ROB: We’ve missed the last couple of weeks due to some reason that I can’t recall. I’m pretty sure I still ate lunch every day. Must be good old-fashioned laziness.

Joel picked Molly’s, which is a catering company that does a cafeteria-style lunch when it’s not catering events. I agreed, though I was reticent. (Oh yes! I was reticent!) “Cafeteria-style” and “We only sometimes pretend to be a restaurant” both seemed dangerous.

JOEL: It did seem odd for a restaurant to only open for three hours a day, but I figured maybe they just really like lunch. And the important thing was that, according to the menu I found online, their entrees were a variety of delicious-sounding meats. Honestly, it’s hard to screw up something simple like a pot roast. Usually, it’s when you try to get fancy with things like “cilantro” and “napkins” that mistakes are made.

So yes, Rob reluctantly agreed to Molly’s, although when we got in the car he balked some more. But in the absence of an alternative, we beat his reticence to a bloody pulp and proceeded to the restaurant.

The first thing we noticed as we arrived was that there were a surprising number of cars in the parking lot. That’s usually a good sign, provided they are not unmarked police cars or representatives of the health department. And so, feeling reassured, we ventured inside.

The decor reminded me a bit of a Marie Callendar’s, if Marie Callendar’s was a cafeteria. It was a little homey, a little floral. There was a great big spoon on the wall.

Rob's Brisket

It was the perfect amount of crowded: enough people to prove that the food must be pretty good, but not long enough that you had to stand in line for more than a minute or two. I decided to order the brisket, and was delighted–delighted!–when they said “We’re out, so I need to go get another from the back” and she came back with an enormous slab of meat straight out of the smoker. She asked me if I preferred my brisket fatty or lean, and I told her that I wasn’t ordering brisket because I was watching my figure. I also got green beans (the world’s most maligned and abused vegetable), dutch oven potatoes and a cheesy biscuit.

What about brussels sprouts? Anyway, I eventually decided to go with the pulled pork, dutch oven potatoes, and tomato basil soup. Honestly, if you can resist potatoes, cheese, and ham all cooked together, you are a better person than I. And probably healthier. More than any other restaurant we’ve been to, my plate looked the way it would at a Sunday dinner with family.

Then it was time to dig in, and dig we did. My first thought was, “Holy crap! This is delicious!” But then my second thought was “Holy crap! This is delicious!” At that point I knew we had a winner here.

Joel's Pulled Pork

The pulled pork was delightfully tender, cooked in a slightly sweet but not overpowering sauce. It was also nice and lean, which was extra nice. The potatoes were fabulous, as dutch oven potatoes generally are; also, they were red potatoes, which is a bonus. And I’m not generally a fan of tomatoes, but this soup was thick and creamy and wonderful. In a rare coup for a restaurant, it was as satisfying as a home-cooked meal.

When I think “catering” and “cafeteria”, I generally think the food will have that mass-produced not-so-good-ness about it, but this was indeed fantastic. The brisket was thick, with a transcendent browned crust that made me feel like I was falling in love again, and my girlfriend was beef, and I was eating her. (Who has time for good analogies when you’re eating brisket!?)

The only downsides of the meal were that the biscuit was slightly dry, and that Joel ordered soup. I don’t care how good of a soup he claims it was—I’m anti-soup. Soup is what you eat when you have no teeth, or when you’re sick and your throat hurts, or when you’re a boring person who doesn’t deserve to live.

And what was the best part of this lunch? I only had American Express with me, and they don’t take American Express, so Joel paid! I win!

Rob’s disturbing cannibalistic analogy aside, this meal was an all-around win. So much so, in fact, that it’s actually a challenge to come up with any snarky comments about it at all. The giant spoon and fork on the wall were a little unusual, but not really worth mocking. Rob’s table manners were as deplorable as ever (especially when he proclaimed the fat to be the most enjoyable part of the brisket), but the prices were reasonable, the food was amazing, and the people seemed reasonably nice. Therefore, I am going to give Molly’s my highest rating ever: 95 belt loops, which is pretty close to abandoning pants (and dignity) altogether and going for a muumuu.

