Saturday, November 5, 2011

Profound Discharge #13 (Dan)

I did it.

I can't believe I did it.
I swore to fucking Christ I wouldn't do it, but I did.

I ate at a Chipotle Mexican Grill restaurant.

This place is more horrifying than anything Texas could ever throw at you.

I genuinely didn't want to first.

I was coerced by boobs. More specifically, by that of a girl I used to date that wanted us to meet up for a friendly dinner (no, not that one). She also promised to pay for the meal in addition to my tab at the bar we would wind up going to afterwards. I mean, if you promise to pay for my food, that's one thing- that makes me owe you a favor. Paying for all of my excessive drinking? That's a surefire sign of true love.

The two things in the world more powerful than nuclear bombs and shame.

The first thing I did in preparation (I swear on my family name I did this) was drink a bottle of water and eat a few raw pieces of bread. Just to get my system warmed up for the mayhem that it was about to go through. I was praying to all major and minor deities that Chipotle wouldn't take me down the same road that Taco Bell routinely does.

Chipotle's menu is pretty standard for a franchise Mexican eatery: a make-your-own burrito/taco, various salads, burrito bowl, nachos, etc. While I was in line, I was looking around and seeing what the hell all of these things looked like. And I gotta say, they all look exactly like they do on the menu. Especially the burrito bowl- it's actually laid out like a nifty little bento box via TexMex cuisine instead of Japanese.

And despite the freakishly perfect looks of the food, it smelled astounding. So I ordered a pretty standard, fully-loaded DH-style burrito:
  • dirty rice
  • cilantro
  • the greenest mainstream guacamole I've ever seen
  • grilled peppers
  • ground beef spiced with juniper and other fancy shit (supposedly)
  • black beans
  • cheeeeEEEEEeeeese
...and that's when shit got R.E.A.L. as they say in the Wu Tang: It was surprisingly good. I gotta admit, I liked it.

The guacamole blended with the black pepper in the rice for the right mix of smooth avocado with a subtle bite. The cilantro was rather pronounced, but it was offset from the great crunch of the grilled peppers. The beans and the beef mixed together into a spiced, delicious brown sludge. A solid 9 out of 10.

Those smug bastards have a customer for life now.

But even after that blissful 25 minutes that it took to hork down that football-esque burrito, I had almost forgotten the purpose of this little excursion. Little did I know that it would come roaring back a few hours later with the fury of a thousand wolves.

After the delightful Chipotle excursion, the two of us went to a bar a few minutes up the road.

I got through two gin-and-tonics (with Hendrick's and lime, natch) quickly and got drunk.
The girl I was with matched my drink intake with equal fervor, and we were having fun. Almost a little too much fun.

Too much fun.
Definitely too much fun.
Shortly before last call, I drove her home and said that we'd do this again (probably not).

Wanna know why I proceeded to make the 15 minute drive home from her place to mine in almost 8 minutes flat?

A vague approximation of those 8 minutes.

I then proceeded to unleash the second worst shit parade of my entire life. I almost burst a blood vessel in my head. There was no bleeding involved (this time) but it was so prolonged, fiery, anguished, enduring, disgusting, and horrendous that I was sweating from my head to my toes.

I'm dead serious- my ankles were sweating.
I think I created the book of Revelations in my toilet that night.

In short, Chipotle gave me the best involuntary ab workout I've ever had.


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