White Cow Dairy Chocolate Malt Yogurt

I think more grocery staples need makeovers. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition has been done to death, as has the plastic surgery version. I want to see a show that directly impacts my pantry. And I want the team to start with yogurt. While I don't see a need for extreme quinoa or a new frontier for beans, yogurt is crying for a new look. It's worked hard all its life to prevent indigestion through the magic of Jamie Lee Curtis and the more awesomely named Suleiman the Magnificent. It's one of those foods that has been around since 2000 BC and, like the Magical Girl in all films ever made, just needs to take off its glasses and bland background and get with the cool crowd. And White Cow Dairy is its new fairy godmother. Or Clinton Kelly, your call.
Chocolate malt yogurt, people. This ain't your mother's key lime pie Yoplait. And this yogurt is freckled. And it comes in a squat milk bottle. The packaging is gorgeous and adorably prim and kind of makes me feel like I've been transported to a quaint Greenwich Village farmer's market that serves as the backdrop for an adorable scavanger hunt set up by my girlfriend, Zooey Amelie Unicorn Cactus Flower. . Move over, pudding cups and step aside, Dannon. This is bringing sexy back for yogurt in a whole new way. Now, let's see how it tastes.
The nitty gritty: This particular flavor has a caramelized note that intensifies the nuttiness of the malt powder, but is a little overshadowed by the zippy tang from the cultures in the yogurt. It's a very mature-tasting yogurt, not something you'd buy for little Timmy as a compromise between Ho-Ho's and carrot sticks. The sugar is minimal, but interacts well with the Dutch chocolate, giving the yogurt a mellow, fruity flavor like raw cocoa nibs. Unfortunately, the malted milk flavor was barely there at all, imparting a mere whisper of barley and cream. The entire concoction stuck to the cheeks and worked its way into the corners of our mouths with its gritty texture and left a bitter aftertaste, mollified only after a glass of water. While this flavor wasn't perfect, I have faith in the wonders of science once more. I'm almost convinced that there's a bright future for cottage cheese.

Oreo Chestnut Crunch Bar

I'm lucky to know the people I know. I'm aware that everyone has a great set of friends and family members, but trust me, mine are the best. There are a lot of annoying, boring dickholes in the world, and I pride myself in having an automatic filter that sorts them out of my pack. I like 'em weird. I like 'em smart. Eating the Oreo Chestnut Crunch bar sort of solidified this affirmation in my head. I like what I like, and the rest can go to hell.
J-List's wonderful scouts sent this bar, along with some other fantastic treats, over to us. I was incredibly excited to try this because nothing stokes my fires, and that includes Michelin stars, like foreign versions of American products. Give me taro pies from McDonald's and karaage-flavored Doritos- Cooler Ranch has nothing on that. Chestnuts and Oreos seem like it would do well on the consumer market, especially around winter time. If New York vendors are still able to consider roasted chestnuts a lucrative treat despite being somewhat obsolete, how bad could this be?
The Oreo base has a texture somewhere between an actual Oreo and an Oreo truffle- dense, with a slight crunch, and that waxy almond bark-style coating I tend to enjoy when paired with cookies. The crunch is pleasant and I found myself really enjoying the crispiness of the bar and that addictive bittersweet Oreo cookie flavor that makes them so delicious. The chestnut flavor was pretty hit-or-miss. While it had a buttery, creamy flavor that real nuts sometimes have, the flavor manifested itself in more of an artificial syrup, like the kind you'd typically see in a latte. But while that has its place paired with coffee, a drink bitter on its own, paired with Oreos and chocolate makes it a little saccharine. If I hadn't known this was chestnut-flavored, I would have guessed mocha. It has that sweet coffee flavor that I'm somewhat endeared to. Nevertheless tasty. I'm really liking Oreos in bar format- they just have a more grainy, crunchy texture and lend themselves to more flavor additives.Check out this and other awesome snacks at www.j-list.com!

Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Corn Muffin

Euphe-what? I went there. To whomever neglected to inform me of the wonders and joys of Big Lots. You are a saint. I now have yet another funnel of cake and destruction to fuel my hard-earned paychecks into. This store is a mecca of weird-assed junk of the weirdest and assiest variety. I spent $12.50 on beautiful things and a lifetime supply of Propel in the ever-popular Lemon Pledge variety. Today's selection, however, is not for the faint of heart. It is an item that exists on no websites, with proceeds that go toward prolonging a dubious catchphrase, and is advertised by a celebrity virtually nobody enjoys.

