I have only gotten take out from here and I can’t say I recommend doing that, because arepas do not travel well, turning into a soggy, sloppy hockey puck of meat.
But beyond the mess, the flavors didn’t make up for it either. The hot sauce wasn’t hot. I could barely tell the difference between the short rib and the pork. And if they put any of the other things I asked for on it like onions or mushrooms, I honestly couldn’t say, because I was more focused on trying not looking like Jaba the Hutt horking down a frog as I gobbled them down in a meeting.
And while I’m never above messy food, it definitely wasn’t worth the damage it did to my reputation at the office, as everyone now refers to me as “Wilber.”
Artichokes were a slow burn for me, I gotta be honest. For much of my life I didn’t even give them the time of day. But over the years they have grown on me. Not literally, because that would be freakishly gross.
But perhaps the single biggest reason why I changed my mind about the choke was this appetizer I had in Venice. Well, my wife ordered it, obviously. I just mooched. Heavily. Presented in a hockey-puck-shaped tower on the plate- these artfully marinated and grilled layers swirled into a force to be reckoned with. It’s hard to elaborate too much beyond that as they were only adorned with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. And therein lies the power of execution my friends. Great ingredients in perfect harmony along with a little crostini and belissimo!