 Dino's Pizza … the greatest thing to come into my life since … well … anything. Seriously, what's better than pizza? More importantly what's better than Dino's Pizza? For our second GRUB-fest with Dino, what was the common denominator you ask? … Mouth-watering, tastebud-titillating, soul-satisfying Pizza. Both times we ordered our pies for carry out. No, it wasn't because we didn't like the physical location (it's actually got this pretty sweet pizza parlor feel) but because both GRUBBING sessions took place at our buddy Stefan's speakeasy known as the Orchard Street Brewing Company (Okay, it's actually just his house where he's got some serious home-brews on tap … and who are we to leave a house of free, award winning OSBC beer?). Looking over Dino's menu is a test of strength and resolve. Take a peak and do your best not to order everything. From the "Cordova" with spinach, fresh italian sausage, tomatoes and Maytag blue cheese to the "Pizza Pastrami" with pastrami, pickles, and deli mustard on a thin, sauceless crust … they've got all kinds of crazy concoctions, Italian staples, and everything in between. We took our time, weighed our options, and went for two different pies. The first … the "Seven Layer Pizza" with pepper jack, red onions, olives, tomatoes, jalapeños and cilantro. The second … the "Lasagna Pizza" with local italian sausage, meatballs, tomatoes, parmesan cheese and giant "the-greatest-thing-in-the-world" globs of ricotta cheese. Take a look at the pictures below, and do your best not to lick the screen. Each pizza had that perfectly crisp crust and the aforementioned medley of toppings that were not just unique … but marvelous. I don't even like ricotta cheese all that much, but the combination with the Italian meats and the crunchy crust, made the experience simply life changing. No joke, my mouth is watering like crazy as I write up this post. It's the ultimate Pavlovian response, and the true litmus test of GRUB. And the "Seven Layer Pizza" … I just know that the next seven layer dip somebody brings to a potluck is going to severely disappoint. Any way you slice it (pun … intended), Dino's is one of a kind deliciousness. Screw Chuck E. Cheese's … my boy's eating nothing but Dino's. Because who needs a ball pit or a singing mouse, when you've got GRUB.
 Okay, so I know "jumbo" shrimp is an oxymoron. But what do you call a "holy-moley-that-shrimp-is-freaking-huge" … shrimp? Let's just settle with the "Fisherman's Outlet" shrimp … because on this week's journey through the enchanted forest of GRUB, we loaded up our fishing nets, met up with our GRUB-buddy Teresa C. and gone fishing at The Fisherman's Outlet in downtown LA. But before I lose you on the seafood potential of a shop located smack dab in the middle of an industrial part of downtown, right up against the concrete LA river (where might I add, the fishies must be biting pretty good) … just trust me, THIS PLACE IS FREAKING AMAZING!
We got a little lost on our way down there, so follow these simple directions. Step 1) Look it up on Google Maps (seriously, you're just getting lazy if you want me to give you all the details). Step 2) Head down Central Ave. in downtown LA until you hit this out-of-place, row of seafood eateries and wholesale markets in the aforementioned industrial setting. Step 3) I can't say this with 100% certainty, but avoid every place that doesn't have fifty people in line on a Saturday at 2PM. Follow our easy three step method and you'll be chowing down on some of the best seafood you've ever had … or your money back (offer not valid in any of the contiguous 50 states. And if you can find this place in Alaska … the money is all yours).
But seriously people, this place is legit. We went with the suggestion of Teresa and grabbed a plate of the charbroiled giant shrimp. But like we hinted to above, giant is an understatement. Andre is giant. The BFG is giant. These are not just giant … they are HUMONGO. The plate also comes with a heaping helping of french fries, cole slaw, a side of cocktail and hot sauce, and the real pièce-de-résistance … a cup of warm, melt-away-all-your-problems, Fisherman Outlet's very own … garlic butter.