Amidst a gentle background of Conway Twitty, ladies and gentlemen, this is Larry the Cable Guy's Spicy Cornbread mix. Hey, it was between this and a child-sized guitar emblazoned with a hip-gyrating Elvis, filled with festering cheese popcorn. No brainer, right?

You'll notice that I neglected to sample the vast majority of the entire Cable Guy family recipe roster, including the Triple Cheese Cheeseburger Skillet Kit and Lasagna Casserole. This is because I do not fetishize e. coli and stomach pumping. Those of you who do have come to the right place. The first thing worth noting about this is its complete lack of presence on the Almights Lord our Internet. The only trace of this I found, aside from the downright creepy Git 'R Done Association, whose charitable payouts undoubtedly include Big Mouth Billy Bass dolls for all, was the apparently brilliant pyramid scheme of selling these on eCrater for a mere $9.99 apiece. And to think I almost balked at parting with a dollar for the humiliation of having Larry's face grace my kitchen. Eh, I've done worse.
Perhaps the most upsetting thing about this package are Larry's witticisms and advice, scarily intended for an audience to which he is superior. Larry warns me on the back to "taste 'em before you add more hot sauce" and enthusiastically points out that I've "gotta try this." What the fuck, Larry? No offense, I'm sure you're a great guy, but I don't come to you for advice on FDA safety regulations and Frank Bruni-esque recommendations. But I bought this cornbread because I was delirious with glee and also, hungry. For a dollar, it's not terrible. Emphasis on the "not" and the "terrible" part. By that, I mean that it is edible, but only to a certain degree. My friend Larry might compare this to roadkill or one of his second cousins, but it's no better than soul food and no worse than cornbread made from huitlacoche. I'm done. I'm sitting alone in my kitchen eating cornbread branded by a man with all the finesse of a drunk Guy Fieri.

Do not patronize me, Lawrence.

For all its poor advertising, though, the cornbread is a decent value. What it lacks in visual appeal it surely makes up for in taste, with a surprisingly spicy, non-medicinal burn and a tender crumble with a moist center. Too bad it's colored in Home Depot's bestselling "decoy orange" shade. I served it with a roasted jalapeno compound butte- ahahaha, I did no such thing. I ate it out of the pan. In the great, wide world of TV tropes, it's the quickbread with a heart of gold. If you chance upon these, folks, I might say to give them a try. For a dollar they're no worse than Hamburger Helper, but for the love of God, if you must gamble with your life and try the Cheeseburger Dinner, git 'er done- git 'er well done and don't send me your hospital bills.

Frankford Candy Body Parts Sushi Gummy Candy

October never made me this neurotic. Maybe I freaked out a little when my middle school boyfriend asked if he could French me while I was wearing my borderline sexy borderline "witch" costume, but not like this. Since I started this website, I have been determined not to screw up Halloween. Two years ago, I pretended it didn't exist and started reviewing marshmallows. Last year, I broadened my spectrum to "fall festivities" and prayed that nobody thought my Booberry escapades on the second day of October came too soon.

But my savior in shrinkwrap has arrived, and I'm not even talking about my deluxe copy of Catwoman on DVD this time. Although seriously, Halle Berry, please return my phone calls. I could write this review on observations alone and never even have to unwrap this sanctimonious sugary sacrifice. From the company that brought you Welch's filled licorice and Mallo-licious comes Body Parts Sushi Gummy Candy. Three things that God put together for our pleasure.

And Frankford Candy skimps on exactly none of these bullet points. Body parts? Check. The roster includes two lifelike eyeballs sourced from two different bodies, two severed, bloody ears, a bloodless nose, and two fingers with bones exposed. Gummy? Check. They're pliable and squishy with a dare I say, fleshy chew and a turgid bite. You really have to chomp down on them to fully macerate them. At least that's what I've heard from some Korowaian tribes.

And the sushi. Oh, the sushi! The sushi wonders are unparalleled to all other Halloween sushi-themed candies. All none of them. It's the sushi angle alone that reassures me, after a quick scan of Frankford's finest selection, that I have chosen the best candy and don't have to kick myself from buying Dig 'n' Dip Marvel Heroes, one step away from being one of Jerry Falwell's next targets. For Christ's sake, there are removable chopsticks. If only they were shaped like femurs. From the amorphous rice globs to the textured pieces of seaweed paper, I'm hard pressed to find anything visually wrong with these. So far.