JOEL: Rob finally woke up from his coma (or just had a couple of busy weeks—what am I, someone who actually talks to people?) and realized that What’s for Lunch Wednesday had wasted away to a shell of its former self, so we decided it was in need of fattening up. And, after a few grueling rounds of “I don’t care; where do you want to go?” we decided to visit a local burger joint, largely because Rob was feeling especially patriotic (later he found out it was a red, white and blue intestinal parasite).

Unfortunately, everyone else in the valley decided to visit the same place at the same time as us, so we chose to find somewhere less popular, and probably less tasty, to eat. The obvious choice, therefore, was Mexican food, which I agreed to as long as Rob paid.

ROB: I don’t think the issue was that a million people were visiting the hamburger place; the issue was that the hamburger place is about the size of a walk-in closet.

So we went to a Mexican place, but it was more than just a Mexican place: it was a Mexican and El Salvadorian place! And, if I knew the Spanish word for “portmanteau”, I would use it to describe the name of the restaurant: El Mexsal. El Mexsal holds a special place in my heart. Due to the fact that it’s both yummy and cheap (but mostly cheap) it became a popular hangout during grad school.

And so we walked in and were waved to a booth over in the corner. Frankly, I think they were embarrassed to have two incredibly pale guys in their establishment and had to decide what to do with us.

In the end, they must have decided we really were there to eat, and a nice lady came over to take our orders. Rob knew his order the moment we walked in, which he delivered in his flawless Spanish: “Yo KEE-yay-ro la NUM-ero SIN-ko, EE una Dieto Coke-o.”

Rob's Food

I actually ordered the #32. And, tragedy of tragedies, they only had Diet Pepsi, not Diet Coke. But, since all I wanted was the the chemical additives anyway, who cares about brand?

The #32 is the chicken enchilada and chile relleno, with rice and beans. Every Mexican place includes rice and beans, but this is the only one where I actually look forward to them. They are good.

I also ordered a pupusa, which is like a stuffed tortilla. Joel and I debated what this was similar to—not a sopapilla, not a pita—and finally settled on: it’s like a stuffed tortilla. I ordered mine stuffed with rueveltas (cheese, beans and pork).

Joel's Food

I ended up deciding on a beef enchilada/beef taco combo. And, at Rob’s insistence that I order one, I got the pork pupusa. I’m a sucker for alliteration.

When our food came, I was happy to see that the plates looked like pending heart attacks, which is a good sign despite my general disdain for Mexican food. And as we dug in, I was not disappointed. The enchilada was fantastic, and the refried beans were amazingly edible. Even the rice was the nice pink kind (I don’t know, is it cooked with tomatoes?) instead of the nasty lime/cilantro stuff.

I want you people to reread Joel’s words: “despite my general disdain for Mexican food”. Kind of makes you want to punch him in his stupid, ugly face. It certainly makes you disregard all his food commentary.

Anyway, the food was fantastic, as expected. I ate too much and was sad when it was gone.

Pupusas, with and without curtido

The pupusas, on the other hand, are weird. I always order one when I go, and I always think “Well. That was kind of good?”  It’s served with a sort of sauerkrauty slaw called curtido. It’s weird, but it definitely makes the pupusas much better. But the combination of the two never gets past “That’s nice/odd.”

Rob’s just a little sensitive because he was denied an official food critic job, since he is not at all selective. Remember that Seinfeld episode where George ate an eclair our of the trash? Well, I wouldn’t say it was based on Rob, but… well, yes. It was based on Rob. He thinks if you dislike a dish it’s a slap in the face to an entire culture.

Anyway, the point here is that this experience actually raised my opinion of Mexican food, even if it resulted in Rob being outed as a food-bigot-bigot. That’s a real thing, right?

If it’s true that disliking a dish is a slap in the face to an entire culture, then Joel has slapped every culture in the face repeatedly, until he got carpal tunnel syndrome. The United Nations passed a resolution declaring Joel a “hater” and went on to say “Why’s he gots to bust our chops?” If nothing else, your main takeaway from this blog should be: Joel is a terrible person.

