BONER JAMS '09

I felt it would only be fitting to start this Pudge Life endeavor of mine with an inaugural salute to the greatest hits of the past year and attempt to close out any lingering feelings of yearning and desperation. This way I can properly cheer to the new year and beginning of what promises to be another 365 days of non-stop gluttony. In order to pare down this tribute, I had to refrain from compiling culinary classics that are tried and true (i.e. Guadalajara’s carne asada super burrito, my brother Jonathan’s flat-iron steaks, Wonderful Foods’ boba milk tea, & Wendy’s chicken nuggets in hanch) and only select dishes whose virginity I took for the first time in 2009.

Without further ado, a collection of the sexiest, most intriguing things to enter my mouth in 2009:

Conquest: Handmade pan-fried dumplings

Position: Pudge Life Headquarters in Millbrae, California

For as long as I can remember, my Homer Simpson of a patriarch has always complained that store-bought dumplings were too “stingy on the meat,” and regularly engaged our entire family in day-long dumpling assembling sessions mixing, rolling, folding and boiling these Oriental pockets of tender excellence. This already quite delightful and alarmingly sweat-shop resembling repertoire was modified this year with a shrimp addition to the meat, scallion, cilantro, egg, & MSG mixture. My fat father has always possessed a sort of magic about him that has come in handy when creating glory (especially that of the little Asian dumpling variety - case in point: his four spawn), but I really have to respect his ability to gracefully incorporate more than one animal into his decades-old recipe and lengthy dumpling history. So with that being said, PROPS to my old man.

Conquest: Porterhouse steak

Positon: Peter Luger Steak House in Brooklyn, New York

I have to preface this outstanding review to the cow carcasses that come in & out of this Brooklyn steak house’s bustling kitchen with a confession: I went to U.C. Berkeley, have granola hippie-like proclivities and ideals, but got DAMN I LOVE MEATS. Contrary to popular belief, my most frequent method of polluting the planet isn’t with my foul mouth, but from my rampant consumption of emissions-producing animals and monthly flights home across the country. My carbon footprint from ingesting red meat probably rivals that of a small regional airline. As one might subsequently expect then, I am a well-versed steak connoisseur and have a really fucking refined palate when it comes to beefs.

I digress. This year I discovered my holy grail of succulent porterhouse and have gone back twice since to convert fellow steak fans/provide a suitable explanation for the inappropriate thrusting gestures that inevitably follow any mention of Peter Luger (like very pleasant but still uncontrollable Post Tantric Stress Disorder flashbacks). On my own maiden voyage to this unassuming steakhouse in Jay-Z’s old hood, I was initially skeptical of the fanfare surrounding this joint, mildly annoyed by the cash-only policy, and pissed that the butter wasn’t easily spreadable. However, I warmed up once the onion roll and thick-cut bacon hit my mouth, and fell in complete love once that sizzling platter of pre-cut slab of medium rare sexy was set down in front of me. Add in the holy trinity of creamed spinach and onion rings atop a bite of steak, jizzle that special red snauce atop your fork, and you’ve got multiple orgasms in your mouth. I am proudly a Peter Luger groupie and you should be too. His no-nonsense approach to cows serves as an inspiration to us all.

Conquest: A dingleberry of some sort

Position: Farmer’s market in the motherland – Taipei, Taiwan

I’m unsure what sort of tropical fruit this was and have no idea how to translate it into the white man’s tongue. I would say it’s like a peach, lychee, and dragonfruit had a drunken night fueled by Alize, tried to abort but failed miserably, and then birthed a premature infant in a tub of fresh berry juices. Either way, it is sweet, slightly sour, and confusingly delicious. UNLIKE most bastard children.

Conquest: Rack of lamb chops glazed in greatness

Position: Backyard grill of Pudge Life Headquarters in Millbrae, California

I love being home because my brother, Jonathan, is a culinary master who has a swagger around basil, honey, and most edibles that cannot be matched by anybody - including Soulja Boy and Alice Waters. It is also the one place where I am continuously showered in succulent meats and simultaneously called fat and uncool, and I really like the exciting dichotomy between the two. Anyway, my dad’s horrible Costco shopping habits rendered us with some lamb, which are traditionally discriminated against in our household for being too game-y, tough, and mostly prized for its shearling on our Uggs. However, Jonathan worked his marinating magic on this rack (that’s what she said), grilled that bad boy up, and ended up winning us all over with this certified dimepiece of red meat that was prime for penetration. Congratulations to my brother to ending this streak of discrimination in our household and making such a solid contribution to the lamb-related Civil Rights Movement.

Conquest: Steamed catfish with chili peppers

Position: Chongqing near the Gozu Grottos

There are little things I love more than sea creatures swathed in spicy mixtures (fuck flowers, I’d rather get a bouquet of hamachi sashimi and fresh wasabi anyday) so it came as little surprise to my immediate family when I repeatedly ranched my pants motorboating the shit out of this dish during a low-key dinner on our most recent vacation. There were maybe six different types of chile peppers boiled for hours in an equally spicy vinegar, sesame oil, and soupy mixture and then mated with fresh filets of boneless catfish for optimum flavor poaching in the hot oil. Moist, dancy on your tongue, delicious – safe to say it got a brother on SWOLL.

Conquest: Pho Bo

Position: Turtle Tower, Tenderloin District in San Francisco, California

A wise, sexually-challenged and frustrated Jewfro-ed bootleg of Jonah Hill once told me that “even when sex is bad, it’s good cause…it’s sex.” I didn’t want to break it to him that he was probably fornicating wrongfully and hurtfully, and instead focused my attention on the phenomena in my life that that philosophy did ring true for: PHO. Anybody who has ever held any sort of conversation with me will know that 1) my love for the anti-drug of pho knows no bounds and 2) I guzzle, snort, & make intimidating oral love to bottles of sriracha sauce on the reg. Like my love for steak then, I am well-versed in the ways of the pho and rarely like to single out one broth in favor of another – the pimp in me likes to keep all my bitches feeling appreciated, feel?

However, on my most recent trip to my lovely city by the Bay and its most charming and feces/used needle/crackhead-infested neighborhood of the Tenderloin, I visited Turtle Tower with my partner in crime Melkwon and inhaled the most hit rendition of this crowning glory of the Vietnamese culture (besides my homie Mimi-blud). The soft chewy noodlage and tenderized beef, swathed in the epitome of Vietnamese holy water and sriracha, were the equivalent of a warm spooning session on a cold winter day. Not really the sexually charged, lustful kind – more like the comfortable, I’m nuzzly and soft kind. Excuse my sonnetry, I’m just really deep.

Conquest: Bartlet White House Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman

Position(s): Mostly Kama Sutric, mildly consensual

Okay fine I didn’t really, but a boy can dream. The things I would do to take this baby for a taste test.