And as I pulled apart these giant gems from the ocean, squeezed on a little lemon juice, cut off a huge hunk and dunked it in my own combination of hot sauce and garlic butter … I couldn't help from letting out a few verses from Little Mermaid's "Under The Sea." We got ourselves an order of ceviche and chips to start off this tastebud tango … but really it was the shrimp (aka mini-lobster) that really sent our head spinning.
So as it nears lunch time again, I am viciously fighting the urge to head back for round two. I mean, it would be great … but there's so much GRUB that needs GRUBBING. So until next time, go grab your harpoon and head out on the hunt for the great white shrimp down at the Fisherman's Outlet. It's way better than discounted Coach purses or OshKosh B'gosh overalls, because at this outlet they're selling GRUB!
 You say "Po-tay-to" … I say "Pot-Awe-to." You say "Boise Fry. Co." … I say, "Sweet sassy molassy … I'm there!" We took our journey to the land of the Smurf-Turf in the hunt of some of Idaho's finest … the beloved, the sacred, the soon-to-be-deep-friend wonder that is the potato. So when I heard about a place called Boise Fry Co. … how could I not dip in for a bite? I started off like the little kid testing the waters with his pinky toe … but after about 12 second of gazing up at their amazing board-o-fries, you had to hold me back from going straight for the belly flop.
Boise Fry Co. (or "BFC" as they're known by … well … um, probably just me) has this amazing matrix of french fry choices to bring an indecisive man to his knees. Do I go with Homestyle-cut Sweet, Regular-cut Purple … or just get saucy with it and take a stab for the Russet Potato "Po Balls." I know … I know … We should have gone for the Po Balls. But unlike our one-part crazy, one-part smashed drunk, one-part "SHE'S A NICE LADY!" elderly friend named Joyce-Ann that we met at a bar the night before … we don't get many options to go grubbing in Boise. So we stayed with the west-coast conservative offense … I went for the Purple and our Mississippian Grub-mate Tonie P. went for the Gold.
Before I go on, I have to ask … Is "Scrum-didily-umptious" a word? It is? Okay good … because that's the only way to describe these little bowls of happiness. Straight colorful, crunchy, salty goodness in a metal bowl waiting for you to a) Powder them with your choice of seasonings and b) Dunk them in a ridiculous number of sauces. So we took these bad boys, sprinkled on some garlic salt and cajun spices and loaded up tiny cups of garlic mayo, curry ketchup, honey mustard … and the real exotic one of the bunch … a blueberry ketchup. Everything was awesome. I mean … seriously? How could it not be? I's a french fry shop in the home of potatoes.
We matched them up (and yes, the french fries are the main course at the Fry Co.) with a couple of burgers that were just that perfect juicy, meaty companion to the fries. Now don't get me wrong, the burgers were good … but they were definitely the sidekick to the potato-monsters. The Robin to the Batman, the Scotty Pippin to the Michael Jordan … the Chewbacca to … trick question, Chewbacca is a sidekick to no man!
My only regret was reviewing the photos of the board-o-fries when I got home and saw the "Bourgeois" … a batch fried up in duck fat and topped with truffle salt … oh Mr. BFC I will be back … oh yes, I will be back. Until then, enjoy joy-riding around downtown Boise with Joyce-Ann in her Grandson's sweet Kia Metro (Everyone gets inside jokes right?). So, thanks for the GRUB-hospitality … normal colored french fries will never be the same.