I'll cut to the chase- these taste like ass. The generic fermented fruit mash and coconut flavor is strong with this one and the coconut oil slathered all over them tastes like you're licking a supermodel minus the eroticism of actually licking a supermodel. Regardless, OH MY GOD, IT'S MORBID GUMMY SUSHI. And thus it is beautiful. Haters shalt not hate.

McDonald's Pumpkin Pie

Before I start in about my aversion to most pies and my jokes about package warnings, you should know that getting this pie was one of the most singularly awkward experiences I've ever had at a McDonald's, including that one time two friends and I walked through a drive-through after skinny dipping one summer. Or the time Dillinger got out of the car and danced to the Time Warp in the drive through and then ordered as though nothing had ever happened. More awkward than that.

Keep in mind that I ordered this pie at around 10 in the morning while getting groceries for brunch. A little dessert apertif, if you will. While deciding what I wanted and opting out of a morning McGriddle, I thought it would be a good idea to stock up on hot mustards for my next few meals. Like my friend Justin, I've had a torrid and longstanding relationship with the hot mustard. Long story short, the woman at the front would only sell me the mustards once I reassured her that I wouldn't be dipping the pie in the sauce. Not that it was any of her business.

Anyway, I went through all that stress to purchase a product I wasn't entirely keen on ordering. I've never been a fan of pie crust or pies, not since the end of my grandfather's legendary desserts, but I was feeling seasonal today and saw that there was a deal on pies, two for a buck. The pie comes housed in a shell that has a pair of anguished white kids making out on it and says, no less than six times, "CAREFUL- I'M HOT." The "I'm" is what really creeps me out. Not only was this pumpkin once sentient, it implies that, even mushed up and rendered far beyond its original form, it is still thinking, breathing, and generating heat. It can hear you have sex, is all I'm sayin'.

The normally unadorned pie crust is covered in a brown blend of spices, a practice I think should apply with all of McDonald's fruit pies. It greatly enhances the flavor and texture of the crust with a homey ginger, cloves, and nutmeg touch and gives it a little more depth than the typically flavorless crust on their apple pies. For fifty cents, it won't evoke images of a Thanksgiving dinner, but you won't cry as hard eating it alone. The crust was flaky and crisp. With the effort the crust took in coming close to a real pumpkin pie, I was surprised at how much the filling felt like an afterthought. While packed well in the corners and crannies of the pie, the filling's flavor was bland, with a texture and flatness tasting nearly identical to the canned pumpkin pie filling I use in our oatmeal. My suspicions were confirmed when I scooped a spoonful of pie filling out of the nearly empty can and a bit of filling out of the pie. At room temperature, they're practically the same. Normally I'm not a fan of overly sweet fruit fillings, but I know three things if I know anything- I like m'whiskey neat, m'cigs filtered, and m'pumpkin sweet.

While I admire their restraint in a world of Coldstone PB&C shakes and candy, in this case, underseasoning was a detriment and took the focus away from the delicious crust. I still appreciate the effort and variety of desserts McDonald's is putting out. Needless to say, it's a worthy contender in the crop of pumpkin-themed desserts that have been appearing in fast food restaurants and convenience stores and is a classic way to get your cucurbita on.

