What's That Smell? Oh, It's Romance In The Air!

It's that time again Homeskillet fans. Time to get snoogy woogy with your bestest love muffin, dole out perforated cards stating pre-drafted sentiment like "Use the force...and be mine!" and above all spend your hard earned dollar on big plush bears, dyed pink, scented like roses with doughy wet eyes holding a heart that says "I Wuv Wou!"

That's right! It's Valentine's Day and we at the Tucson Homeskillet are all about romance. We love food. We love booze. We love Metal. And...uh...well I'm sure there's more to life but at the time being we can't really think of anything else.

That said, the Tucson Homeskillet is here to help those that are stuck on what to do to court that special someone. It's not widely known, but Tucson is the romance capital of, um, anywhere between Phoenix and Nogales. Betcha didn't know that did you? Well...now you do! Yes, this fine city is chock full of enchantment and beguiling charms of the heart. In fact, the word Tucson comes from the native people's word for "city by the hills" and history has shown those hills were the curvaceous rump of a lovely O'odham lass named Becky who was the peach in a missionary named Rondor's eyes as he killed her family because they did not believe in Jesus. Afterwards, he put beans and mayo on a hot dog and, well, the rest you know.

So here are some things we came up with to get yourself magically whisked away into a incandescent rainbow colored tsunami of love and unplanned bulges as young hearts race and long term marriages begin to go through that "should we try something...weird...to make this work?" phase of their commitment. Yes, let us guide you into the thudding abyss of silk sheets, scattered flower petals and some hitchhiker named "Cody" and wiggle down the choo-choo tracks of  lust and questionable charges on your credit card.

You ready? Well bend over Methuselah because here comes the cupid juice!

Ignite The Passion At Furr's Family Buffet

When you walk through the door you and your valentine will be suddenly transported into another world. Bask in the glory as the local elders take in heaps of steamy "food" and cram it down with bottomless ice tea refills all the while getting confused by the sneeze guard. The look on the servers face alone with tell you what's on their mind: They're not in it for the money, oh no. They are in it for the excitement of it all, the occasional "Thank you sweetie" and waking up grandpa Jack when he goes face first in the pea soup.

The best part is that you two can gaze longingly into each others eyes over a potato product of some kind, knowing that you are, or are becoming, a couple as tables are nearly unoccupied let for one lonely soul, still looking for their mate I guess. Yes, even those in their golden years are still on the market as they stab green beans and enjoy the fine music of yesterday played through a dying Casio in speakers from the Nixon era. Sometimes the solitary dreamer just stares out into the ether wondering what the heck they just ate and where might their long lost heart's desire reside. Here at Furr's Family Feedbag, the old and companionless sit for hours doing just that and isn't it high time to get your fantastic journey of tender submission to the sweet gods of amour underway? We think so...

It also helps if you play old Tom Waits while eating and looking at the single seniors sitting on naugahyde and enjoying 1950's inspired cuisine.  It makes for lovely cabaret.

Take A Romantic Stroll Down Miracle Mile

Nothing says "Oh la la" like vintage neon signs, bowling alley churros and a $9 prostitute wearing a neck brace. Yes, Miracle Mile is a lovers stroll down the city's history. Just take it all in. No really, just lean your head back and breathe in deep.

Quite pungent isn't it? That's decades of frolic and antics from yesteryear. Sure there's the refurbished Monterey Court with it's newfangled shops and fruity art galleries along with that hoity toity cafe of theirs, but that's not what you're looking for, right? No! You're looking for an authentic Tucson adventure to ease your date into a state of wonder followed by a woozy foray that could almost be described as "straight roofied".

Might we suggest taking a tour of the historic Ghost Ranch? We might.

These days it isn't a ranch at all. In fact it's better than a ranch. It's an apartment complex!

Think about all the fun you kids can have by just knocking on doors and making new friends! It's like an instant Valentine's Day party. All you gotta do is knock, introduce yourselves, walk right in and help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Perhaps going through their medicine cabinet can be the start of a muy romantico evening. What's that on the TV? A 'Criminal Minds' marathon? I say it's time to sit down on that couch with your new apartment pal, kick back and enjoy. Maybe slowly put your arm around your date as the man in the brown terrycloth robe phones the authorities. Smooth move there Don (or Joan) Juan.

