Jump to content
  • Welcome to the eG Forums, a service of the eGullet Society for Culinary Arts & Letters. The Society is a 501(c)3 not-for-profit organization dedicated to the advancement of the culinary arts. These advertising-free forums are provided free of charge through donations from Society members. Anyone may read the forums, but to post you must create a free account.

Recommended Posts

Hey, how about what the best meal you've eaten while drunk? two of mine would definitely be cooked by friend Brock, deployed in the Middle East.

1.

Chicken-Fried Venison Steak- Freshly shot deer, dipped in egg and batter with spices and friend in butter, along with french fries (actually cut from potatos) and deep fried in oil that had never been changed.

Rabbit, also fried, with fried morels

let's just say i lived in a rural area in high school

oh, and yuengling lager and marlboro reds to finish it

"yes i'm all lit up again"

Link to post
Share on other sites

My best friend and I were in search of the perfect martini in the Gaslamp District in downtown San Diego. We found it at Croce's...I can still taste the king-sized garlic marinated olives. :wub:

But for dinner we ended up at Dakota's up the street where I had Horseradish-encrusted salmon with garlic mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. We kept ordering enough martinis through dinner to attract the attention of the manager who sent over a complimentary dessert sampler.

I think I remember I having a good time and a very good meal. :wink:

 

“Peter: Oh my god, Brian, there's a message in my Alphabits. It says, 'Oooooo.'

Brian: Peter, those are Cheerios.”

– From Fox TV’s “Family Guy”

 

Tim Oliver

Link to post
Share on other sites

:wub: Toliver.

Mine probably was the recent McCormick and Schmick's dinner I had with my Mum in Seattle, on First and Spring. (her choice)

We drank wine at Pikes Place Market, earlier, and generally let go of family stress and/or the daily grind, before we even went back to the hotel and changed clothing and got ready for dinner. We ate sweet, sweet, sweet dungies and had the most lovely waiter, Michael.

Eaten and enjoyed many a time before, but with the good Willamette Valley Oregonian wine, good exchange of conversation/understanding of family politics and fabulous server, we had a thorougly enjoyable amazing feast of crab.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Every so often my brother and I go out for dinner at the sushi place around the corner from his apartment. The place is almost like an extension of his living room.

We walk in and sit down, and within seconds sake is placed on the table along with the warmed, moist towels. Shortly thereafter, the tempura shows up. If the sake gets low, Richard, who is always our waiter, brings over more (which happens quite frequently). Inevitably I protest that "this time I really can't drink" as a brief memory of the prior dinner raises it's ugly head. But it's only a threat.

Over sushi we bitch about our parents, catch each other up on our lives, talk sports, etc.

And then I come home sloshed and wake up the next morning with a wicked hangover.

"Some people see a sheet of seaweed and want to be wrapped in it. I want to see it around a piece of fish."-- William Grimes

"People are bastard-coated bastards, with bastard filling." - Dr. Cox on Scrubs

Link to post
Share on other sites

I have a bunch, actually.

- 3/4" thick moose steaks (imported from Newfoundland) on a hibachi barely big enough to do one at a time at my brother's apartment in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The preparation was easy - salt both sides, wait ten minutes, grill. Cooked blood rare with a case of Keith's and some salad...

- Also in Halifax - I was the best man for one of my best friend's weddings...staggered into a pizza joint at four am, tux still on but being worn Ocean's Eleven style (tie's undone but still around the neck, shirt's a little open), I'm roughly five-point-eight sheets to the wind due to shots of straight white rum. The waitress - Sarah - looks me up and down, grins and says "Jesus, I hope you weren't the groom." I smile, order a slice of veggie (that'd be tomato, red pepper, broccoli, onion and mushroom), way overtip and sit outside on their patio, watching a quiet Quinpool Road for the first time in my life.

...y'know, I've got more - piles more - but they're all based around the people I'm with and the things we did. We just happened to be eating. I remember the first time I really drank wine - twelve of us at school decided that we'd make supper for ourselves one night, and while the chicken, mashed potatoes, turnip, and salad was marginal at best, the eight bottles of wine and the scotch afterwards and the company...perfect. My little brother made an absolute masterpiece of a BLT with crap bacon, bottled mayo, plastic bread, iceberg lettuce; the roma tomatoes fresh from the garden helped a lot, but not as much as the Talisker did.

