meals, because photographs of their food are straight up pornographic, or possibly because they used to be fat and want to celebrate that *ding ding ding*, but there's a commonality between all those things. It's because at some level or another, there exists a certain amount of love for food. Or at least that's how it used to be. That is before food writing became the cool thing to do.

Now that everyone's getting into the food writing game, the whole thing feels cheap. Throw in the sudden boom of social media, and whoring out your cheapened product is even easier! I have a few things I'm curious about...

note: I direct these questions to no one in particular (no... I'm lying, I know exactly who I hate)



Do you write because you still love food? Did you ever really love food? Or are you doing it because getting more followers on Twitter feeds your ego? Is there really a purpose for all these #ff tweets aside from acting as a glorified circle jerk of food writers?



Why the fuck do you take yourself so seriously? Most of us aren't trained professionally in the culinary arts. Most of us have never had truly meaningful experiences in half the foods that we write about. So why do you write as if you have a giant stick in your butt? Writing with an excess of random adjectives doesn't make you sound sophisticated, it just makes you sound like a douchebag.

On a similar note... I think it'd be awesome to eat at Per Se. Mostly because the price tag makes it all but an impossibility for me at the current moment. It's fine if you write that it's the greatest thing to happen since Kevin Durant's inception into the world, but if you hate on restaurants because they don't cost an arm and a leg to dine at, that just makes you an idiot. You don't have to love McD's like I do (in fact, no one should... it's not healthy), but if your writing is simply a reflection of menu pricing, then I hate you.



When you retweet or link other peoples' tweets/posts, is it because you genuinely think it's because it's worth propagating on the internets, or are you just trying to brown nose your way into gaining attention? It sucks extra hard when you follow both parties... then it's like a Dutch rudder of circular/shameless promotion.



Do you follow me with the expectation that I reciprocate? Listen, if you actually like reading my posts, or even if you just like looking at my pictures... thanks, I appreciate it. I really do. If you're just following me because you expect me to do the same... I really couldn't give two shits.



If I seem bitter lately, it's because I am. There's more shit that I find annoying, but ultimately it's pointless for me to list them. Nothing's going to change. It just really peeves me that something that I legitimately enjoy is being turned into something so ridiculous. Food blogging is no longer about sharing a genuine interest in things you eat, it's just a bunch of people giving each other metaphorical reach arounds and high fives on the internet. Success is no longer measured by how insightful your writing might be, it's defined by the number of followers you have on Twitter. Fuck me.
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