Today for Lunch

Rhett,

While you’ve been binge-drinking in Texas, I’ve been working with my nose to the grindstone. Ever since the axe came down a couple weeks back, things have gotten kind of hectic around the office. You don’t need me to tell you that it’s had a detrimental effect on my correspondence.

At any rate, I like the sound of the that taco shack you mention. Hell, I like the sound of Austin period. I’d like to go someday. This may explain my craving for Tex-Mex cuisine. While I imagine your Mexican breakfast was a lot more authentic than the quesadilla I got from the cafeteria today, mine came with some kind of corn salsa in it which elevated it from mediocre to adequate. This is as close as a rave review as Bytes is ever likely to get.

Speaking of which, there’s a new girl working there in the kitchen who talks to me more than I’d prefer. Sometimes I don’t want to talk about my order, I just want to order. Does that make me a prick? I don’t think so.

Straight-forwardly,
Brendan

Brendan,

I’m in Austin. I’m hungover. There’s so much free alcohol here. How am I supposed to say no?

I went to the Taco Shack today for a burrito. I don’t want you to think I’m experimenting with new and dangerous foods. I looked for the most bland options that were safe and stomach-friendly and bought that—and it was awesome. Bacon, eggs, potatoes and cheese jammed into a tortilla. A meal, that would take me 20 minutes to eat if it was on a plate, but in a burrito I can put that sucker down in 5 minutes. And all for $4. Plus, it really went a long way to cure my hangover and push out last nights evil.

Rhett

Brendan,

I’m really busy. Plus, I have been eating the turkey, pickles and mayo sandwich again. So I’m depressed. I mean, really depressed. But I’m also excited because I’m leaving for SXSW on Friday. Of course, this is all very confusing for me emotionally, but I will do my best as I savour the best BBQ in the States.

I hope we get a cold snap while I’m away,
Rhett

Brendan,

For your birthday, I’m putting down Harry Potter to write you this—as you requested. I don’t want you to think it’s a present or celebration of the day you were born, but a somber dirge. I know this can’t be a happy day for you as every additional year of your life means that your body subtracts a little more hair on your head. And adds more hair on your belly. Your ever expanding belly. Every year is another notch on the belt. As your age expands so does your gut.

I went to the cafe down the street and got a wrap. A turkey-bacon wrap. But no matter what angle I bit all I could taste was tomato. I really hate tomato.

I’ve bought you a present that will not help your waistline, but hopefully it will help you cope with another year with yourself. I bought myself another bottle of gin—hopefully it lasts me the week.

I’ll be late for your party tomorrow,
Rhett

Hey Rhett,

As a Facebook friend and former work acquaintance, you may or may not know that today was my birthday. In honour of this momentous occasion, I decided to take the day off and bask in the glory of my 29th year.

I’d like to tell you that I slept in, but since I wanted to borrow Tara’s car for the day I had to drop her off at work for 8:30am. On my way home, I decided to take Edmonton Trail rather than Center Street — the lane reversal nonsense stresses me out. On my way past my former digs, I decided that a nice breakfast at Diner Deluxe would be just the thing for a birthday celebration.

I went in and grabbed a table for one and a copy of FFWD Weekly before ordering a cup of coffee and a Fried Egg Sandwich with Chorizo Sausage. I was excited to see this on the menu, because it’s not offered on weekends, when I’m most frequently there. It was massive and delicious. By the time I was done, I was painfully full.

It was so much food that I didn’t eat again until Tara took me out to dinner at 7:30pm. I know it’s not technically a lunch, but it’s all I’ve got for you today.

I hope you’re not too disappointed,
Brendan

Hey Rhett,

As I mentioned in my last post, even after digging out a meal’s worth of cold Mac ‘n’ Cheese from my tub o’ pasta, there was still plenty leftover for today’s lunch.

Let me say at the outset, doubling down on lunches is not something I generally like to do. Although I am in many ways a creature of habit, I nevertheless feel the need to vary my meals throughout the week. Your steady diet of sandwiches and pickles, while admirable in terms of fiscal responsibility, is simply not something I’m capable of doing.

Having said that, when the lunching hour came, I reached for the now two-day old pasta. It seemed too good to waste, especially now that I’d made the commitment to reheating it. I grabbed it out of the mini-fridge, popped it in the microwave and took it back to my desk. Things have been kind of busy around the office of late and I ended up writing between bites. I’m glad I didn’t waste a brand new meal on a working lunch.

Best regards,
Brendan

Hey Rhett,

As my father was fond of saying, you don’t need my help to make you look like an asshole. You do a fine job on your own.

Though I can’t say I share your fear of sushi, for many years I did. I learned the hard way that this is one food you probably don’t want to buy from the cheap bin at the Superstore. Cold raw fish is a little less sketchy when prepared at the hands of a master chef. Cold macaroni, on the other hand (even when expertly prepared) will never be truly enjoyable. This is the takeaway from today’s lunch.