Todd McGillivray

"I still throw a few back, talk a little smack, when I'm feelin' bulletproof..."

Link to post
Share on other sites

Gumbo in New Orleans. Unfortunately, I was far too inebriated to remember the name of the restaurant, but at the time, it the most glorious stuff to ever cross my lips.

Although, I'm not entirely certain it would be the same while sober. *shrug*

Sherri A. Jackson
Link to post
Share on other sites

While making one of our standard Culinary Commando Raids on NYC, after inspecting more than our usual number of historic pubs, we inexplicably ended up at Angelo's for a late dinner. We should have known better as Angelo's only ranks below Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock Cafe as a tourist mecca. We ordered appetizers, a couple bottles of wine and a couple orders of lobster Fra Diavlo. Man! Shell fragments and marinara were being madly flung as we tore into our plates in a drunken frenzy. When we finished we got the check which was an outlandish price even by Manhattan standards. We knew we were getting hosed, but we also realized we were too drunk to do anything about it. So we paid up and stumbled back to some more pubs.

=Mark

Give a man a fish, he eats for a Day.

Teach a man to fish, he eats for Life.

Teach a man to sell fish, he eats Steak

Link to post
Share on other sites

A night spent in the pubs of Dublin, finished off as they let out with a baguette smeared with butter and a quarter pound of Cambozola cheese from Rasher Byrne's in Temple Bar. This was a twice weekly ritual when I spent a year in university there.

Link to post
Share on other sites
Its a close call between a double king burger at Fatburger...

Fatburger. :wub:

 

“Peter: Oh my god, Brian, there's a message in my Alphabits. It says, 'Oooooo.'

Brian: Peter, those are Cheerios.”

– From Fox TV’s “Family Guy”

 

Tim Oliver

Link to post
Share on other sites

That would be the time my ex GF and I made dinner with a friend. major amounts of alcohol and other substances were consumed while the veggie crepes were being prepared. The fun started when I made Caesar salad the traditional way. I recall coddled egg and lots of other ingredients flying about the room before we consumed it - may have been the tastiest salad I ever had.....

Other major memory has to be the time I walked home from a neighborhood bar in an extremely drunken stupor - stopped in the local pizza shop and ordered a pie with everything on it to be delivered when ready (I only lived a few blocks past the pizza shop but was far too drunk to stand there waiting for the pie). Fast forward twenty minutes - the delivery guy is bangin on the door and awakens me from the stupor - I am literally passed out at the kitchen table. Apparently I consume the pie...... awaking the next morning I'm baffled by the weird little black things stuck all over the walls of the kitchen. Investigation proves: these are the anchovies that I pulled off each slice as I ate it and flung them away (appraently I was sober enough to realize that I don't like anchovies on pizza but far too drunk to just leave them on the table - what could possibly be more fun than drunken anchovy tossing?

Needless to say.... I no longer drink.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Back in the early eighties, when the oilfield money was still flowing like West Texas #1 Crude and the economy in New Orleans was still an economy resembling a first world country, I stood in line at K Pauls.

I was a regular at his grocery store/sandwich shop/check cashing operation that he was then operating on the second floor on Chartres St. above what is now K Pauls. His cookbook had just come out to rave reviews and people were lining up down the block waiting for a community seat in order to try his fabulous burned fish and other big food. I had never been in the real place downstairs. (let me point out, imho, except for the whole burnt redfish thing, Paul Prudhomme is a master at what he does and I have enjoyed his cookbook (the first one) as much as any one that I have ever had).

I was dating a girl who I thought I wanted to impress and while she knew nothing of good food, she knew alot about what was hot and trendy in New Orleans.

We marched down to the Quarter and queued with all of the other people (mostly locals at that point, with a smattering of tourists) waiting for a table. Now, this was New Orleans in the summertime and it was late afternoon. Still very hot and the humidity was at it's usual 95% owing to the daily afternoon rain that seems to fall without fail every afternoon. I got a little thirsty and since the line stretched out down the street quite a ways and it was clear it was going to be a while we decided that drinks were needed. This need was facilitated by a nice lady who came out of the place and offered libations to those waiting for tables. The only thing was....there was only one choice. Cajun Martinis. Vodka or gin. Period. Anything else and you had to wait until you were permitted to enter and sit.