After the cops take down your information and set you two loose on the streets, you need to embrace some of the higher quality culture that Miracle Mile boasts. This can only mean one thing:

It's time to take in the local dance theater that is TD's Showclub.

Ballerinas have nothing on these prima dancers, let me tell you. First of all, ballerinas don't glisten and shimmer with fairy dust, these ladies do. Ballerinas can't shimmy up and down a fireman's pole and do all sorts of Cirque du Soleil gymnastics as the dancers here can. And I'm sure ballerinas don't make that much money because these light on their feet fillies literally have cold hard cash thrown at them and all they have to do is become art models for a moment and sometimes wow you with their derriere dexterity. Really, it's quite the spectacle. One cheek goes this way, the other in another bouncy direction. Now that's talent!

If you two love birds get hungry, nothing says "I've got a crush on you" like various chicken parts doused in Tabasco water, or "here's lookin' at you kid" much like hockey pretzels slathered in a fine duck butter glaze and served with a kiddie pool filled with cheese squirt, all served up by a lady that didn't make the dancer cut so now she cuts herself at night just so she can feel something. Yessir. There's a bit of ol' Old Pueblo magic at TD's and when the coke raids start at midnight, you know your love will last forever.

Plus there are plenty of places to sleep on Miracle Mile, when that time arrives (wink wink). For less than $20 you can rest your love soaked head down on some rubber matted sheets and enjoy the rhythmical pastorale of folks expressing their Second Amendment rights, enthusiastically and more often than you anticipated. You'll find it hard to beat saying "good night dear one" like an angry pimp trying to explain to his female employee that she has not provided enough payment for the evening and he is now just wondering where the other payments might be residing. The coo of her desperate pleas will inspire many cloud puffed dreams as your neighbors violently make love to one another and call out the name of our Lord whilst the rapping of their headboard offsets the almost Christmas-like lights from squad cars fill your room with the warm glow of sheer heart racing bewitchment.

They don't call it "Miracle Mile" for nothing. The sheer benediction of this long stretch of road can only bring couples closer, reignite the passions of those long married and entice those that just locked eyes and know they will be together forever. And if that isn't a miracle...we don't want to know what one is.

Except for that one drunk guy warbling Dire Straits down at karaoke night at Nevada Smith's Saloon some evening. That wasn't just a miracle. It was something else making angels weep. Hopefully he will be available to croon you two into marital bliss because only true love can follow Chad from accounting five-rums-in squelching "Man in the Mirror". Let his song be your drift into wedded rapture!

Enjoy Our Signature Valentine's Cocktail 

Okay lovebirds, time for a nitecap. 

He likes beer while she prefers a good stiff drink. You are both reeling from the evening and noticed that you filled your pocket full of gravy from Furr's which just makes you two laugh and laugh. Not wanting to waste anything, especially this delicious and sensuous moment, you decide to make everyone happy so here is what you will need to set the mood for a night you will never forget:

1 part Rumple Minze

1 part Four Loko Malt Liquor Energy Drink

That day old gravy

Shake the Rumple Minze and Four Loko together. Strain in a dirty glass you got at the swap meet. Top with the gravy. Serve and enjoy. 

And what is the name of this mighty potion of desire?

A Rumple Four Skin

You're welcome Tucson. 

Happy Valentine's Day!

Typing and Uploads
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Valentine's Day, 2016

Metal Influence:

GWAR

"I Hate Love Songs"

The Tucson Homeskillet Investigates: Free Burger Day at a Strip Club!

Let me just say this one thing: strip clubs and me just haven't gotten along in the past. It's not like I don't like them, I think they are fine but....I also think they are very bizarre.

Why, you may ask. Well, it comes down to one thing basically, something that I have wrestled with many times in the past when I have been, uh, a "patron" of certain gentlemen's clubs, one thing that I just really can't wrap my big yet little brained head around.

There are beautiful naked women dancing all over the place for your entertainment and we just have to sit there as if we are watching an infomercial.

I don't get it. How can dudes just enter a club, slap down some money and then not lose their cool when, uh, "stuff" starts happening to them? It's insane. Now, see...I personally do not want to get in trouble at certain gentlemen's clubs, knowing that most hire very large and intimidating bouncers to deal with those that lose their cool, so I tend to avoid them. BUT, there have been moments in my life, a few to be exact....okay quite a few, where I have been asked, invited or pulled into against my own will, to partake in the affairs of these mentioned certain gentlemen's clubs to enjoy the, uh, "stuff" that goes on in such establishments.

