Monday, April 7, 2014

"I'd eat that aioli with a spoon if it was socially acceptable!"

Last Friday, Noah and I checked out of work early and made the trek up to West Fargo. We hadn't been up there since the fantasy football draft over Labor Day weekend, so to say we were anxious to get up there would be a staggering understatement. Thankfully, we've seen John and Kasey quite frequently since then, thanks to Julie's awesome wedding, the last Vikings game in the Dome, and of course our fabulous week in Cozumel. Now that I think about it, I'm amazed we're not all sick of each other. Perhaps I'm speaking for myself here. Maybe they're all sick of ME and my sarcasm and stupid half-assed jokes! Aw crap, there goes my paranoia again. Time for another shock treatment.

There are certain things that happen when we're in Fargo for a weekend. The first thing that inevitably happens is Noah's voice changes to sound exactly like his brother's. I kid you not, it is the weirdest thing ever known to man, and that includes the popularity of David Hasselhoff in Germany. The first time Jaybird experienced the phenomenon, he said "One of you two assholes needs to shut the (fudge) (but he didn't say fudge) up, I CAN'T TELL WHO'S TALKING!" Hilarious. The second thing is, we go hang out in the garage and the gang from the hood and the Murphy clan and their ilk show up, and it's super awesome. We have drinks, listen to music and have a million different loud conversations. I'd be amazed the cops haven't been called on them but John runs West Fargo and is best friends with one (hi Rhonda). Inevitably, somebody finally realizes, hey, it's like 10 and while Doritos are snacktastic and packed with real cheese flavor, most nutritionists would probably not consider them a "meal" per se. (Although I bet they've been used as an ingredient for dessert on Chopped. God I hate that show. Ted Allen talks like he's storing a large stick in a very uncomfortable place, like the back of a Volkswagen.) That's when Pizza Patrol comes to the rescue.

Pizza Patrol has good pizza. It gets the job done, ya know? It's not Pizza Luce caliber, but then again what is? However, not even Pizza Luce can top Pizza Patrol's cheesebread. It is a feat of engineering (okay it's not, I just dig that phrase). It is a riddle wrapped in an enigma stuffed with an entire log of mozzarella. A good slice of sausage and one of those and you will be good to go for round two, my friend! And you never want to miss round two in Johnny Twopickups' (long story behind that nickname) (not really - John has two pickup trucks and hence is a certified badass) garage. If you do, you risk not being there when a friend of a friend decides, at midnight, that it's an appropriate time to start playing his bagpipes in the driveway. My mother-in-law is still kicking herself for not bearing witness to that, as she should be.

Unfortunately, Sunday happened, as it tends to do on occasion, and it was time to head home. However, a trip to Fargo just isn't complete without having at least one meal at Spitfire. If you've been to Fargo recently and haven't eaten at Spitfire, please do me a favor and slap yourself as hard as you can across the face. Congratulations, you jackass, you have just deprived yourself of the best slow-cooked meat on the planet. Everything is cooked on a rotisserie over a...spitfire...and it is amazing. I got the walleye yesterday because it's Lent and I'm a non-practicing Catholic who got married in a Lutheran church. Or maybe fish just sounded good. And it was, thank you and you're welcome. Normally, I'm all about the prime rib sandwich. I always get it without cheese and I don't eat the bread, because the real appeal is the perfectly seasoned beef inside. And the skinless mashed potatoes? Changed my life. The first taste I had of the cheesy, bacony, creamy delight brought me to my knees in tears of joy (I'm assuming the rest of the patrons thought I was just drunk) (they were wrong) (that time). I can't wait to go back!

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