going to extremes

Last night: There we were, sipping some Perrin Côtes du Rhône and commenting on the wine's gorgeous nose and bright fruit.

And simultaneously stuffing our faces with pepperoni pizza from Victor's while learning to say dirty things in French (I can now say "hot piece of ass" and would share it here, except I don't know how to spell it).

I was also sitting on the floor. By choice.

Naturally, the conversation turned to the extremes of the food world: foie gras and 7-11 nachos with the pump-it-yourself cheese. I freaking love both. (And both are so politically incorrect for such different reasons.)

Apparently, it's not so weird for foodies to crave both really, really good food and awful, embarrassing, crap food. I've been told the "chef palate" is naturally drawn to extremes -- I guess because foodies don't like things that are bland, unmemorable and average. And that to me makes sense. Because food should be an experience -- either good or bad (or so bad it's good). I hate the in-between places that play it safe: the Olive Garden, Chevy's, Chili's, etc. I'd much rather eat something that could be considered somewhat scary (i.e., ordering from the random taco truck that's always parked behind the gas station) than something I know is going to be completely boring.

In my world, there's nothing wrong with going through the Wendy's drive-through for a Biggie-size fries while on my way to the Slanted Door. (Which is actually what may happen in, oh, say an hour or so when I leave work and head to dinner tonight.)