Some results have not been pretty. Let's just say that I have been kicked out twice and have run screaming from one of these arenas of hedonistic pleasures. The rest I was usually hiding behind a couch of some sort, quietly watching the events unfold as if I were a kid alone at home watching a scary movie on TV.

It's the, uh, "over stimulation" you see; I just don't cope well with it. So when this assignment started to take shape I was a little nervous going into. But, to uphold all things virtuous as a dedicated food journalist, I took this particular conquest with a manly gusto that I really did not know had in me.

First though....I would require a little help.

Metal Mark in a strip club? Yeah...he's gonna need some assistance.

The task at hand was such: I had heard that a certain gentlemen's club served up free burgers and fries every Friday from noon-7pm. Are you serious? Food? In a strip club? That's...

No, wait. If I recall, there was a certain gentlemen's club back in San Francisco (which I called home for 12 years before moving to Tucson...not the strip club, the city. Jeeze.) that actually had a chef driven menu and, like, $30 steaks. Okay, so maybe I just never put the two together. Why would I? Food...in a strip tease establishment? C'mon man. That's like having an open bar at Disneyland. Sure, the two would go great together but....is it a good idea? The notion about eating free burgers and fries in a place where, uh, "stuff" happens, nearly made my brain become a lint collector in a dryer where I scooped out the left over gray matter from the screen and tossed it into the bin.

OKAY!, I said to myself. I'll do it. But I'm going to need some help. I can't just go into a venture like this on my own. No way. It'd be weird me hiding behind a couch without a group of friends as an anchor for my weirdness. Or what if I just spontaneously combust and leave a mess for the poor employees of the strip club to clean up on a hot Friday afternoon? I'm gonna need a wingman. So, luckily, my good friend Erik, aka Chili, owner and bartender of Danny's Baboquivari lounge here in Tucson (http://www.dannyslounge.net/, 2910 E Ft Lowell Rd.) stepped up and said he would help.

He's a brave one that Chili. Give this man a gold star by his name.

So, at around 11:30 on a Friday afternoon, we met up at his bar, consumed a bit of needed pre-strip club antics medication (as noted before) and then drove out to the far reaches of Tucson to eat free burgers and fries in a place that would be writhing with half naked women.

First of all, Chili was the best choice for this assignment for various reasons. #1, he's awesome. #2, like me, he is in his 40s. #3, he is married with kids and I have been engaged for over 10 years, so, basically married. #4, he said he'd do it. And, #5, he said he would drive.

At around noon-ish we arrived at our destination and, to be quite honest with you, I was really hungry at this moment. Hopefully the free food would be a scant decent enough to quell the gurgling feed me beast that was jiggling my belly. I had heard from those that have been to places like this for the food explain that the free food is pretty bad, pretty small, and usually the, uh, "entertainment" was not A-list. In fact, from a reliable source, I had heard that if certain, uh, "entertainers" became less, uh, "inviting" they were sent here to do their penance.

But as a strident feminist (that's right, food blogging Metalheads can be feminists, just read Caitlin Moran to find out what I'm talking about here) this did not interest me. As a very heterosexual man I was a bit curious but...whatever. Free burgers and fries. In a strip club.

Let's go!

Here we are. Let's see what they got...

This particular place was pretty far from our homes in mid-town Tucson and was right next door to a run down Circle K. It was here that I began to get worried. Perhaps I was in over my head. Now I had dragged a good friend and all around nice family guy down with me. Would risking eyes, stomach and neither regions be worth a dopey article to entertain you good people who read food blogs? Man, I hope so. Because we had made the trek, made the decision and now that we were standing on the precipice of peril, the only choice was to re-ignite that husky man gusto and step inside.

O en to 7pm? Sounds tempting!

Now, here is where things get tricky. See, cameras are not allowed in these certain gentlemen's clubs. It's pretty obvious if you think about it. A dark den of salacious goings on, you think the owners and operators want a bunch of half drunk duders snapping photos all over the place? Yeah, not happening. What if the mayor was here this afternoon and we caught him red trouser'd enjoying the grinding lap sway from some lithesome glitter siren? Like I said, it aint gonna happen.