Archer Farms Greek-Inspired Thick-Cut Potato Chips

The geniuses at Industrial Snack and Magic have created yet another mind-morphing flavor of potato chip, brought to you by Target, to blow your mind and gently caress your tongue. And really, who wouldn't want the vague flavors of a Greek gyro in a small, single-serving bag? Nazis, that's who. And even they would warm up to the description of feta cheese and kalamata olives. It's a veritable freaking medley, is what it is! Although we found these in miniature bags on clearance, they were perfectly fresh and crisp. Maybe snack bags of salad inspired chips just aren't on kids' radars outside of kids in UES schools.
In any case, these were eaten in the car, paired with a slice of leftover birthday cake and gummy rabbits. A most balanced pairing, one of my finest. Archer Farms is a professional at this strangely flavored potato chip racket, a riverboat snacker, if you will, and this happens to be one of their better flavors. While I'm not a fan of the ruffled texture, the flavor was fairly accurate for an ingredient rap list that included cheddar cheese and the ever-generic "spices". It had the pleasantly unobtrusive tang of feta, and while it may not have completely evoked the crumbly, wet texture of the cheese, it certainly got its flavor down pat. The olives were a stretch. By stretch, I mean they were nonexistent. I suppose my tongue isn't enough attuned to the nuances of olives to discern its specific provenance, but it tasted like the olives hopped the ship once they learned they weren't going to garnish one of Giada De Laurentiis's RI-GAAAAHT-AAAAH dinners and sent in vinegar as a replacement. Tangy cheese and...tangier condiment. Felt like I'd eaten the good bits of a salad.
Original though it was, some things were never meant to be potato chips, Greek food one of them. The flavors were present, but overshadowed by the potato chip itself in all its likeable yet greasy personality. The Guy Fieri of all snacks. Though I can't help but wonder what a culinary trip around the globe would be in places where balut is the regional specialty. Knowing the companies behind them, they'd find a way to make even partially fertilized duck fetuses bland and overly salted. For 75 cents, this served its noble purpose as an interlude between meals, a brief distraction from the dining halls, but on any grander scale, it would just fall flat.

Marks and Spencer Colin the Caterpillar Marshmallows

I feel the need to preface this by promising that by no means will I sneak insect puns into this review. That shit just bugs me. All right. Now I'm done. We can start now.
A gift from Keepitcoming Love, joining Percy Pig and his motley crew of DSM diagnosable friends is the binge-eating Colin, who "is what he eats." Well, I suppose that's sound advice. I got tested last week for a genetic study and was found to be one part cold Lunchables Pizza Kickers, one part Nat Sherman Fantasia, one part rhymes with "vagina" and one part Fruit 2 0 'n' vodka, so I guess it works for all of us. But in Colin's case study, which reads more like a rejected Grimm brothers fable for latter-day Augustus Gloops, he ate so much chocolate cake that he eventually turned into one, and from that day on, changed his shape, color, and flavor depending on what he ate.

Ignoring the fact that that's pretty scary, abandon your thoughts of waking up one morning to find yourself tasting a lot like Cheetos and sweaty dicks and dissect Colin with me. From the looks of this package, Colin's latest fad diet was marshmallows, probably promising a loss of 10 pounds in 3 days, just in time for the bug mixer or whatever the hell it was he was eating all the marshmallows for. True to form, each candy is shaped like a giant caterpillar, complete with thorax, spiracles, and all. Thanks, insect science! The marshmallows are squashy and powdery, your average jet-puffed with Neapolitan flavors.

Colin is a little paradoxical in that it's a little hard to figure out what's going on with the snack. First he's a gummy candy bug, then he's a chocolate cake, and now he's a marshmallow, but he's flavored like an Italian dessert. I sense a little dessert dysphoria going on. In any case, he can talk that over with Chaz Bono, because his marshmallows are here to stay. The flavors are generic tasting, no more sophisticated than your average flavored 'mallow, but they're incredibly fun to eat and pose.

Momofuku Milk Bar, New York, NY

In my mind, I've had an ever-expanding bucket list of restaurants and products I've been dying to try or purchase. It spans from the 500 bottle EuroCave, complete with a 30 year Donnhoff and Yquem vertical for my tasting, to a dinner for two at wd-50 or French Laundry to a MetroKane Rabbit. One of the more attainable goals on my list was to check out David Chang's Momofuku Milk Bar, one of five of his restaurants around New York City. Milk Bar is most known for its rotating selection of unusually flavored soft serve ice creams, the skill of its founding pastry chef, Christina Tosi, and David Chang's hatred of bloggers. I was hoping that Milk Bar would impress me so that I would not end up on this seemingly persnickety shit list. Unfortunately, I was not dazzled by the hype.

Tucked cozily into the front of Ma Peche, customers must navigate like lab hamsters through the walls of low-lit pastries and chalkboard-written specials to find their lunch, but those looking for Milk Bar will find the decor and layout fairly easy to understand. Specialties include the Compost Cookie and Crack Pie, which former addicts will be pleased to know, does not contain actual crack, and the cereal milk milkshake. We tried all three, plus a pack of cake truffles and a few more cookies.