Boise Fry Co.111 Broadway Ave. Boise, ID Google Maps
 Was I the only one who always thought "being in the dog house" was a bad thing? Seriously … I would have engaged in a lot more mischievous hijinks as a kid if I had known that my only potential punishment was a mouth-watering, juicy sausage, smothered in grilled onions and jalapeno peppers, layered up with dijon mustard and curry ketchup, and placed gently on a crispy, sweet french roll. So for this week's grubbing session we knocked over a few mailboxes and spray-painted the cat blue … and landed ourselves in Pasadena's Dog Haus. The place has a cool, open, classed-up vibe with long wood tables, a cart loaded up with hot dog fixins, and a giant menu board tempting you with a cornucopia of devilishly creative hot dog and sausage concoctions. Our grub mate H. Dawg, went for the Sooo Cali topped with mixed greens, diced tomatoes, crispy tempura fried onion strips, a spicy basil aioli, and avocado all loaded into a few soft squares of King's Hawaiian bread. If you've never had the super-soft Hawaiian delight … or never had a hot dog on it for that matter … you've never really lived. Ourselves, we battled back and forth … resisting the desire to dive into one of their out-of-control (in a good way) hot dogs that are loaded up with toppings such as thick (and we mean thick … like "measure it with a ruler" thick) sliced bacon, eggs, and tatter tots ... or another with chili-con-carne and a sprinkle of Fritos chips. Eventually we landed on one of the house specials … the "Best of the Wurst" … we went with the bratwurst and loaded up the aforementioned grilled onions and jalapeno peppers. Everything was taste-tastic … from the flavor packed brat to the soaking-up-the-juices, just a-little-bit-of-sweetness and a-little-bit-of-crunch french roll. To match up with our dogs, we went with an order of their super sized onion rings and the side dish of every 11 year old's dreams … tater tots. Now I know why Napoleon saved 'em up in his cargos pockets and was hesitant to give them away. These crispy, salty, cylindrical morsels of grub-delight are a magical accompaniment to any meal … a perfect device to dunk into that craving-inducing curry ketchup (seriously … if they don't have it out on the fixins cart … ask for it) and pop into your soon-to-be-dancing mouth. Of course we also added a bottle of Mexican Coke to our order. Some say the deliciousness comes from the real sugar instead of corn syrup … others firmly believe it's the glass bottle that makes it so damn good. But deep down we all know the real reason … unicorn powder. Whatever it is, we just love the stuff … especially when you're matching it up with the gut-busting, mind-blowing, heaven-on-a-bun coming out of the Dog Haus. Each bite I felt myself channeling my inner Sean Connery and holding back the desire to shout out "You're the man now dog!" But it's true … and honestly Dog Haus, that's really the only way to describe it. You are … simply … the man.
 It's pure … meets devilishly good. It's childhood … meets your classy adult self … it's your mom's mac n' cheese … meets a much better mom's mac n' cheese. It's S'Mac … and it's glorious. While on our GRUB travels we ran into Michelle B. … and on top of being lucky to just meet this pretty groovy gal … damn were we lucky she demanded we hit up S'Mac in NYC's east village.
Before I dive into the GRUB, I feel like I owe it to you to set the mood of the night. While on train route from a pop-up beer garden in Chelsea to the mac n' cheese purveyor on the east side … I don't know what we did to piss off Zues … or Poseidon … or whoever it is that decided to open up the sky and make it just pour down on a couple of hungry grubbers. But did it stop us!? Nay, my friend … we ran down the streets in our flip flops and t-shirts, finally finding the warmth of S'Mac. And besides just physically getting out of the rain … I could tell we were in a magical place.
With a variety of cast iron skillets up on the wall … ranging from Nosh to Mongo … we found it prudent to first select a size of our soon-to-be happy belly creations. While we probably should have gone for a "Major Munch" (think … medium) … I've had a long-standing rule of never turning down a portion named "Mongo" (think … mongo). Sure … it might have been the first time I ever got to act on said long-standing rule … but rules are rules.
So with the size determined, the really difficult decision was which glorious concoction we would go with … For one-reason-or-another the "Cheeseburger" (Cheddar and American cheeses with seasoned ground beef) was calling our name, but the "Cajun" (Cheddar, pepper jack, andouille sausage, green peppers, and Cajun spices) was giving us the "come-here-big-boy" … but we deferred to our partner-in-GRUB and went with the unorthodoxly amazing "Parisienne" (Creamy brie, roasted figs, shiitake mushrooms, and fresh rosemary). Now speaking from someone who's only had fig in newton form … this unusual combination was simply blissful.