Anyway, I give El Mexsal 4.25 ApBs. Really yummy, really cheap.

Maybe it’s because spring is in the air; maybe it’s because we’re feeling cheap; maybe it’s because Joel wanted to pick up college chicks…

Last week we went to a favorite institution of BYU students, Brick Oven, but this year we went to an even favoriter institution of even more BYU students: the Cougareat. The Cougareat, for the uninitiated, is the big cafeteria in the BYU student center. When I was younger, it used to be all privately run, like a regular cafeteria, but now it’s gone commercial, with their Taco Bell Expresses and their Subways and their Freschetta (which always reminds me of flechette, which makes me not want to eat there).

Joel (italicized and blue) suggested we go to the Cougareat today mainly because we thought it would be comedy gold! It’ll be really easy to write about all the wackiness at a college, right???

As is often the case, however, there was a fatal flaw in our plan. If a list of the 100 wackiest colleges exists (and let’s be clear: I did no research on the subject), then BYU is sure to place nowhere on said list. Which is not to say everyone quietly shuffles around in monastic robes (at least not on weekdays), but it’s a relatively well-behaved school. Plus it’s generally pretty laid back there in the summer.

So we dragged Ben along again, because that’s the only way Rob and I could still feel young in the midst of college students, and headed over to campus. When we arrived, we found ourselves surrounded by a pack of middle-aged people who were there for some conference. Rob was a little disappointed at the lack of young people, because he carries around a stack of photos of himself to sign and hand out to “fans” (everyone he meets under age 25).

Really, all I wanted were some young people behaving in an embarrassing way–flirting noisily, practicing for an all-male a capella pop group, pretentiously talking about what they learned in Philosophy 101. Is that too much to ask?

So anyway, we tried to eschew the chain eateries and went to the Scorecard Grill. Before you think that it’s just a generic cheap hamburger grill, well…okay, it’s just a generic cheap hamburger grill.

True story: the cashier (college girl) was helping the customer in front of us (college guy), and she said: “Wow, you have really beautiful–I mean, handsome–eyes!” He said thanks and took his receipt. Pretty great, huh? (And thus ended all “pretty great” things that happened at the CougarEat.)

I was hoping to get some pasta from the “Italian” place, but it was inexplicably closed. The lone employee stood there looking forlornly out of the gate lowered in front of the counter, apparently forgetting that there is a back door for employees to exit through.

Ben got his food first and left to find a table. Rob and I briefly considered finding a different table, but we decided against it. I don’t want Ben too crabby, because I have to work with him.

Rob and I both had the standard double cheeseburger, while Ben went all fancy and had the sourdough version. I thought the burger was good, and it was nice that one of the options was tater tots. I also enjoyed the fact that they had red creme soda, which I hadn’t had for quite a long time.

The tater tots were the best part of the meal, and I’m not saying that as an insult to the cheeseburger. They were legitimately excellent.

I was surprised and appalled to find that there were no caffienated options at the soda fountain. (“Surprised and appalled” because I apparently forgot what it was like going to school there for two years? Because I’m dumb?) Whatever the reason, I drank sugary root beer for the first time in years. It was… root beery.

Anyway, NOTHING eventful happened. There were some middle-aged people, and some moms with little kids, and it was a big bust. And then, as we left, Ben (a local politician, remember) discussed how he bet he could steal something out of a display case and no one would ever know.

I give the CougarEat 2.25 ApBs. Decent, cheap food. Disappointing college atmosphere.

We should try it again when school is in full swing. I bet we’d have some great entertainment prospects then, what with all the dating and breakups and people stressed over homework. As it stands, though, I will give it 72 belt loops. And the atmosphere gets only 1 stooge. Yes, it was only one-third as entertaining as a Three Stooges short, even with Ben and Rob slap-fighting.

