Chewing the Pork Fat

It's not every morning that I wake up with a cauldron of acid and alcohol in my belly. When that rare occasion strikes, I am always sure to arm myself to the teeth before going on with my daily routine. Nothing is a better defense against angry indigestion than Mexican food and in this case, Jalisco Cafe in East Oakland does the trick and does it hard. This place is pure magic. If you know what's good for you (or if you require assistance from the more experienced), you'll order the mixed carnitas plate with all the trimmings and tack on a side of nopales. I know...I know...pig stomach and gelatinous pig skin can be intimidating if you're a first-timer. My advice to the timid? Suck it up. Suck it up, pry open a few Modelos, and get ready for the tastiest pork you will ever have in all of your life. Just don't expect to leave for a while: it's a massive gut-bomb.

No Mourning After All

Nothing quite says "desperately seeking hangover cure" like a meal of last night's left-out leftovers. I know that I should be steeping in shame, but there is something very romantic about this particular morning after meal. Not at all worried about my smeared mascara or the fact that I still haven't changed out of the lower half of last night's ensemble. Not even worried that the old Chinese man in the complex across the street has been watching me drag my feet around in nothing more than a little, black triangle bra and a mini. I pour myself another glass of red and enjoy the rest of my hearty meal from Russian Hill's Luella (half a burger left unfinished by my dining partner and several polenta fries with marinara dipping sauce, all wondrously improved on in flavor since dinnertime). And what are my plans for today? Right now, I couldn't spare two fucks to care.