The best treat of the day was undoubtedly the cereal milk milkshake, and not simply because we were parched from the heat and screeches of teenage girls at Prada for the first time. While $6 buys you a squat, small cup and the promise of organic whole milk, the result is incredibly refreshing and not too sweet. The cereal milk manifests itself in a slurry of Corn Flakes and gelatin, strained out into a smooth milk and frozen. The result is a malty, neutral flavor with a cool, smooth texture that didn't require the fellation of the straw to extract the goods. On a hot day, it was perfectly sweet with no sugar high and eventual crash.

I expected the cake truffles to be luscious, and they were. The pistachio truffle was well prepared with large chunks of pistachio nuts, a moist texture, and a nice hint of lemon zest in the white chocolate coating. It was slightly saccharine on the way down, but I chalked it up to the frosting glaze.

Next, we tried the cookies. Of the five cookies offered on the menu, we sampled three. After tasting those, I did not regret passing on the other two. The first selection, the corn cookie, seemed like it would be a pleasant follow-up to the neutrality of the milkshake. The vegetal flavors were well incorporated into the composition of the cookie. It tasted like an ear of fresh corn with butter and salt, but its excessive sweetness and flaccid break literally left a bad taste in my mouth. The texture was especially noticeable as a result of its flat, pancake shape. I found it disorienting to have such a light, fresh flavor combined with such a heavy mouthfeel. It had a texture absolutely saturated with oil, to the point where it made an audibly gooey squelch with each bite, and there was too much sugar to compliment the Willy Wonka-esque combination of vegetable and dessert. The texture was uniform with no corn pieces or salt crystals, and in the glow of natural light, the oil seeped out and glistened on our fingers.

This was not an aberration from the norm at Milk Bar. This super-sweet, unctuous quality was present in each dessert we tried, including the infamous Crack Pie. We wanted the Crack Pie to be our ironic saving grace, our narcotic Jesus in a world of greasy slickness, but it fell short of its name's promise. (If I weren't committed to keeping this website classy, I'd comment that I could have stayed home and eaten better crack pie free of charge).

The blueberry and cream cookie came across as a slightly-luxe version of the cloying $4 per dozen supermarket cookie. There was nothing outstanding about it that made me want to eat more, or frankly, eat it at all. The compost cookie had a uniform crunch with little balance between salty and sweet. The chunks of whole pretzels and nuts were reduced to a fine grain and the flavor was predominantly nutty and chocolatey.

Trying Milk Bar as a David Chang test-run doesn't make me want to pony up for a full dinner, especially considering the sketchy, pretentious reservation system and ban on photography. Badass doesn't have to mean bad-tempered, and in this case, Chang's "do it or shut the fuck up" method comes across in the mediocrity of the cuisine.