With our fork piercing the bounty … breaking through the crispy, breadcrumb surface … scooping up all that delicious cheesy-goodness … let's just say, it's S'Mac-tastic. For the longest time I couldn't imagine anything better called "Smack" than the deliciously sugary cereal promoted by that lovable hat-wearing frog … but I stand corrected. So after putting a dent in about half of the wondrous beast, we placed down our fork, let a large smile creep across our face, and reflected in all that is good in the world of GRUB.
So thank you Michelle B. … and thank you Mrs. S'Mac … because of you we both have another reason to come back to NYC … and when we do, we're going straight for that explosion of yum!
 Really Papa? All this time I've been under the impression that Papa Loves Mambo and it turns out you've been gallivanting around with Pollo. And thank goodness for that … because while Mambo might be fun … GRUB is where it's at … and "where it's at" is at Papas and Pollo. And so for this week's grub-session, we ventured to the rolling hills of Sebastopol for a round two with our now Brother-in-Grub Adam B. (see Dirk's Parkside Cafe for the prequel). So what do they got at Papas and Pollo? Think organic hippie … meets thirsty surfer … meets monster burritos. As I stood in line, one eye on the stuffed rooster next to the register, the other on a row of taps featuring a selection from local Lagunitas Brewing Co … I surveyed the menu and landed on the Prawntastic Burrito. It combines my two favorite things … "prawns" and "tastic." The veggie lovers in attendance went for Papas' marinated tofu temptation, which was actually my favorite of the night (I know, I'm toying with losing my GRUB-cred) which was bathed in some sort of magical marinade of flavor delight (it's really the only way to describe it … trust me … I tried). On a recommendation, I went for the Lagunitas Little Sumthin' Sumthin' … a delicious hoppy and sweet treat that I could only imagine would pair all too well with my Mexican grub-to-be. The burritos were massive (just how I like 'em) and filled with wholesome, fresh ingredients. My personal favorite touch was a potent punch of arugula and wild greens inside the burrito. There was just something amazing about starting the day at the organic farm where Adam B. and his lovely-lady-love Aislinn S. lay their heads and trekking over to the fresh, flavor-packed stomping grounds of Papas and Pollo. Sipping on my beer, giving my burrito a healthy pour of Papas' tangy and spicy salsas (rojo and verde to make everyone happy), and taking a giant bite packed with shrimp … it was a Roberto Benigni moment … life is beautiful. So as we continue our journey along the GRUB landscape, we're happy to add another hitching post up north. So thanks for the GRUB Papa … now go home and make sweet love to Mambo.
 The GOOD GRUB be back baby. The hunger strike is over and we missed you … did you miss us? Stop, stop … dry those tears. Let's hug it out. Because while we were out exploring the GRUB landscape, we were thinking about you the entire time. And the best part … we return with the GOODS. So with our first post in over a month, we're bringing in one of the big guns … the pride of the East Village in NYC … Caracas Arepa Bar. What's an "arepa" you ask? Sure it takes your mind in one direction, a-la Arrested Development's Tobias Funke … the proud analyst and therapist. But when you get your head out of the gutter, think one part taco, one part pita sandwich … and one part Venezuelan sunshine. We hit up the delicious spot with our GRUB buddy Laura J., grazed over the menu, and pretty much lost our minds. The three of us threw down for an ultimate medley of the delicious, doughy, crispy, corn-muffin-esque delights … just shouting out selection after selection to the friendly arepa-master taking our order. We started it up with their fluffy, creamy guacamole and basket of think, crunchy homemade chips. The chips were slightly thick, perfectly salty vessels for the cool guacamole … and look out for the bonus crispy, fried plantain chips tossed in for good measure. It was a perfect start of the meal, and only further heightened the anticipation of the arepa buffet about to hit our table. So when the swarm of arepas hit, we had to resist a full on lord-of-the-flies outbreak. We defaulted to the wisdom of Friday's puff-puff-give. So as the soiree of arepas were passed through the air … one with shredded beef, black beans, white salty cheese and sweet plantains … another with grilled chorizo, spicy white cheese with jalapenos and sauteed peppers … and a few others to round out the festivities … we committed to fighting off the urge to just devour everything we touched. Needless to say, the little pockets are nothing short of taste-bud-heaven. The combination of the slightly crispy, savory, corn-meal pocket and the marinated meats, beans, and cheeses exploding from within are one of the many reasons we're in the GRUB game. So thank you Mr. Caracas … trust that we'll be back. But until then … the journey continues.
