Anonymous Communist

In the last post, the comments got threadjacked into a discussion of the tastiness of Thai food. All that talk got me in the mood to get my nose running.

Unfortunately, my preferred purveyor of the Thai (which also was closest to my office) apparently has closed. So Monday night, I headed to Magic Kitchen’s second location (to which I mistakenly thought the MK had moved; thanks to Manx for clearing that up) on my dinner break.

I ordered the Garlic and White Pepper Pork in medium, my usual at Thai Kitch. To my mild dismay, I found that Magic Kitch didn’t make it with asparagus (and carrots!) as Thai Kitch did, but there seemed to be more meat. But as I usually found myself wanting more after finishing a Thai Kitch pile, I struggled to finish the final quarter or so of Magic Kitch’s. Maybe that’s why it was more expensive.

MK’s medium was more spicy than that of TK’s, to the point that I had to blow my nose twice after I was done, not that you wanted to know that. You know it’s good food when it makes your nose run.

And to make them a little homesick, I e-mailed the above picture I took with my phone to dear friends and noted AC commenters Eric and Steve, to which Eric replied:

think i may make that the backdrop on my iPhone

For all you fellow Magic Kitch fans out there, what are your faves dishes there?

I don’t get out much, so it was only recently that I visited The Pizza Machine for the first time.

Located in Vinegar Hill Mall, Pizza Machine populates the space once held by various clubs like the Atrium and… well, the Atrium is the only one I can readily recall.

The decor inside is obviously influenced by the City Museum, down to the dragon’s-mouth entryway and the conveyor rollers that make up the railings.

There’s even a slide for when the kids get bored/irritating:

I understand that if you get their big-ass pizza, the pie’s delivered on a train or crane or some such.

Speaking of pizza, our half cheese, half sausage-and-garlic pie was quite good. I would have liked a bit more cheese, and the sauce was a tad sweet for my taste. But the thin crust was excellent. Although I’d rate it the fourth-best pizza in town, it’s certainly worth going back for. And there’s a full bar and the aforementioned funky decor.

This is one of those one-of-a-kind, kooky local places that deserves our support. The owners have put forth great effort to make Pizza Machine a unique destination, and the food is worthy in itself. Plus, they deliver (in a big ol’ school bus), so there is no longer any reason to get corporate pizza.

I’m also looking for a partner to join me in their eat-the-big-ass-pizza challenge. I’d love to give it a shot. (UPDATE 12:45 p.m. 4-8-2008: Having read John’s post about the Pizza Machine challenge from a couple years ago, maybe I should reconsider.)

Sorry for the crappy photos; it’s sort of dark in there, and all I had was my cell-phone camera. For more/better photos, visit Springfield Photos’ review of Pizza Machine.

I’ve heard that when you crave certain foods, it’s your body’s way of telling you that you need a certain nutrient. Like if you have a craving for carrots, you might be low on vitamin A. Or if you’ve got a hankering for a pint of ox blood, you might be needing some iron.

Yesterday, I got one of those cravings, one I get maybe once a year. I have to wonder, though, just exactly what my body might need from a pile of fried nastiness from Long John Silver’s. Essential greases, maybe?

Sure, it sounded good at the time, but about halfway through that first piece of fish, I started feeling guilty. And by the time I started on the second, I began to regret giving in to my craving. I think I would have been better off just dumping it all in the toilet to begin with. I would have saved myself some discomfort.

That’s some salty, greasy goodness.

Mrs. Communist turned out some waffles, eggs and bacon for brunch, for which I am grateful. As I heaped them onto my plate, I was struck by one of those great ideas.

I decided to try my best to cast aside my usual OCD when it comes to eating and make a sandwich out of it.

It was the correct decision. I think I’m going to go die now.

It’s Mrs. Communist’s birthday tomorrow, so we marked the grand occasion by having dinner. On Tuesday. *cough*

After we dumped the kids off at Aunt Communist’s house, I was gracious enough to let her pick the place. Her birthday and all. She decided on August.

August is on Fourth Street, behind Jim Edgar’s old house and where Tokyo of Japan used to be. Let me just get this out of the way now:

This was the best restaurant meal I’ve ever had. Ever. It was so good that I had to take a picture.

Every aspect of this meal was fantastic. The only quibble I had was minor: The Caesar dressing was just the tiniest bit mild. Just a little bit more Parmesan, and it would have been perfect.

After the salad came the focaccia, served with olive oil, herbs and Parmesan for soakage.

Then came the entree: braciola (the waiter pronounced it “bra-SHO-la”) of beef with veggies and gnocchi in pomodoro sauce. The meat was stuffed with Parmesan, prosciutto and Italian sausage, and it was unbelievably tasty. I don’t know if the garnish was meant to be consumed, but it was good too. Some sort of herb… braised fennel, maybe?

We took the dessert home for the kids.

Man… I’m salivating just thinking about it again. If you ever have a special occasion to celebrate, go to August. You will not be disappointed.

Post No. 100, by the way.

Well, well, well… look who scored some Chick-Fil-A during his trip out of town.

Honestly, Dan, you could have told the rest of us so we could have had you bring some back for us. Some of that sweet, juicy, delicious … *drooling*

During her junior year at high school, Mrs. Communist worked at White Oaks Mall’s corner of the Chick-Fil-A world. One of her less-enjoyed duties was to stand outside the store with the samples. She says there was no shortage of creepy middle-aged men asking, “May I sample your breast?”

By the time we began dating, she’d moved on to greener pastures but still knew people who worked there and who were gracious with the discounts. My preference then was to enjoy the Chick-Fil-A in all its plain, undressed glory. But the future Mrs. C introduced me to the wonder that is mayonnaise. Dipping the Chick-Fil-A nugs in mayonnaise somehow manages to improve perfection. I didn’t before nor do I after particularly care for mayonnaise, but damn it’s some good shit on the Chick-Fil-A.

Seriously… what’s not to like about the sandwich? I can think of only good things:

• Fast and easy preparation
• Consumption requires only one hand (freeing the other one for cards)
• Most, if not all, food groups are represented
• Only one dish need be washed afterward
• Goes well with beer

In case you’re wondering, the above example is a fine turkey pastrami ($4.99/lb at the grocery) on rye bread with cheddared cheese and Dijon mustard. A deli meat sandwich is made even more perfect with the addition of potato chips and a pickled cucumber, which, of course, represents the fruit and vegetable group.

As reported by Russ, voting for the Illinois Times Best of Springfield contest has commenced.

One of the categories is best Italian restaurant. I have voted for Joe Gallina’s, and I urge the rest of you to do the same. Here’s why:

Saturday evening at work, I thought silently about what I should grab for dinner, figuring that I’d probably end up driving through McDowell’s (metaphorically speaking, of course). But my fellow deskmate The Dog quickly knocked some sense into me with these words:

“I’m calling Vito. Anyone want anything?”

Dude, Gallina’s. Of course! It’s nearby, it’s cheap, and best of all, it’s incredibly delicious fucking tasty. Their Saturday special is the baked rigatoni, and with the hunk of bread and the ginormous soda my dinner came to $7.27.

And Gallina’s is the restaurant that keeps on giving, because once you finish the pasta, the puddle of sauce that remains and the hunk of bread represent a whole ‘nother meal. (unrelated aside: Is “whole ‘nother” a Springfieldism, or does everyone say it?)

Not only does it taste molto squisito, it’s filling, too. It’s been six hours since I ate, and I’m still good.

When we have local, authentic restaurants like Joe Gallina’s, why do people still eat at soul-destroying, ‘nad-sucking corporate Fauxtalian places like Olive Garden and Pasta House?