Knowing this, I had emailed the establishment a few times saying that I was a food reporter doing a take on the free food that is served up in sin mills such as this, but I never got a response. Huh.

As we entered the place the first thing we were hit with was how dark it was. The foyer was only lit by the front door (which was the back door actually...) when it opened or the occasional beam of light that came our way from the disco like main area just a few steps down. We were frisked, we had a metal detector swipe over us, our i.d.s were scanned and processed. Man, these guys don't fool around. Kinda shows you what we are up against. I then told the doorman that we were here from the Tucson Homeskillet and we had emailed the management a few times saying that we would need to take photos of the free burgers and fries. The young man look confused, but after handing him one of my business cards, he said he'd contact a manager and see what he could do.

That was good enough for us. So after passing all of the pre-entrance tests, we made our way down the few steps, into the club and sat at a table.

Chili: a man who is ready for anything...

Our table was front and center of the stage. This particular place was not all that big; only one main stage with a smattering of tables and chairs throughout surrounding it, almost stadium style. A full bar was off to the right and was busy with servers and patrons crowing it. At 12pm on a random Friday afternoon in Tucson, the joint was jumping just a bit more than anticipated. It wasn't busy by any means (I could only imagine what this place is like at midnight, that's when the questionable "all you can eat taco bar" starts up. Yikes...) but there were guys seated and ready all around.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness that was cut with lazers, strobes, pinwheels and black light, I noticed that the setup wasn't as skeevy as had been implemented. It seemed clean, it seemed rather un-scary, in fact, it was kind of cozy. The chairs were soft and comfy, the servers were nice and, well, articulate, and the performers were like Cirque du Soliel but topless and with a pole. I began to relax. Perhaps I wont freak out and need some couch to shield me from the happenings squelching before my eyes.

Mainly because I couldn't find a couch. So...there's that.

Metal Mark + strip clubs, usually = not awesome...

When our drinks arrived I informed our server what we were here for and that I would need to take pictures. She seemed fine with it but would still have to get the okay from the manager.We ordered the free burgers and fries and awaited a response from the manager. At this time I went to the restroom, when I returned Chili leaned in with some information.

"Hey, so I found the manager," he said over the pounding psuedo-Metal blaring from the house PA, "and he didn't seem too happy about taking pictures. I don't know. It may not happen."

Crap, I thought. How am I to convince the Homeskillet reading public that we actually ate free burgers and fries in an actual strip club without photo proof? I mean, like all 3 or 4 readers out there will not be convinced if I can't get photos of the free burgers. It'll just seem like two 40 something dudes going to a nudie palace and then claiming they ate free stuff.

Nope. I had to get photos.

It took a while but I finally got the attention of what I assumed was a manager. He had on a tie and wore an ear piece while carrying a clipboard. Seemed managerial. I then explained why we were here, that I had been emailing them for a while, then after I handed him my business card he seemed to relax a bit and go along with the gag. The manager claimed that the burgers were "Some of the best in town!", which made me even more excited than I currently was at this juncture. So I sat back down, enjoyed another round as the "artistry" that was unfolding before us on the circular stage near by.

After a while the food arrived. And, to be honest with you, even in the disorienting flashing light near darkness, the burgers looked pretty good. Bigger than I thought. The server placed a basket of freebie goodness in front of us and it was then that I had to ask if I could take pictures of them.

"Yeah, sure," she said super casually. The manager guy then returned to our table, patted me on the back and said go ahead and take some pictures. I fumbled for my phone, opened the camera mode and took a picture. The first one I got was so dark you couldn't even make out an outline. Rats, I thought. This is a total bust. They'll never let me take flash photography here, even with all the flashing (of lights) going on all around us.

"No, go ahead and turn on the flash," manager said. "You need to get your picture."

So I did. And glory be, these are what the free burgers look like at the strip club:

Ladies and gentlemen...free strip club burgers!

Not too bad right? They were quarter pound burgs with onions, pickles, tomatoes and cheese. Chili and I were dutifully impressed. So we fixed them up to our liking, tucked in and then took a bite.

The result? They were pretty tasty. For reals, the free burgers at the strip club were actually quite good. It wasn't the greatest sandwich I had ever had but considering the location, the fact that they were free, what was going on the stage and all around us, the sensory overload took over and made me go "Mm-mm. This is a tasty burger!"