 Tender, juicy, titillating … pepper steak. After waiting way too long on the pending list, I've finally let myself succumb to the seduction. To dive past temptation and strait through to animalistic desire. Because really, I can't stop thinking about you Giamela. I can't sleep, I can't eat (well, we all know that's not true), but you don't answer my calls. At least I have the photographs … the memories. Why didn't Steven M. (aka Smurphey) warn me? Sure he told me to hit up the Italian sub shop over in Los Feliz to check out the pepper steak … but still, somehow, even after a few years of doing this … I never quite prepare myself for these blind dates with GRUB beauties. I drove over on a blue-skied, sunny afternoon with our buddy Sideshow Bobby, surveyed the menu and ordered with confidence a large pepper steak (bypassing the "with marinara" and "with egg" options at the guidance of our friendly cashier) and paired it up with a small turkey and capicola (to 50/50 cross-share of course) … and a large Coke and Orange Bang for good measure. Both sandwiches were amazing … giant subs overflowing with meat and topped with a medley of diced pickles, onions, and tomatoes. But it was the pepper steak that definitely took home the blue ribbon. Thinly sliced, dripping with flavor, tender strips of steak is really the best way to start off any great GRUB session. And at Giamela's it was almost too much to handle, especially when you add to it the sweet roasted peppers and spicy sport peppers … kicking the whole experience to another level. But before you overlook the turkey and cap … a great sub on its own right and an even greater sidekick to the pepper steak … you need something cool and refreshing to be the Robin to the Batman. Giamela also throws in some carrot sticks with each sandwich … just to create the awkward juxtaposition of childhood innocence and full-fledged GRUB-lust. If you're reading this Giamela, just know that I miss you … and I'll be back … and don't be jealous of all the other great spots I've hit up in the past (and will surely hit up in the future) … because for at least this week, it's all about you baby. And trust us, as long as you've got that pepper steak of yours … you've got nothing to worry about.
 Forget the International House of … LAME. When I want myself a flapjack, a cake-made-in-a-pan, an American Crepe Suzette … I want the best, the leader … the original. So when my Great Uncle Moses GRUB (And yes … that's really his name … minus the GRUB part) kept telling me about The Original Pancake House … it was only a mater of time when we'd make the pilgrimage to the pancake holy land down in the South Bay. On the journey to Redondo Beach (they've got a few other locations … but the allure of cruising up and down PCH one week before Carmageddon was too intriguing to pass up) I got to learn the ins-and-outs of the traffic system from the former Godfather of the industry. But really as each red light took too long or the coordination between two lights was off, the pancake monster inside of us was growing, and getting stronger, and plotting its attack. So when we showed up at the hallowed breakfast shack and got seated at our table, there wasn't really any questions about what we were getting … we threw down for the legend … the giant … the gut-busting apple pancake and an order of their light, fluffy strawberry French crepes … to share of course. And as we sat back, waiting for our delicious breakfast GRUB to arrive, Great Uncle Mo. did what he does best … make conversation with everyone around us. And you know what I found out? This place is more international than the HOP ever was or ever will be … I mean, we've got Uncle Moses hailing from Shanghai, at the table next to us we meet a gregarious woman from Jordan, and one more table over sits a nice couple from Israel. But politics aside, we were all there for some pancakes … and when they gracefully arrived at our table … I'm not going to lie, I was a little overwhelmed with emotion. First off, the quote / unquote "apple pancake" (yeah, I know I could have just typed "apple pancakes" but when do you have an opportunity to type out that expression … air quotes are coming out next time) was a giant