Drag Queens and giant pizza

The Friday night before I left for Vegas, my friend Joanna (pronounced "Ho-anna" or "Whore-anna" - don't worry about it, she's foreign) were planning on meeting other friends in DC for a night of rabblerousing fun. As a sidenote, I'm not quite sure what rabblerousing means, but I couldn't think of another word to describe drag queens and giant pizza.

There was a rumored drag show in Dupont Circle, which I recently learned is oftentimes referred to as the "Fruit Loop." While in DC, I suggested we descend upon the infamous Pizza Mart and claim ourselves a giant slice of pizza. I can't describe how big this pizza is. Only that it has about 1400 calories per slice.

This is not Joanna. Nor is it me. Or anyone I know, for that matter. It's a picture I googled to emphasize how GIANT this slice of pizza is. And how enticingly delicious. If you look really closely, you can see lakes of grease.

Unfortunately, my dreams of giant pizza and men showboating in dresses was not to be realized this night. Instead, Joanna and I went to watch Hamlet 2 and eat at a late night bakery-diner.

Hamlet 2. What can I say about this movie? It is probably one of the most confusing, disturbing, bizarre, and offensive movies I've seen in my life. And it's nowhere near as entertaining as Superbad. The best part of the movie is the musical performance of "Rock Me Sexy Jesus."

Rock me rock me rock me sexy Jesus. As sung by Phoebe Strole, who at one point in time was part of the cast of Broadway's "Spring Awakening."

When the credits finally rolled, Joanna and I sat in a morbid silence. We slowly made our way out of the theater, trying to fill the awkward silence with small talk. Small talk that ended with the consensus that we were going to Amphora to get fries and pie. I had mentally prepared my body for the prospect of consuming an extra 1400 calories. One way or another, I was going to get that 1400 calories.

The diner is open 24 hours, and when we arrived, there was a good number of people enjoying their fine dining experience. We sat down and were handed these gargantuan menus. Please note the salt shaker for comparison. There was an entire page dedicated to desserts and pies.

My first round was coffee and blueberry pie. When he tried to take my menu, I told him to wait because there'd be plenty more coming. Joanna ordered a side of fries. Please note that she said a "side" of fries and not an "entree" of fries.

Before and after pictures of our delicious first round
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Delicious. Joanna felt sick midway through eating the fries, but I convinced her that it's what her body wanted... no, what her body needed. After thoroughly salting and peppering her plate (would you like a side of potato with your seasoning), she finished.

PIE THAT WAS DELICIOUS.










I would be lying to you if I said that pie wasn't delicious. And I know my blueberry pie. I've feasted on many a pie from the Charlottesville farmer's market (a good portion of those were purchased out of guilt and/or fear) and from a nearby county fair (purchased for similar reasons, except instead of Mennonites staring at me with judging eyes, I bought pie from gun-toting-confederate-flag-wearing-Bible-quoting-Republican-voting ladies. I know this for a fact because their booth advertised all of the above), and this pie was amazing. The crust was perfect. It was soft with a little bit of a flake to it and the blueberries were sweet and good. A lot of pies have a very syrupy filling, one that tastes like you're eating candy because it has too much sugar and too few berries. No, this pie was just... good.

So good that a drunk girl stumbling in for a late night snack with her posse leaned over our table and almost fingered my pie, asking if it was any good. As her blurry eyes rolled towards the back of her head, I stared and shoveled more pie in my mouth. My concern wasn't that she might throw up on me or hit me or something. I was worried she was going to fight me for that pie.

She drifted off, I licked my plate, and all was good in the world.

Round 2 involved an order of hot wings. Half of them regular spicy and the other half hotter than licking the sun. When it comes to spice, I go above and beyond. A large part of it being that, as an Asian, I feel like I'm socially obligated to uphold the stereotype that we can handle our spice. At Thai 99, I would order thai spicy and eat everything without taking a sip of water, knowing that the thai personnel were watching me... judging my spice tolerance. The same at Wild Wing Cafe. One of their spiciest wing flavors is "China Syndrome." Coincidence? I think not.

The two piles represent the two distinct levels of spicy. The moment the plate was set down, Joanna's eyes watered and she claimed the scent had burned away her ability to smell. I blocked out the world and focused. If I learned anything from torturing my body with spicy food for an illogical and irrational fear of failing the Asian race, it's that speed is key. The moment you stop to breathe is the moment your brain finally registers your face is on fire.

I tucked a napkin into my shirt collar (because I am classy, after all), and dug in. Joanna gingerly took one and picked it apart with her knife and fork. By the time she had finished one and a half, I had plowed my way through 6 and my face was smeared with burning sauce.