For those of you who have never had the experience, a Cajun Martini was (and still is I guess, haven't been there in 15 years, although I see Paul all the time in the Quarter on his little electric scooter thing) a drink that was served in a quart mason jar. It was designed to serve a couple of thirsty people a few drinks each (much like the shaker at the table thing popular in alot of places today). These things were pretty much vodka or gin, a little bitty, tiny, bit of vermouth and a big, fat, hot jalapeno pepper. They were made several days in advance and allowed to age under refrigeration and by the time they were ready to serve the pepper had turned them into a firey jolt.

The real problem with them was that they actually made you thirsty. The oily hotness of the pepper made the natural reaction to drink more and maybe wash out the oil, but this was a bad plan if you wanted to get rid of the heat. They kept getting hotter. And Hotter. Ad infinitum.

Anyway, we stood in the hot sun drinking Cajun Martinis up with jalapeno stuffed olives and we were there long enough and had consumed enough to decide that round two would be in order. Bad error on my part.

We were finally seated with a nice couple from Alaska (oil company attorney and his wife. I am sure that they were lovely people and if they are out there anywhere, I hope that they have forgiven me by now. Stuff happens and I am sorry). We were pretty juiced and in retrospect, I am sure that it was obvious from the start to the couple we were seated with.

I was in the restaurant business and of course the drinks only made my finely honed opinions louder and more forceful. I ordered for everybody, got a decent bottle of Champagne to cool off my burning gullet, and proceeded to tell the nice couple from Alaska what was wrong with oil companies and lawyers and any possible combination thereof. I am sure that in the process I insulted everything that I could think of that had anything to do with Alaska and only God and those nice people know what else I said.

I finally reached the point where EVEN I realized that I was being a complete ass (believe me, this is not my nature in the least. I am usually, if nothing else, gracious and solicitous to visitors in our fair and interesting city) and I shut up. Sadly, it was too late to be charming and the ensuing silence while waiting on our order only caused me to nod off. Lovely sight, I am sure. Our food was eventually delivered and my date (who incidentally, was thankfully not quite as loaded as I was, but pretty close) had the good sense to ask for the check and have me scribble my signature on the ENTIRE check, ask for the stuff to be boxed up, apologize for my boorish behavior, and hustle me out of the place.

We stumbled over to the Napoleon House (three doors down) and ate our food, from our styrofoam containers, there. What a waste of a really good meal. I made a minor recovery (enough to realize that my car was good where it was and we took the streetcar home to her house) and actually began speaking some form of english by the time we got back to her place. Sadly, she had had enough of me and pretty much told me to never "darken her door" again, which is a shame. I am pretty sure I have gotten that loaded in a place once or twice since, but I know that I damn sure never made an ass out of myself like that again. I have become a master of making quick goodbyes when I make the error of "too much, too soon" which is not very often.

Brooks Hamaker, aka "Mayhaw Man"

There's a train everyday, leaving either way...

Link to post
Share on other sites

Best meal eaten while drunk:

Always and forever - Chili & Eggs - my kitchen - 3 o'clock in the morning - surrounded by at least twenty of my friends that are equally inebriated.

The absolute best.

I don't understand why rappers have to hunch over while they stomp around the stage hollering.  It hurts my back to watch them. On the other hand, I've been thinking that perhaps I should start a rap group here at the Old Folks' Home.  Most of us already walk like that.

Link to post
Share on other sites

A bunch of us engineering geeks are in Mexico City. We get a couple of cabs to take us around. Having hit several questionable establishments for the purpose of studying the properties of tequila in its native habitat, we are roaring through the city. We ended up at a restaurant that supposedly has the best soups in the city. I think I remember having a truly excellent chicken soup. Luckily, the restaurant was across the street from our hotel. Our cab drivers were truly guardian angels.

The meeting the next morning was memorable. We attributed our "success" (for showing up) to that chicken soup. :laugh:

Linda LaRose aka "fifi"

"Having spent most of my life searching for truth in the excitement of science, I am now in search of the perfectly seared foie gras without any sweet glop." Linda LaRose

Link to post
Share on other sites
A bunch of us engineering geeks are in Mexico City.

...

The meeting the next morning was memorable.  We attributed our "success" (for showing up) to that chicken soup. :laugh:

Are you sure it wasn't Menudo?

That stuff works.