flying saucer of apple goodness. Crispy, cinnamon edges, a some-how-not-fried-tasting, soft-and-fluffy interior, and a generous layer of baked apples … all ensconced by a blanket of sweet, rich syrupy goodness. After mustering up the willpower to take our eyes off of the beast, we basked in the glory that were the French crepes … super moist, chocked full of strawberries, tickled with some powdered sugar, and accompanied by a mind-blowing strawberry syrup. Screw Brunch as a combination breakfast and lunch, I think we just invented …air quotes … "Bressert" (I tried to warn you it was coming) … because somehow I felt like we were leapfrogging lunch and dinner altogether and pulling off that magical blend of a hearty breakfast and a sweet-tooth, saliva-inducing, decadent dessert. Both of The Original Pancake House creations were incredible. The kind where you shake your head after every bite … smiling at how good everything is … and wondering if you have the courage to take down the entire meal. And as your belly starts to hurt, and you lay your fork down and throw in the napkin … you somehow still manage to take down a couple more bites as the waitress delivers the check … it's just that good. And as we wrap up our meal, Uncle Mo revisits one of his favorite topics … something that has driven him to success throughout his life … it's not enough to be average. A lot of people are average … but to really do well … you've got to (and I quote the great ChinaMoses) … "be better than average." Well that's really what this epic journey through the food countryside is all about … and to that we thank you The Original Pancake House for not just being better than average … but for being some damn GOOD GRUB.
 Chicago. Sure D. Rose and Los Toros got bounced from the playoffs. And I know it looks like the Bears won't be playing anytime soon … and when they do they're stuck with glass-knee Cutler at the helm. And yeah the Cubbies and the Sox are both below five hundred, and one hasn't won it all since the Model T was cruising the streets. BUT YOU'VE GOT PIZZA! And not just pizza … but Chicago style pizza. And not just Chicago style pizza … but Lou Malnati's Chicago style pizza. It must have been pretty weird for Lou growing up as a kid. I mean, imagine it … family gathering around the Thanksgiving table, and while every other family in town was about to pass around some pumpkin pie … well you know what little Lou got? That's right … keep it coming Grandma, send me over a slice of that mind-blowing, deep-dish pizza pie. I mean, seriously? If you had a recipe this good up your sleeve and you were looking at a lineup of pumpkin, Dutch apple, and sausage and mozzarella … do you really think you could resist? And keeping up with tradition, The Good Grub threw down for the same … a giant pie filled with hearty sausage, a heaping-helping of mozzarella, all layered with rich chunky tomatoes and nestled into that buttery, flaky crust … aptly named the Malnati Chicago Classic. We rolled into town starving, and as always, with eyes bigger than our stomachs. So when the three of us saw that a large served three to four, we didn't realize that the fourth dude had to be a truck driver. Seriously, this pizza is thick … but unlike some other thick things I know … this one you actually want to introduce to your buddies. Every bite is an adventure to flavor town … such a jungle of juicy sausage, rolling around with that gooey cheese, all tucked neatly into bed under that blanket of tomato madness. It's enough to bring a weak man to his knees … and a strong man to GRUB glory. Sure there's a lot of food, but don't hesitate to pile on some grated parmesan, oregano, and chili flakes … everything at Lou's can partake in the glory. So as we begin to wonder what housing prices are like in Chicago, we start to do some mental calculations … yeah it's freezing 50% of the year, but this place is dishing out mouth-watering pizza 100% of the year. And I'm no math major … but I’m liken them odds. So if you're traveling through Chicago, or you're lucky enough to live there, say hello to Lou for me … and promise you'll be thankful for the GRUB about to hit the table.
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