Triple Double Oreo

I think one of the most common responses to my begrudging mentioni-er, casually handing someone my-er, passive-aggressively bringing up this website is a generally rhetorical question about my weight. How do you not gain weight? (I don't) How do you keep off weight? (Prayer and vomiting) And, the coup de grace, how are you so beautiful and sexy? (God made me in his image, obvs- bangable to the max, son.)
I like to think I have both the best interest of marketing and personal taste in mind when choosing items to review for this site, yet also the interests of my friends, family, personal trainer, and mortal enemies in my thoughts as well.
Talkin' to you, Scorpion.
But sometimes, solely for my own curiosity, I've just got to suck it up and review products that are neither fancy nor fit-making. I texted my mom while buying these Oreos in the grocery store. "For tonight's post, which one of these would shame you less? Oreos? Or frozen pizza?" I typed, vapidly scanning the latest California Pizza Kitchen bastardization and the new Freschetta "Pizza, Cookies, Leftover Cereal and My Cousin's Homemade Strain of Purple Diesel" kit for stoners and binge eaters. She said the Oreos, and off home I trudged. Little did she know that these were no regular Oreos, but mutated Oreos for the obese and biracial demographic. A cookie to bring home to Mom, assuming you're Fat Albert. Yes, I'm referring to the underground marketing American Beauty, the Triple Double Oreo, brought to you by Michele Obama's doppelganger, Ochele Mobama. Sounds a little evil. (Nabisco, why dun u answer my calls?????)
"Triple Double", as the artist's depiction presents above, is not three layers of Double Stuf creme. That would be, and is confirmed to be, pretty fucking gross. Though it's worth noting that the white creme gloopily adhered to the cookies while the chocolate creme slid off in a solid mass. In this review alone, I have more fodder for a sociology paper than I did the last semester of college. It is a triple layer of cookies, that is to say, three cookies, sandwiching two layers of creme in chocolate and standard hydrogenated flavor. Got that? Soon we'll move onto card counting, Raymond Babbitt.
Don't banter over the linguistics in the comments form, people. I've already consulted with Noam Chomsky on this one, whereupon receiving the email and attached sexy Oreo pixxx, he shot himself in the head. So the crab play on cookies with a quacker on filling pretty much confirms my theory that Nabisco is just phoning it in at this point. They're not very interesting at all. For starters, you'll see that the filling flavors are simply ones we've had before, but now they're crammed in a package in a lopsided formation worse than the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Though it's clear that the Italians, with the exception of one Pauly D, would not touch these.
They couldn't even bother to make a separate middle cookie for these, that's how little thought there is invested in this new selection. That being said, I was surprised at how happy I was with the textures inside the cookie. The closest parallel I can draw is to the Reese's Crunchy Cookie Cup, with a layer of mush surrounding a layer of crunch. There is more crunch on the outside, but the inner texture is a welcome change from the gritty stickiness of the creme. The flavor of the two cremes is indistinguishable, and the overall flavor ends up tasting like a bulkier Oreo. Without milk, it was painful to consume, so I went with scotch instead. I imagine it would be better with the libation of your choice.
After the last bite, I was left feeling fairly apathetic, left only with a lust for the Crunchy Cookie Cup and a slight need to go run a few miles. The gym was closed, so I compromised by lighting the remainder of the package in front of the weight machines in a ritual sacrifice. If you're craving a crunchy cookie with a crunch in the middle and a special filling, the Oreo Fudge Cremes are probably a better choice, unless you're just dying to play a one-man pointy-edged version of Chubby Bunny with these behemoths.

