Foi gras, foi what? or How I'm Not a Foodie, but I Watch One on TV

Given my choice between the 12-course tasting menu at the French Laundry and a Spike's Junkyard Dog, without question I'd pick (really who am I kidding here?) the Thomas Kellar royal treatment.

But I'd say 7 times out of 10, all the foods that I have described as *JESUS* have been from down and dirty lil' joints. Mom & Pop, neighborhood joints with few Restaurant Week-aided (liberally) sprinkled venues as well. All good. All tasty for their own special reasons.

Dinning doesn't need to be gourmet to be good. It just has to be good to be good. It doesn't hurt if it happens to move you and inspire you. And if it causes you to linger a little longer over that last morsel, than all the better.

So what this all boils down to, is that if I had to choose my last meal on Earth, it wouldn't be four stars, it would be equal parts: mom's homemade Chinese; a strawberry milkshake the size of my head; a bowl of clam chowdah; the most succulent porterhouse in all of Chicago; a double side of Boston Market creamed spinach and what the heck some of that try-it-if-you-dare/only-7-chefs-in-the-world-know-how-to-prepare-it Japanese blowfish.

The inspiration behind this post? An amazing, yes *JESUS* quality pizzasteak & cheese I just had. I've only been in SF for 3 weeks, but OMG I just had my first 8" of pure loving and it was fantastic!