November 1, 2010
Well, I did it. I ate Hot Brown.
No, unlike Nala, I didn’t eat my own poop.
But last Friday, we went out to eat with some friends. And much to my delight, they were serving something they called Hot Brown.
I didn’t even have to read the description. If a fancy restaurant is ballsy enough to call something Hot Brown, I feel an obligation to order it.
“Roast turkey and smoked bacon on sourdough toast with parmesan-gruyere cream, chef’s vegetable, mashed potatoes.”
In short, this:
Sure, it looks like the boiled rabbit from Fatal Attraction hiding under a slice of bacon.
But you know. Bacon.
What? Oh, yeah. It was good. I ate it all.