Disclaimer: With every hour that passes, my rating for this restaurant drops. Shortly after eating–while sitting at the table, in fact–I got very nauseated, and my stomach problems are getting worse as the day progresses. This may be due to some other, ill-timed bacteria. But, I think I’m blaming it on this restaurant

The restaurant in question is Brick Oven, which is a favorite establishment among local diners. If you ever attended BYU, then you went to Brick Oven all the time, and if you ever dated whilst at BYU, then you owned stock in Brick Oven. Think 90210‘s The Peach Pit, Saved By The Bell: The New Class‘s The Max, Cheers‘ Cheers. It was the place to be. As such, Joel has been there many times. And yet, for whatever reason, I had never gone. Granted, I only went to BYU for grad school (my undergrad was at the U of U, and the official hangout was a crack house), and by the time I got to BYU I was married. Also, I had a car, and I think Brick Oven’s main selling point is that it’s across the street from campus.

Anyway, everyone loves Brick Oven, so I wanted to see if this love is warranted or if it’s just a side effect of infatuated college students. If today’s experience is any indicator, people love it because it’s the last pleasant memory they have before endless stabbing pains of impending death.

(As usual, Joel is blue and italicized.) (So is his writing.)

Well, geographic convenience may play a part in its popularity. When you got food poisoning from your mom’s sloppy joes, didn’t you still keep coming back, because the kitchen was right down the hall from your room? College students haven’t outgrown that instinct. In fact, it may be similar to staying in an abusive relationship.

This is getting depressing. Let’s move on.

I had been there before, but only a couple times, as far as I can recall. And never for a date (draw your own conclusions). But the promise of pizza and pasta pulled us there today. As soon as we walked in, Rob made the tactical blunder of escaping to the bathroom before even ordering. He forgot that you use that move after the bill comes. But eventually we settled down to order, at which point I remembered why I hardly ever ate there as a student. It’s kind of expensive for a college place.

I ordered the daily special which was chicken alfredo lasagna, which sounds really fantastic, right? It make me wonder why no one has thought about this before. Naturally, I was dying to try it. I’m still dying to try it, because the waiter came back and said they didn’t have any of it, despite the fact that it was both the special and only an hour after the place opened. NICE JOB, STUPID RESTAURANT.

So, I ordered the jambalaya something pasta, which is kind of like pasta and kind of like jambalaya. It tasted a bit like when we’re out of groceries and my wife says “We have half the stuff to make meatloaf, and half the stuff to make tacos!” (Note: yes, I did choose to order this, so I shouldn’t be complaining that they delivered a plate of jambalaya pasta when that’s exactly what I asked for, but I really expected it to be more than a sum of its parts. But no. It’s a just a sum. Jambalaya + noodles + e-coli.)

See, I would have asked for a menu again and considered all my options before randomly spouting off some words I may or may not have read. To be honest, I don’t remember seeing the jambalaya on the menu. But the waiter was probably afraid of being yelled at, so he just agreed to whatever Rob asked for. At least he didn’t ask for a “printed in China.”

I decided to order a custom-made calzone, because why not? It came with three toppings. (Can you still use that word when they’re on the inside instead of on top?) So I got chicken, bacon, and Canadian bacon. Because nothing goes better with bacon than another kind of bacon, even if it’s really ham with a funny name. Our waiter was suitably impressed. Or humoring me.

Our waiter was from Mission Viejo, California, because Brick Oven thinks it’s important that we know that. Is that so we can track our food? Is there a salmonella outbreak in Mission Viejo, and the CDC will track it through our waiter’s nametag? I hope so.

We spent the majority of the meal brainstorming a book that Joel wants to write. After a long, tasty, infectious meal we came to the conclusion that Joel needs to be more decisive.

Maybe. I just can’t make up my mind whether decisiveness is really what I need to go for. But I did learn a lot from Rob, the accomplished author. Specifically, I learned that he gets grumpy when he eats too much mystery food and begins to feel ill.

As for my food, it was pretty good. I’d probably order something else next time, though. All in all, I’m going to give it 65 belt loops. Not the best rating, but I’d probably go back just to see Sam and Norm and Cliff again.

And I’m giving Brick Oven my lowest rating yet: 2 ApB’s. The taste was meh, the lingering effects were horrifying, and it was more expensive than it should have been. (Note: according to my rating scale, it’s still twice as good as Applebee’s.)