Paragon at Foxwoods, Foxwoods Casino, Mashantucket, CT

I've noticed that I have some peculiar eating habits. For instance, not many things please me more than a cold drink and a plate of tacos with nary more than protein and sauce, or a grilled hot dog, or a thin griddled burger in a squishy bun. Roadside food. Stand food. My other favorite thing happens to be high-end, experimental, ballsy restaurants with wine lists that casually pair the latest overpriced Kenwood bastardization with bottles of 1998 Haut Brion Pessac-Léognan for the low, low price of $1,745, and with menu items that pop out on the page with crazy combinations and chemistry. I've noticed that not a whole lot in between catches my eye. But I don't see myself as an elitist in any respect, for at the two ends of the tier, both seem to have the most consistency in style, quality, and presentation despite their distinct differences in price.
With this philosophy in mind, we decided to make reservations at Paragon, Foxwood's elite dining experience for concert-goers like us or players who happen to have a lucky night. Paragon boasted a clever menu with local highlights, an extensive wine list, and a killer Facebook page with drool-worthy photos of their ever-changing ingredients in a few "behind the scenes" peeks. The unfortunate reality of casino fare is that there doesn't seem to be a good medium in between the omnipresent collegiate buffet and the priciest of fancy restaurants. To give you a realistic idea of our options for our night at Foxwoods, it was either Paragon or California Pizza Kitchen. This doesn't give enough options to the patrons who want something a little nicer than family-style pizza yet who aren't too enthused to drop a ton of money on fine dining.
However, Paragon seemed to be the only fine restaurant in Foxwoods that really toes the line with its cuisine. While its atmosphere is distinctly similar to a Nordstrom Cafe Bistro with light jazz wafting over salad and a staid, simple decor, its menu is full of unique twists on New England classics, such as a lobster bisque with a bourbon vanilla float, and a double-wrapped lobster roll with a Thai dip. While we did notice a huge discrepancy in the pricing, like $50 for a prawn dish and a lobster dish but $25 for one steak dish and roasted duck, we reasoned that if we ordered carefully, we'd be able to experience the full spectrum of dishes and keep the price under $200 for two with a bottle of wine.
The dinner menu wasn't the only thing with significant pricing outliers. The wine list was grossly overpriced. Of course, in a casino, one expects to see a few big hitters just like one goes to a film with the expectation of seeing a few big movie stars. Both are also hideously expensive. It is a fact that simply comes with the territory and one that I was fine with. But since I hadn't counted cards or hit it big on the tables that evening, I wasn't about to spring for something over $100 and didn't expect there to be such a huge block of wines toward the $300+ range. In this respect, the wine list at Paragon faltered in my opinion. I am neither inclined nor experienced enough to pick out a reliable Californian wine for a reasonable price without gambling a bit, which limited me to the Old World reds, red being because I saw the groan-worthy 2006 Schmitt-Söhne "Relax" Riesling in its chlorinated blue bottle for $36 and never looked back. The European reds varied from $36-55 and $95-$5,500 with little in between for neither cheaping out nor splurging. Since I wasn't ready to give up my next semester of college for a few bottles of $5,500 2006 DRC Romanée-Conti, I went for a comparable Burgundy, a 2007 Bouchard Père et Fils Reserve Bourgogne. A delicious, if unobtrusive and somewhat mid-tier selection that paired well with our meal, but didn't really wow me.
We started off our meal with a selection of breads and a complimentary amuse-bouche of tempura chicken in a lemon sauce. This was tasty, with my experience marred only due to my recent revulsion to all things yellow and liquified with our recent acquisition of a kitten, but was a crunchy, well-prepared piece of meat in a zesty sauce. A one-noted flavor, but sadly better than most of the Chinese foods in the Western Massachusetts area. It was impossible to tell whether or not the bread was baked in house or if it was simply a standard of all the restaurants at Foxwoods, but it was plain on its own and improved by the lemon sauce and provided butter. Even David Burke Prime has its own special house bread.
Wait service ranges from friendly to lacking. When we arrived at five, the time of our reservations, the restaurant still seemed to be in the throes of opening up. Nobody attended to us for about seven minutes, by which point a line of about six or so people had formed behind us. We also encountered a distinct lack in etiquette while being served. For instance, when we were ordering our appetizers, I chose to try the Tastes of Paragon sampler and my companion, the oyster selection. None of the specials piqued our interest until we overheard another server at the table next to us reciting the specials, including one that ours had neglected to mention. When we inquired about this particular dish to our server, she merely shrugged and said she forgot about it and walked away without an apology. Throughout the duration of the meal, she was flustered and quiet after her mistake, rather than letting it be and continuing in a friendly manner. This was a serious point of contention with us, as the restaurant had conveyed an attitude of prestige, politesse, and precision. The appetizers arrived quickly, served in white bisque porcelain dishes of various shapes and sizes. The special, a soft shell crab with a black bean and bacon vinaigrette was especially delicious, with a crispy tempura battered shell and a wonderful sauce accompanying it. The sauce, which was acidic and smoky, did not impart a whole lot of black bean into its flavor, but did complement the fried crab with its texture and flavor. The bacon was cut in thick and chewy meat treats throughout the dish, and highlighted the light batter and the tender crab meat. This was a generous and innovative appetizer.
