Welcome to ColemanWatch, a weekly feature in which we parse the particularly florid stylings of the Portland Mercury's resident food critic, Patrick Alan Coleman. Seen a sentence we've missed? Log on to your bright, burning email screen, and wend a grandiloquent email our way.
This week, Eater Mascot Patrick Alan Coleman heads out to SW Canyon, goes house on a couple of Chicago-style dogs, and proves himself to be a man after our own collective--and generally frozen--heart. First, he lures us in. "I like the finer things in culinary life," he says. This includes "wispy salads" and "complicated preparations." He also likes the awesomer things. Which include "beanless chili" and "orange-ish yellow industrial cheese." And then he brings those balls up to the wall.
I'm not an Epicurean; I'm a glutton. Being such means I'll open my maw for anything I find particularly pleasurable, whether it have a Denominazione di Origine Controllata label or comes from the Vienna Beef factory at Damen and Fullerton Avenues on the Chicago River.This week's review is nominally about Chicago's Windy City Dogs, and actually about the total pleasure of just giving yourself over to something that, on the face of it, you should probably say in public is kinda vile.
You start eating and you stop only to breath and wipe your brow. Thankfully the bun is robust enough to take a good soaking from the juices without falling apart while you work. It's a crude, down-and-dirty comestible, fit to give you the meat sweats.Meat sweats, you say? Why that sounds slightly disgusting!
Yes, that's disgusting. It's also delicious. Deal with it.And schooled.
· Deliciously Irresponsible [Portland Mercury]
· ColemanWatch [EaterPDX]