Link to post
Share on other sites

:rolleyes:

Last night, while watching the Cubs pound the Marlins into undifferentiated mush, I ate a leftover half pizza (thin crust, with mushrooms/peppers/sausage/onions) and drank an entire bottle of half decent 2000 California cab over two and a half hours.

I woke up this morning and winced at the mild red-wine headache, but grinned at the Cubs' victory. Ate a piece of Guajolote's birthday cake, brought home from maggiethecat's party last Saturday. Smiled some more. Went to work.

:raz:

Me, I vote for the joyride every time.

-- 2/19/2004

Link to post
Share on other sites

I'm hoping Bourdain will contribute to this thread. Imagine the stories...

 

“Peter: Oh my god, Brian, there's a message in my Alphabits. It says, 'Oooooo.'

Brian: Peter, those are Cheerios.”

– From Fox TV’s “Family Guy”

 

Tim Oliver

Link to post
Share on other sites

Best drunken meal has to be very crispy fresh fries dipped into amazingly good and achingly cold vanailla ice cream. Very close to that is a slice of pizza so hot that if you weren't piss drunk you would probably throw it across the room.

Damn i am hungry now :biggrin:

Link to post
Share on other sites

Two of'em. One was about 12 years ago, during the first Bush administration. My then-fiance's brother had come into town, toting his usual popsie-of-the-moment, and declared that he was taking all of us for dinner at the Four Seasons. I remember some really good duck, but what I mostly remember was that we started with a magnum of Opus One, and went on from there. And what I really mostly remember was the even-drunker quartet of Republicans sitting at the table next to us, and loudly bemoaning the fact that the United States could not seem to appreciate the true greatness and scintillating intelligence of Dan Quayle. As they ploughed through the bottles -- at an even faster rate than us -- the bemoaning got louder and louder, and I ummmm...... I behaved badly. Specifically, I offered the neighboring table my opinion that Mr. Quayle was a moron of the first water. One of the ladies at the table offered to bet me that within five years, Mr. Quayle would be roundly recognized as one of the finest elected officials this country had ever known. The stakes: Dinner for four at the Four Seasons. We wrote out the terms of the bet on a paper doily

It is with profound regret that I tell you I have lost the doily.

The second drunken meal was with the same fiance and his other brother, this one married to an extremely nice woman with all the culinary skills of a muskrat. She lives in Cincinnati and once, in an effort to duplicate the city's famous chili -- but lacking some of the necessary ingredients -- she happily dumped into the pot several handfuls of miniature Nestle's Crunch bars left over from Halloween. At any rate, it was Christmas, and all four of us had received bottles of wine -- several bottles of wine -- from the other, show-off brother at Christmas breakfast. We repaired back to Dave and Debbie's house, sat around burping Christmas breakfast for a while, and eventually decided to start cooking dinner. But first, a little drink.

We cooked for a very very long time. Dave made biscuits, I think. I made something complicated and messy with phylo dough and figs. ANd Debbie decided to make duck. Unfortunately, the duck was frozen, but that didn't faze her. She just kept basting that sucker -- with 7-Up, I think -- and poking at it, and we all just kept knocking back the wine. I do remember that at around midnight, Jim and Dave and I embarked on a lengthy, heavily harmonized version of "Chapel of Love." We sat down to eat at around two in the morning. Jim carved. He tried to carve. He kinda hacked at the duck. He sorta bashed it on the table. Finally he picked it up, braced it against his chest, and wrenched the thing apart. As might be predicted, bits of duck went flying around the room.

We ate a lot of biscuits and I woke up the next morning swearing that as God was my witness, I would never get drunk again.

Link to post
Share on other sites

The Flats in Cleveland...

What a great part of the world for a night out. Huge deversity in restaurants and bars. Great food, great clubs and those water taxis!!

When the fun is drawing to an end a little shop opens (11pm - 4am) that serves baguette sandwiches filled with whatever type of cold cut you can imagine, mayonaise, onions, sour cream and about a pound of french fries(yes, the french fries are in the sandwich). The counterguy presses the whole sandwich down and for $7 you are eatting the greasiest drunken meal known to man!!

I only had it once but I still dream of going back to Cleveland.

Chef/Owner/Teacher

Website: Chef Fowke dot com

Link to post
Share on other sites
  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×
×
  • Create New...