The appetizer tasting definitely seemed like a hit or miss operation. On Paragon's Facebook page, they posted a photograph from early in July of one of their Tastes of Paragon selections, consisting of "crunchy cumin crusted veal meatball "grinder" with buffalo mozzarella, sriracha brown butter béarnaise, and lettuce, pan-fried goat cheese with black truffle vinaigrette, mangalista ham and grilled cheese, and ahi poki with Wagyu beef Singapore noodles." Perhaps because we were in the early bird time frame, with 5 o'clock reservations, the chef mistakenly thought we would not be open to rich and exciting tastes, as I was brought out a shrimp scampi in a garlic butter sauce, a Kobe short rib in a lemongrass glaze topped with scallions, and a piece of crispy salmon in a saffron aioli with wakame salad. All were served in a shallow dish with depressions for each appetizer. It resembled a high-end dog bowl. Each of these appetizers were lacking in one way or another. The shrimp was cooked perfectly with a butter sauce, but seemed more like "Tastes of Mediocre Italian" than Tastes of Paragon and was banal, despite being well-prepared. This was our favorite bite of the three. The Kobe short rib was tender and moist, but stringy in some parts, particularly the middle, and the sauce was glutenous and bland. The salmon was the only bite that I did not have the inclination to finish. It was not crispy, but rather, overcooked and tough. Each bite crumbled and seized unpleasantly. There was nothing flaky about the texture. The wakame dominated the bite with a salty, pickled flavor and the aioli, though golden-hued, tasted like nothing more than a heavy-handed application of mustard and mayonnaise. I could not detect the earthiness of saffron in the slightest. None of the sauces were tasty enough to smear on the leftover bread.
After our appetizers, we were promptly served our entrees. I was in the mood for steak before Steely Dan that evening and went slightly against the grain of my preferences, ordering an imperial Wagyu ribeye, in the Australian carpetbag style with a Tasso ham, oyster, and mushroom sauté over a sriracha brown butter béarnaise. When this arrived, I was under the assumption that there had been a typo in the menu and that the topping really consisted of Tasso ham and oyster mushrooms, as there did not seem to be any oysters in the dish. They were not, as the carpetbag preparation entails, stuffed into the steak. After some poking around the topping, I found two oysters, one small and one medium-sized, mixed in with the sauté. They were tender but scarce.
The preparation of the steak was partially my fault. I was caught off guard when ordering, thinking about the wine that would later arrive, and mistakenly stuttered that I wanted a medium er, rare steak. I received medium, though not at the fault of the kitchen. The steak was seared well with a lovely, thick crust and was tender and evenly cooked. The sriracha brown butter béarnaise was the tastiest part of the dish. It had a mélange of elements, all well-balanced and complimentary with each component of the dish. I particularly liked the harmony in between the sweet nuttiness of the brown butter and the slight kick of heat at the end from the sriracha. The topping fell a little short of my expectations, as the Tasso ham seemed to be replaced with more of the thick cut bacon from the tempura crab dish. In the interest of full disclosure, regular readers will know that I did not eat the mushrooms, though tolerated them on my plate.
My companion ordered the cumin crusted duck breast with a kumquat relish, spelt, and rashers. The presentation was colorful and varied in flavor, but there were some aspects of the dish that were too glaringly flawed to ignore. We both agreed that duck prepared in a fine dining setting ought to be erring toward the rare side. This was tough, dry, and overcooked. Serving it in unwieldy and large slices did not help. The flavor of the duck was tempered by the kumquat relish, a spicy-sweet medley of fruits and spices. It was moist and crisp with a wonderful blend of Asian flavors. The spelt underneath was firm and yielding but was, again, studded with the thick pieces of bacon that we'd come to know and, at this stage in the meal, avoid. This was the third dish to feature yet another incarnation of bacon. Though one would assume that bacon by any other name- many, many other names; Tasso ham, wooly pig bacon, rashers, would taste just as sweet, it implied to us that the chef had simply gotten a very good deal on bacon that week.
After the hit or miss savory selections, we weren't too keen on ordering dessert. My gluttonous side relented when I saw the peanut butter cheesecake with peanut praline shortbread, banana, and bacon gelato, despite being baconed out by the end of the meal. My lovely companion opted to finish her evening with a gin and tonic and in retrospect, I wish I had done the same. The one dish where we really counted on and desired the influence of bacon in the flavors did not have any bacon in it at all. The gelato was a blandly pedestrian vanilla and the cheesecake, largely consumed by the neat military rows of banana slices flanking from all sides. The "crust" was two small squares of flavorless shortbread kitty-cornered and topped with raspberries. Without the salinity of the meat, this was a dessert that ached with sweetness. The combination of rich, sugary cheesecake with bananas reminded me of the peanut butter, banana and cream cheese sandwiches my dad used to make me as a child, of course, forgoing the $12 premium. A huge disappointment.
You'll notice that these photos aren't up to the quality of my regular ones. When we arrived at the restaurant, I realized that I had forgotten the memory card to the camera at home. I was initially upset because I thought that my photos would come out badly due to not having the camera. But after the meal, I realized that adding the price of the $40 memory card for the sole purpose of documenting this meal would have been an insult in itself. The truth is, Paragon was probably one of the better dining options at Foxwoods. This is probably largely in part due to the positive reviews it has received. Had I seen a critical assessment like my own, I would not have come at all. And for its price, which came out to around $200 as we predicted, we appreciated the innovation of the menu and atmosphere of the restaurant. But when a restaurant believes that it can slack simply because it knows that people will come regardless of service on the presumption that it's better than Fuddrucker's, it presents a noticeable decline in quality from the standard of fine dining that eaters and guests like us are used to. It pales in comparison to far more modest restaurants and for its hype, does not deliver.