The problem was that I made an obscene amount of homemade mac ‘n’ cheese on Sunday night. I ended up bringing in a huge Tupperware container that contained more than enough food for today’s lunch and the next day’s. But it seemed like kind of a hassle to try and track down a bowl I could scoop half of the pasta into for microwaving purposes. And as I’ve previously mentioned, the weakness of the office microwaves meant nuking the whole amount would be both a waste of time and a source of anxiety for me. My solution? I took it to my desk and ate it one congealed cheese clump at a time.

There’s still plenty left for tomorrow. I may reheat it then.

Best,
Brendan

Brendan,

I need to do a little catch-up here as it seems I’ve fallen behind and I know you take any opportunity you can to make me look like a real asshole.

Today, we (Leah and I) stopped in to SuperStore to pickup some cheap sushi for lunch. I always get the vegetarian rolls as, I’m sure you know, there’s no way in hell I’m eating cold, un-cooked fish. That shit is disgusting. For the record, I won’t even eat the ones with the fake crab.

While I went to get the sushi, Leah busied herself in the hair-care section of the store and found yet more products to make her hair shinier, curlier and smellier. As I perused the sushi options (ie: looked for the platter with the cucumber rolls) a cute red-head came over and asked if I needed any help. She may or may not have winked at me. Let’s just say that she definitely wanted me. Let the legal record show that I’m pretty sure she was 18. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a certain affinity towards gingers both real or otherwise.

Well apparently some internal alarm clock had gone off inside Leah because, from 20 feet away, she started yelling at me to hurry up. Embarrassed, I said “I’m okay”, grabbed the sushi and left. I know you and Tara have been together for a while. Don’t take that next step. The only thing wives are good for is totally cockblocking you from hitting on the help. At this rate, I will never make out with a red head. Though I did e-date one once (or she said she was a red head) when I was 20, but she lived in Alabama. Also, she was a little crazy.

The sushi was pretty good. I mean, it’s rice, cucumber, that seaweed wrap stuff and some soy sauce. The flavours are pretty standard.

Rhett

Rhett,

My morning was full of meetings and my stomach was empty. Not a winning combination. I was so distracted by the rumblings in my gut that I had trouble paying attention. I’m pretty sure what we were discussing didn’t relate directly to me. I could be wrong. Regardless, as soon as the meeting was over, I walked by the mini-fridge and took out my lunch. It was maybe five after 11.

I’d brought some leftover pizza from a restaurant called Una Pizza + Wine, where I’d eaten with Tara the night before in her capacity as restaurant reviewer for Fast Forward Weekly. I was looking forward to lunch that much more because the food there had been pretty great.

Una is in the old Wicked Wedge space on 17th Avenue, just across from Western Canada High School. That name might not mean much to you, but during the late nineties, there was no more popular place for a late night bite than the Wicked Wedge. Many evenings spent at the Ship or Republic were wrapped up with “gourmet” slices of pizza. It looks like this tradition will carry forward as long as Una maintains its late night hours.

As far as my much longed-for lunch, I had a couple slices of their salami pizza, along with a couple of the ricotta and prosciutto. The latter was surprisingly good cold, which is how I almost always eat my leftover pizza. Tara and I don’t see eye to eye on the cold pizza issue. What are your thoughts? Eat or reheat?

Let me know,
Brendan

Rhett,

I went to the doctor’s today for the first time in a long time. I mean, I’ve gone to drop-in clinics here and there whenever my health’s taken a dive, but my approach to medicine has been pretty reactionary for the past 15 years or so. I figured I was due for a check-up. The first step was doing a meet and greet with my family doctor.

It’s weird, because even though I’m fairly healthy, I got all anxious before going in, like the other shoe was about to drop. I know I make light of eating badly on these pages, but at the end of the day, I’ve got a family history of diseases that can be traced pretty directly to the type of meals I eat every day. Sooner or later, I know I’m going to have to clean up my act. But today was not that day.

You see, Tara at work has been on a donair kick ever since this place called Babylon Quithara opened up across the street from Sunridge Mall. She was talking about her packed lunch with all the enthusiasm of a corpse. As soon as I mentioned that I’d need to pick something up, she was reborn. She insisted on taking me to try their donair. I didn’t really need to be convinced.

We went down and ordered up our wraps. It seems to me that health-wise, donairs are roughly on par with hamburgers, but by virtue of being vaguely exotic they appear to be healthier than they really are. This suspicion notwithstanding, I ended up ordering a large even though a regular would have done the trick. I also got a Vimto. I strongly recommend you order a Vimto the next time you’re in a middle-eastern restaurant. The Arabic script on the can makes you look worldly and cultured while allowing you to secretly enjoy a fruity soda that might as well come with Crush on the can.

I assure you that Tara did not steer me wrong. My only complaint about the meal was that it left my breath smelling of onions and garlic. I had to buy some chewing gum before going to my doctor’s appointment, where, you’ll be happy to know, the other shoe didn’t drop. Not yet, at least.

Still somewhat anxious,
Brendan