P.D. Johnson's Dog Day Deli

Once more from Preston Center, I bring you news of fine cuisine and wacky atmosphere. This time, I'm reporting live from P.D. Johnson's, which believe it or not is located catty-corner to Wang's Chinese food (which should, in turn, be adjacent to both Woody's Lumberyard and Big Willy's Caulking Supplies). Sharing a wall with a 24 hour fitness, this little deli is a beacon of lunch salvation in a sea of Chipotle burritorias and Sonic Burgererias. Upon entering you are enveloped in a soothing wave of semi-titillating "Johnson" references and clever signs that may or may not be authentic (For example, the "Now Hiring: No Irish" rusted tin sign...ah, if only today's prejudices could be so well-founded). Although faced with several Cold Johnson, Hot Johnson, and Nearly-Foot-Long options, I quickly narrowed it down to either a "Heavy D," a corned beef variety with a curiously named 007 sauce, or "The Bone," which included a luxurious combination of cranberry sauce and cream cheese.
Now, something to consider when you inevitably end up choosing to eat at P.D. Johnson's is the entertainment. Pinned to the walls are several articles from The Onion, a brutally honest news source. Piled on the counter are practically current magazines for every interest and a pile of crossword puzzles copied out of recent newspapers (oh 47 down, why do you haunt me still?). I feel as though the needs of my intellect are as carefully considered at Johnson's as the needs of my belly.
Speaking of belly needs, the pot of gold at the end of this lunchmeat rainbow is filled with P.D. Johnson's brownies. Oh god. Give me a moment to reflect...
The brownies have gradually improved over time, becoming more and more undercooked (less and less cooked??) until they evolved into their current glory: an entirely uncooked puddle of brownie batter poured onto a square of saran wrap. This soupy nectar is then lovingly wrapped and molded into a rectangular prism resembling something more solid. This is not only efficient for the time-hoarding bigwigs at P.D.'s, but beneficial to today's learned (and startlingly sexy) brownie consumers --such as myself.
Major Caveat: If you order water, they charge you 23 cents for "cup and ice" even if you assure those bastards that you hate ice.
Related Bonus: The tap water charge absolutely eliminates the nasty guilt feeling usually associated with filling your "water" cup with Sierra Mist. Thesis Statement: Being a female patron of P.D. Johnson's doesn't get you free water, but it sure does make you feel uncomfortable while ordering up a 6 inch Bone.

Cosmic Cafe

The combination of vegetarian food, eastern religious figures and meditation practices has never been so hokey or super tasty as it is at Cosmic Cafe and Meditation Center on fabulous Oak Lawn Avenue. I have never felt so mock-spiritual in my life, and that includes my brief stint as a nun. Plus, after 5 straight hours of intense Dance Dance Revolution competition, there's nothing like a mango lassie to soothe my aching ankles.
So, Manimal, Jesus, and I once again visited this beacon of holy treats and sassy, if at all, service. The Manimal ordered the Taco Trinity from the "Oscillating Big Bang Entrees" section of the menu without a hint of irony and I believe he enjoyed it immensely, as evidenced by the beams of light pouring out of his eyes upon completion.
The Messiah and I bypassed the "Sidereal Allah Carte" menu, despite its having the silliest name and headed straight for the "Celestial Light Offerings" which were probably the heaviest items on the menu, despite their moniker. The Shiva pizza refreshed my DDR spirit with an exciting blend of peppers mushrooms and was that squash? Decidedly deit-astic. My Lord and Savior replenished his infinite strength and wisdom with A Fold in Thyme (what most inferior restaurants might have referred to as a wrap). He topped His meal off with a large-ass Mango Lassie and, in his enlightened state of digestion claimed, "This Lassie puts the ASS back in LIE." Holla', Jesus.
Main Idea: Get hip; eat Indian-esque food named after holy beings. Madonna would be so proud. Plus, an entire menu of vegetarian-friendly food is pretty tough to find in Dallas, so job well done.
Auxiliary Idea: Whether you eat meat or not, whether you enjoy sitar music or think it's for whiny babies and the Beatles, whether you're old or young, whether you get your saris from Bombay or Gap, the waitresses here will NOT pay any attention to you whatsoever. (Tip them anyway, assholes. They have bills, too. [Theirs are just sassier than ours.])