Joanna finished 2, maybe 3. She then told me it was my responsibility and duty to finish the rest. I wouldn't be able to tell you how they tasted. Hot? I'm not quite sure. The aftertaste was pie. Because I brilliantly figured that coconut cream pie would cure any sort of burning in my mouth/stomach.

Joanna ordered a raspberry chocolate cake next. It was rich, thick, creamy, and incredibly decadent. More brownie than cake. There were layers of chocolate "cake" and chocolate raspberry mousse, covered in thick chocolate delicious. If you were to die by chocolate (and I don't even like chocolate), this would be the way to go.

OMG. There is no baked good this diner can't make. The coconut cream pie was dreamy. The crust was a little overdone, but the filling was light and fluffy and just like cool whip. The coconut is an immediate taste and it lingers ever so slightly, but I definitely wouldn't describe it as "strong." The piece they gave me was gigantic. I ate the whole thing.

Since I had already consumed my daily 5-6 meals, this additional indulgence can be considered "training" and "practice" for my competitive eating.

When I told my parents about my pie eating, my dad said to watch out for diabetes, but not to worry about putting on weight. Good news: I'm genetically above things like weight gain (hypothetical and possibly a horrible misinterpretation of what my dad was trying to say). Bad news: I might have a tape worm (according to House, M.D.).

Oh, you just look like you work here.

I had a whole list of places to visit yesterday. Did I make it to any? Just one. Why?

I found a J. Crew.

I didn't mean to go in. Well, I did. What I didn't mean to do is stay for 3+ hours. I couldn't help it! I walked in and just wanted to look around and within 5 minutes, one the J. Crew people thanked me for representing them (I was wearing their really cute madras shorts) and asked if I wanted to try anything on. I said sure, there was a shirt I just wanted to swirl around in.

He then tells me his name is Glen and he's a personal shopper. 15 minutes later, I'm in the fitting room and he has these unbelievably amazing outfits picked out. We then proceed through 3 hours of fashion show with me parading around the store as a walking J. Crew catalog. The manager comes in a number of times to compliment the outfits. AND what everyone keeps talking about is my legs. In a kind of creepy way. They keep asking if I play sports and touching my calves and getting me to wear heels and stand on tip toes.

By this point, I'm starting to feel torn. I want all the clothes, but I'm not ready to part ways with a couple of benjamins for a ridiculously well-fitting, beautifully cut, comfortable, super gorgeous and all around OUTFIT MAKING blazer (even though I seriously considered it because it would be an "investment"). Since I've taken up so much of his time, I feel awful just leaving. So in my mind, what is the only solution? Oh right, lie. So I tell him I can't get anything now, but I am going to talk to "daddy" and I'll try to bring him back to buy me all these things. Which isn't a lie. I did tell my dad about shopping... for food.

Seriously though, if any of you end up in Philly and go to the J. Crew, Glen is AMAZING. Ask for him. If I could, I'd hire him to be my personal shopper 24/7. He is that good.

As I was leaving, some girl asked me for help and when I looked confused she said, "You don't work here? Oh, you just look like you do." It was the best compliment I've ever gotten in my life.

My popped collar, pearls, and madras got me to stand out even more when I walked down the street into Philly's gay district (how stereotypical that all the best shopping in Philly is down the street from the "gayborhood" as it's aptly nicknamed). I wanted to go to Giovanni's Room because all the tour books say it's someplace worth visiting. As I was taking a tour around the store, I was asked if I needed help for anything or if I was looking for anything specific. Not wanting to stand out anymore, I said I was just looking and grabbed the nearest book, flipping through it. Typical luck. It was a book with naked men, full frontal nudity, and I just awkwardly stood there flipping through page after page of naked while that guy watched me.

It's a very cute store though.

As I was walking back towards University City, I pass a parking lot advertising valet parking for Boyds customers. I thought it was strange to have a parking lot off such a major street, but glanced at it quickly while passing by. And stopped because every car was one of the following: Cadillac Escalade, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Jaguar.

I then went and looked up Boyds. Well, I know where I won't be shopping anytime soon.

Little's apartment also has no A/C and her room is hotter than my face when I was "browsing" that naked man book. We ventured to 7-11 to use their A/C and buy something to drink. Then we saw a Chili's and decided we'd go there instead. We got $2.99 bottomless chips and salsa and water and sat in the air conditioned room for an hour and a half. I'm pretty sure our waitress wanted to punch us in the face.

And then we went back to the apartment to eat a pie I'd made. It hadn't cooked all the way through. I had made enough filling for 4 pies (because I refuse to measure) and only had 2 pie crusts. Instead of throwing away the extra and/or saving it like Little suggested, I just forced all the filling into 2 pies. And baked at the normal temperature/time.

Whatever. It's still edible (kind of).