Next up, on Iron Skillet Chef America our celebrity judge feels he’s entitled to share his opinions. Alloy cuisine!!! –Ed.
As a proud “native Oregonian” I’ve lived in Portland, on and off, since 1981. I’ve been to a few places to eat along the way. From food carts to neighborhood pub n’ grubs to world class cuisine, Portland has a veritable plethora of long waiting lines guaranteed to satisfy most any connoisseur of the latest trendy thing.
Voodoo Doughnut? I’ve never been. The line has always been too damn long. Who has that kind of time for a doughnut with bacon on it? My trick? Go to two different places, grab a doughnut from a regular place and a side of bacon from a diner. Voila! I call that Voodoo without the wait. When you’re downtown you’ll people toting around with their little pink boxes of Voodoo doughnuts as if to say, “Look at me! I did the wait!” Pro Tip: That pink box goes really well with plaid.
The door opened slowly, incrementally revealing the tantalizing mysteries inside. The throng gathered just outside of the door pulsed and surged, their peanut-sided brains processing in vain the images provided by their startled eyes, attempting to comprehend what was within their view for the very first time.
Suddenly a milk-curd-ling scream rang out. There, laid before assembled throng, was the cold case. Nay, it was not the CBS television show of the same name that somehow miraculously survived for seven insipid seasons and counting. (Unbelievable, I know.)
No, it was a cold case containing cheese curds.