La Duni

Fantastic. Finally a place that lives up to its recommendations. On McKinney, about a block north of Knox, La Duni is apparently a very hip place to be on a Friday night. Getting there just before 7, however, there was no wait for a meal. Just that certain sense of inferiority that you get when your car gets valet parked just after a lexus suv and just before an audi. Among the patrons were four "sex in the city"esque females, sporting pashminas draped over their shoulders despite the eighty five degrees waiting for them outside. Among those lucky enough to snatch a patio table was Michael Bolton and a female guest. At least I think it was him. But come to think of it, this guy's hair was kind of reddish, whereas Michael Bolton's hair does not currently exist.
But, by taking advantage of the early bird dinner hour, usually reserved for senior citizens and lame-o's, we were given an inside table immediately upon entering and loaded up pretty quickly with some very potent drinks. A mojito for me and a caipirhina for my mint-hating cohort. Accompanying our beverages was some of the finest salsa this side of Encinitas, with some generic but necessary chips.
I wouldn't say that La Duni has Mexican food. They call themselves a Latin bistro, but I wouldn't say that La Duni has Latin food, either (mostly because of my distaste for the ubiquity of the word "Latin". It has some identifiably Cuban fare with a little bit of Venezuelan or some other South American flavor thrown in. Think of plantains, think of mint. Think of pork, here we go. We had some sort of appetizer. It was lovely; plaintains filled with spicy shredded pork and black beans and topped with some kind of cheese. I had tacos al something and Manimal had quesadillas al something with mahi mahi. The only poor planning on the part of the restaurant was making the food so unpronounceable that nobody can possibly spread the word to anyone else about anything except the desserts (highly pronounceable and sooo good). So I guess I'll just tell you about those:
I had the Cuatro Leches cake and this is the superstar for which La Duni is famous. The price is a bit stiff, but who the hell cares? It's manteca cake (which I'm pretty sure means butter cake, so right away you know: nice) soaked in tres leches sauce and topped with cuatro leches sauce and a leche meringue whipped cream hybrid. That makes a startling total of ocho leches. So you're getting twice as many leches as you're paying for! Then it has a drizzle of caramel which makes this a dessert that you don't so much taste in your mouth as you do feel in your loins. Their other desserts look comparable but why on earth would anyone go through the trouble of ordering anything else? Stick with a sure thing. (On a sidenote, that is also the name of my new bestselling self-help book. "Stick with a sure thing: how to settle for second best and keep the status quo humming along nicely")
The service at La Duni was much spicier than the food. I'm pretty sure I must have inadvertantly slept with our waitress's boyfriend because damn, she was spitting fireballs at me all night. Not to mention all the inappropriate touching that she administered on my dinner mate. Did I care? Not with cake in front of me.
Thesis statement: Do not mess with a Cuban woman unless 8 milks are on the line.

Two Rows

I would like very much to say that I enjoyed this place. It was very late last night when we ate here and I was starving so I think that even Chick Fil-A would have seemed gourmet, but even still...
Two Rows is in Plano somewhere, near the tollway. Plano is pretty much all the same so I think if you went to any corner near the tollway, you would find it, or an equivalent eatery no problem. The best way for me to capture the experience is by taking you on a virtual tour. So, close your eyes for a moment. Oh shit, now how am I going to get you to open them. I hope you have one of those automated voice computers that blind people use to instant message....I really should have thought this virtual tour through before giving a command like that. Well, for those of you who lost patience and opened your eyes by now, I apologize. Don't close your eyes anymore.
Just picture TGI Friday's. Or, even better, go to their website and print out a picture. (I refuse, for ethical reasons, to include a link here) Scratch out the name of the restaurant and write Two Rows. BLAM! You've got a primo image without even having to utilize your poor overworked imagination.
The main draw of this place though, the thing that makes it worth driving 30 minutes to dine in, is its perplexing array of soups. They have a grand total of 2 soups: Taco Soup and Tortilla Soup. When I am able to discern between these two soups, even whilst enjoying them simultaneously, then and only then will my soul feel peace.
Auxiliary draw: They brew their own beer. The huge brewing tank, or "brank" if you would be so kind, sits out front like a water tower, promising refreshment and hops to all who enter.
Thesis Statement: At least Chick Fil-A has waffle fries.

