I want to start this post off by saying, if you are the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens, please stop reading this particular post. Thanks.
Tomorrow, Lover fo’ Life and I celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary.
7 years ago tomorrow we were married by the oldest preacher in recorded history at a busted Las Vegas Chapel (Britney got mah-reed there, y’all!)
As one would imagine for a dock skank of my top quality, it was a true ceremony of class and distinction. But that’s a tale for another time…
Today, to kick off our “7 YEARS in Heaven Anniversary Weekend Celebration Spectacular(!)” Lover fo’ Life and I are taking an extended late lunch.
At 1:15pm L4L, who is doing much better today…thanks to all who sent GWS wishes, and I are dropping Angry Baby off and hitting our favorite restaurant for a decadent, over-the-top celebratory lunch. Sans Angry Baby.
For those of you keeping score, this will be my THIRD Friday baby-free afternoon(!!!)
We’re going to a place where we dare not subject the fellow patrons to Angry Baby’s wrath and glee. It’s a Brazilian Steakhouse, where the meat flows like water.
The given name of the place is Fogo de Chao, however, I have another name for it. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Fogo de Chao is a chain of churrascarias, and if you’ve never been to a churrascaria let me break it down for you:
You sit down, the place setting has a dual sided placard for each person. A red side and a green side. Red means, “No thank you.” Green means “Yes, please.”
After you have been tempted with the most elaborate and delicious salad bar (cured meats, salmon, home-made mozzarella etc.) they bring you a deceptively small silver basket of marshmallow sized cheese popovers that are piping hot and disintegrate in your mouth almost on contact. In a word they’re incredible (Note: they never let you run out of these OR let them get cold.)
They then proceed to place a clean white setting before you and flip your placard to green.
Instantly 13 different cuts of meat are paraded by men dressed as gauchos (that’s what meat cutters are called in Brazil.) One by one they visit your table, ask you if you want to try the various honkin’ delicious pieces of perfectly cooked meat they have set before you.
To each you say: “Sure, just a little,” next thing you know, you’ve got a plate filled with the best meats you’ve ever tasted.
You turn your placard to red. The Gauchos leave you alone.
But when your placard is green…you are riding the rails my friend.
Today, we are riding the MEAT TRAIN!!!!!!
In my world, Fogo de Chao is called: “The Meat Train.” I dubbed it that years ago…
Riding the meat train (getyourmindoutofthegutter) is a delight not to be missed.
Of course, afterwards we’re picking Angry Baby up and going to a birthday party for a friend so I’d better not overindulge too much, someone’s gotta stay fit to fite the beast that is Angry Baby at a party. Wish me luck, not for the MEAT TRAIN, for the party later. Angry Baby doesn’t do parties well. There’s something about all that happiness and non-anger that doesn’t bode well with her.
Anybabies, that’s ages away. As you read this I’m ridin’ on the meat train (not what it sounds like!) How? I scheduled this post in advance y’all! YAY FOR TECHNOLOGY!!!!!!!!!
The Truth: Baby bro and I both sing a parody of this song called “Meat Train” (complete with clapping) every time we talk about Fogo de Chao. I can’t make this shiz up.