Donkey Sauce or: How I Learned To Stop Hating and Love The Fieri

Being a raving narcissist with a worldwide platform to pontificate upon all the things I love/ hate, I’ve spent the better part of 4 years doing just that. From Jeggings to Lisa Frank, I’ve written about it all. There’s one person in particular that has incurred an undue amount of my misplaced rage. This man that I’ve unfairly persecuted for years. Today, I’m here to make amends and come clean about my secret appreciation of him.

 

Once upon a time, The Food Network was a place that solely focused on cooking shows. Dry and informative, Emeril Lagasse and his capable crew of world-class chefs, taught us how to properly prepare meals and deglaze the sh*t out of some pans. But in those early years of the network, it became painfully obvious that the channel needed some extra personality, or zazz (as we call it in the biz.) Thankfully, boring old Ina Garten and Alton Brown were joined soon by the bubbly and beautiful, Rachel Ray, whose infectious laugh and husky voice turned all of our “ovens on,” if you know what I mean.

NOT A PHOTOSHOP!

NOT A PHOTOSHOP!

 

With Rachel’s practical style and ebullient sex appeal, it became clear that Food Network was going in a different direction. More personality, less precision. Soon the kindly and witty, Paula Deen joined the lineup and became America’s go-to sassy granny. With hot ladies and nice nana’s on lockdown, the channel struck out to find a new chef, one plucked from relative obscurity and prefarably edgy, like one of those a*ssholes from Top Chef, but less snooty and more approachable. Reality show, The Next Food Network Star aired and on that show America got the winner it so desperately deserved. The first winner of the reality show was a gruff voiced every-man with a panache for fusion and a sartorial love of flames, Guy Ramsay Ferry (his birth name) AKA Guy Fieri.

 

As many of you loyal and trusting readers of this very blog already know, I have only written horrid things about this man, and made my hate for everything having to do with his “brand.” Many a click and ad-revenue has been harvested from this hatred. And so, for over a year I have harbored a secret that I’m finally ready to reveal.

I no longer hate Guy Fieri.

Whaaaaaaat!?

Whaaaaaaat!?

It all started with our ’13 Family Cruise on the HORRIBLE HONKER JOINT OF THE HIGH SEAS. If you haven’t read my blistering review of the voyage, please waste the time to do so. The USS rusty bucket of lies, AKA Carnival Triumph, lacked in food that one would call “edible.” Two notable exceptions to this statement were 1: Some fancy taco bar that the Racists on board avoided like the plague, therefore it was never crowded, and 2: Guy Fieri’s on-board burger joint.  While we suffered our first meal in the ships’ chruched up cafeteria, my bro in law Thane-O strolled up cool-duding it like he does, on his tray was a giant burger. Instantly, I knew the gray chicken and wilted salad that I was about to dive into would not do, “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?”

Real casual-like he told me the greatest sentence ever uttered in the history of Family Reunion Cruises: “There’s a burger joint on the back deck by the bar.”

Lover for life and I threw down our forks and made a beeline to the back of the ship. The smell of searing cow and crispy salted goodness hit us in the face,  as we rounded the corner, our spirits buoyed. Waiting for us, like a feral ferret fearlessly fighting for food in a TGI Fridays’ dumpster, was none other than Guy Fieri. Guy Fieri’s Bad Ass Burger Bar was everything and more that you’d want from a good burger shack. The condiments, from sautéed mushrooms and onions, to hand selected and pickled jalapeno, were plentiful and the staff was cheerful, this place had it all. I ordered and received my meaty glory (get your mind out of the gutter,) and started with the business of dressing my burger. Looking to find something, ANYTHING, to ridicule about this food station that featured the famous moniker of my most-hated, I decided to go after the donkey sauce, surely with a name like DONKEY SAUCE, this mayo based stuff would taste like the loinal fruits of a burro with rabies.

Wrong again! It was delicious. The creamy sauce was teeming with garlic, worcestershire and just a kiss of mustard. Calling Donkey sauce the condiment of the Gods would be a understatement! Despite the terrible name Donkey Sauce truly set my scrumptious burger off. I knew instantly that I could never write another cruel word about the man. In one burger-shoveling instant, Guy Fieri quieted this critic. If you’ll notice, I have not written a Fieri attack or joke since that fateful cruise, nor will I ever again.

It's MISTER Fieri to you!

It’s MISTER Fieri to you!

In closing, it feels good to come clean with you.  Donkey sauce for everyone and on everything!

Your Pal,

 

Cribsy

Here’s Guy’s recipe for the triumph: Donkey Sauce Recipe

 

 

 

And for the Guy Fieri Fans and Fetishists who write me weekly as if they’ve first discovered the internet is a cruel mistress, here’s a little something extra:

 


Comments

Donkey Sauce or: How I Learned To Stop Hating and Love The Fieri — 4 Comments

  1. Ok, you’ve been gone for a few weeks and come back loving Guy Fieri. I ain’t buying it! Who are you and what have you done with CK? 😉

  2. Pingback: Finally, A Slap-Fight I'd PAY to See. - GrouchyMuffin

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