Freebirds

I've been meaning to have an opinion on Freebird's World Burrito for quite some time now, but I think I'm just now getting around to it. I mean, it ain't no Rico's, that much I know.
I can't tell if I like Freebirds and their anti-corporate corporation, their hippy/redneck flavor, or if my DT's due to lack of guacamole are just making me think that I do. Either way, I go. I order my half bird with steak. I pay extra for guacamole. I pay $5.25 (pre-guacamole tax) for what passes as a meal. It beats paying nearly ten bucks for a monster, a tortilla piled so high with crap that it takes the fat man who orders it four bites just to penetrate the foil wrapping.
I go and I eat and I'm vaguely certain that I enjoy it. It's just that I've been to one location in Austin, one in Dallas (on Greenville Ave. and Lovers Ln.), and one in College Station (if ever a city could be categorized as a "total fucking mindfuck, bro") and each location is exactly the same as the next, from the half brick, half cement walls, to the foil sculptures left on the bricks by customers, to the giant Statue of Liberty on a Harley holding a burrito instead of a torch. I mean, if I had just gone to one, I might have been fooled into thinking it was unique, a novel place, where college kids can rediscover what tortilla-wrapped edibles should be.
But I didn't stop at one. Nay, I got hooked on their backwards F logo. I saw it, high on a shopping center marquee and I salivated. I imbibed again and again, until resistance was futile; I was no longer a consumer, but a puppet, controlled by a half-bird with no cheese. So do I still go to Freebird's? Of course. Do I enjoy it? maybe. But do I choose to eat their burritos? Quite the contrary. The burritos chose me.
(Wow. Pot really DOES affect yer brain.)
Also, if you're still interested, you can order your Birds online! They'll be waiting for you ten minutes later at your favorite location. Bitchin'.

Two Guys From Italy

As for the name of this restaurant...F that.
As for the rest, it's a little out of my particular way (on Webb Chapel and 635) but it's a prime date spot for the local high schoolers, so that's fun. Whereas Dallas guys take their prom dates to 2 guys from Italy, my prom dates were 2 guys from...no? already saw that one coming? well, SCREW YOU!
I guess it's sort of romantic in a painfully obvious way. In a two-people-sharing-one-booth sort of way. In a let-me-buy-you-a-twelve-dollar-bottle-of-white-wine,baby kind of a way. The ceiling is covered in what I presumed to be fake grape vines? but I suppose they could just as easily be fake bouganvillea? fake ivy? what the hell is that crap and just what about Italy is it supposed to represent? Do Italian people really feel more at home with empty wine bottles and grape vines over their heads? Is Italy primarily a dense jungle region? (I'd like you to note that I refrained from using the word "jungly" there out of pure respect for my readers.)
Apart from the atmosphere, which was bland at best, the food was all right. Gnocchi in orangey sauce and Dr. Pepper with those little crushed ice pieces. Mmmm. If french fries came with it, I'd be in heaven. Or some strange blend of several European countries. Same thing.

The Flying Fish

hmmm...what to say about this neon-lovin' place in Preston Square, just west of the Metro Diner, just east of the wig supply shop. Well, i have to show proper appreciation to the place that reminds me of why I haven't run screaming from Texas yet: hushpuppies and catfish. In fact, just getting a "meow mix" combo of food that is all so deeply fried as to be uniform in color makes me want to stick around just a little longer.
But, first things first. This restaurant is one of I think two in the greater Dallas area and was created by the son of the guy who started Six Flags Over Texas, the amusement park, but I didn't learn all that history until after the hushpuppy fact, so it's not necessary for me to debrief you on all of this. The Flying Fish is set in two dining rooms, separated by a screen door. The front dining room has no windows, just open space, attempting (I think) to give it a waterfront or pier-esque feeling. Unfortunately, these charming open spaces offer a view of the majestic Luther Lane parking complex, which is home to much less marine life, but surprisingly smells just as fishy. But it was a really nice attempt at making me feel coastal once more. Rather than being served at the table, one must stand in line to order food, which saves money on tip, but doesn't save time. However, one more bonus: if the line is long, this really tall guy who I'm not sure is actually employed by the restaurant will give you free hushpuppies. mmmmm. how I love food named after baby animals. Plus, the decor is definitely something at which to marvel. Adjacent to the line is the fishermen's hall of fame wall, with pictures of fishermen and all their vital stats, their turn-ons, their turn-offs (I'm not sure of the proper pluralization of that; if you are in a position to advise, please do), and the photos are oddly stuck to the wall with notebook paper reinforcers, which finally gives those things a function in modern times, so that's cool.
The front dining room is home to the world's first Billy Bass Adoption Center, meaning that lame-o's can give their singing fish to the establishment and be rewarded with a free meal. However, the rest of us are punished for this act by having to listen to those damn fish for an entire meal, as children are invariably seated next to the adoption wall and are invariably looking for a good ass-whoopin'.
One caveat: There were several typos and misspellings located all over the restaurant, as though the restauranteurs were in such a hurry to serve catfish to the masses that they thought they would just overlook the rules and intricacies of the English language. Did they not anticipate that they would one day cater to the Professor, with her high standards of quality and almost maniacal urges to proofread? What the hell? Anyway, the misspelling of the word "piece" was understandable; who can remember that whole "i before e" thing in a pinch (besides me). But "chiken"? Please. Your goddamn menu deserves a little more respect than that. On my next visit, I'm getting a magic marker and adding a ^ and a 'c' to that shit. I think we'll all feel a little more comfortable after that.

Oh, the places we'll go...

Here are the top ten places that we will go to breakfast if you're visiting me in Dallas, TX:
1. Cafe Brazil-I can't let anyone subject themselves to Dallas without a well-deserved reward of Chorizo Avocado omelets or Fruity PanCrepes. Plus, there's a coffee bar. How often does one enjoy all the comforts of a bar at 8 in the morning?
2. Breadwinners- We will go to the new location of this restaurant on Lover's Lane and Inwood and we will indulge in overpriced mimosas and Miguel's eggs. Then, we will buy a pecan sticky bun and live off of its adhesive nectar for weeks on end (possibly in the woods!)
3. Angela's Cafe- I just love it when old ladies call me hon' whilst they pour me mug upon mug of diner coffee. And, I looooves me some tacos on the breakfast menu, just to keep the option open.
4. Panera Bread- I don't even care that this place is a chain. We will have blueberry bagels and raspberry cream cheese and we shall rejoice in the existence of carbohydrates.
5. The donut place next to Holy Smokes where they give you free donut holes while you're deciding what you want- 'nuff said.
6. Magnolia Cafe- I don't give a shit if we have to drive all the way to Austin to get us some damn breakfast, I WANT GINGERBREAD PANCAKES AND I WANT 'EM NOW!
7. Kathleen's Art Cafe- The walls say artsy and the prices say "we only cater to rich people," but I'm listening anyway. They give you free blueberry thingies while you wait for your we're-too-good-for-omelets-style eggs.
8. La Madeleine- I would like the strawberry crepes, please, with a dozen of them crow-sants on the side.
9. Metro Diner- I like my runny eggs with a side of feminism...or biscuits.
10. Celebrity Cafe- Because by the time you've visited me long enough for ten consecutive breakfasts together, perhaps the mediocrity of Celebrity will serve as impetus to git yer ass back home.

Metro Diner

I was not moved terrifically by the Metro Diner (Preston Village area, off Northwest Highway, next to the place that sells a refreshing combination of sunglasses and teddy bears), but there were a few things of note about it that I don't mind sharing on this, the World Wide Web. If you can't share it here, where nobody can hear you, then where CAN you share it, eh? Anyway, the establishment was small, one of the few unfranchised restaurants in the Preston/NW Hwy area, I believe. It was cheap (like me!) and I ordered a breakfast combo called the Woody (insert another cheap joke here...). There appeared no earthly reason for the name; it seemed like your basic Denny's Grand Slam with the added flavor of lard (I'm not arguing). Things to note: Our waitress was female, the girl at the register was female (as most girls are, regardless of the presence of a register), the cook was female, the person who appeared to do nothing save for open and close the refrigerator was female. If the owner of this establishment is a man, then let me struck down dead now because I would really like to think of this place as a little oasis of feminism; the only truly empowering place for a woman to eat her eggs overeasy and get a real shitty cup of coffee with some cream that's been sitting out all day. And there was no cheesy music playing, which would have been a nod to all the mainstream feminist bullshit that doesn't do anything except give women something lame to spend their money on. The fact that the diner was only ten feet by twenty feet (kitchen included) only made me more certain that this was more than a mediocre diner. This was...this was....aw shit, I just lost my whole dissertation. Anyway, main idea: eat at Metro Diner if you don't mind crispy bacon served with a crispier attitude. Thesis statement: Plus, they have biscuits!