Here's the thing. Not only were the burgers and fries free but we also got in for free. How did that happen you might ask? Well, in the back of the Tucson Weekly, there is an ad for the establishment and with it a coupon that reads "Free Admission With This Ad". Chili and I both had those lil pieces of paper in our pockets and before we even entered the club, we presented the door guy with them and after the frisking and metal detecting, we got into the club for free.

Free admission. Free burgers and fries. At a strip club.

Why is not every dude aware of this! I'm telling you, if you are over 21, have means to get out to Golf Links and Wilmot on a Friday afternoon, have enough cash for a drink or two, cut out that coupon from the Weekly...you will get into a strip club for free and be fed free burgers and fries. God bless the frikkin' USA.

With that said, at first I wasn't going to reveal where we went because I thought I would be bashing the food, place and the, uh, "entertainment", but after our awesome experience I am proud to say that Raiders Reef (aka the boat that don't float) was a lot of fun.

A good time was had by all. Well, at least Chili and Metal Mark...

After we finished the burgers and another round, we had realized that we were there for over 3 hours. How did that happen? With no lights, no clocks and, well, "things" going on all around, we got distracted, quite easily, and had to pack it in. Chili had some family get away to attend to and I was going to go to Raiders Reef "sister" club, Curves, to get another free burger to round out this assignment.

The thing was...I was full! I'm not kidding. Those burgers and fries filled me up. Holy moley, I was impressed. So after dropping me off at the bar, I got in my car, drove home and took a post free burger and fries at a strip club nap. I'm pretty sure I dreamt of an endless meat and glitter buffet only to wake up and inform my wife She-Ra that I was okay and had made it out alive.

Something almost persuaded me to go back to the club, knowing there was more free food to consume, more "entertainment", all in a cool dark time vortex where I could just while away the hot after noon in the Sonoran desert.

Instead I hung out with the cat, watched "The Muppet Movie", all the while feeling glad I didn't freak out with a belly full of free meat and potatoes.

All was right with the world...



                                       Raiders Reef: 6475 E. Golf Links Rd, Tucson, AZ

 http://raidersreefaz.com/cms/

Camera and Typing
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Mid July, 2015


Metal Influence
Melvins, "Honey Bucket"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hp5r9qwqpPc

The Tucson Homeskillet reviews Kris Jenner's cookbook. Yes, that Kris Jenner. And the results are far from pretty.

First off allow me to apologize for not uploading anything on the Homeskillet for a while. For days I have been in a dark dark place, a state of mind to rival any of those that have survived war, torture or a Pauly Shore movie marathon on TNT. This horrible condition was completely self induced mind you; I could have gotten out at any time. But when you are in too deep the only way to truly escape is digging deeper until you come out the other end, bruised, bloodied and covered in a layer of thick aerosol cheese.

Was it worth it?, I often ask myself, sometimes weeping gently in the bathtub as I rock back and forth, clutching my knees to my chin, eyes cinched tight as the cat sits on the toilet licking its butt. That is a solid and worthy question. Still raw and trembling from the recent hell trial I put myself through, I find myself whispering gently during regular sleepless nights: Dear God (a.k.a Tony Iommi), I hope so...

The ordeal in focus here happened when I watched one of my favorite chefs, Hugh Acheson (http://hughacheson.com/), cooked a disgusting “meal” from a book I had no idea had made it to print. It was a simple dish, a staple in most American households either as a main course or an appetizer, but one that was inspired by pop culture dreck and then perfected by another flesh wound in the stench arena that is “reality television”. 

Watch it here: http://www.eater.com/2015/5/15/8611479/kris-jenner-nacho-recipe-kardashian-nicole-simpson

 

They were nachos. But not just any kind of nachos. Oh no. They were the recipe that a certain Nicole Brown-Simpson (remember that mess from the mid 90s?) loved and passed on to the author of this apparent “cookbook” that was “written” by the matronly star of the why-is-it-so-popular show “Keeping Up with the Kardashians”, Kris Jenner.

Kris Jenner? Kris Jenner wrote a cookbook? Wait...Kris Jenner can cook? Wait...wait...none of this makes sense. How did...? Who thought that...? Wait...what? No man. Kris Jenner does not have a cookbook published. A cookbook? C'mon. You've got to be...

Um, nope. Here it is. “In the Kitchen with Kris” it says. Before I knew what hit me, I had a copy in my hands and, worse yet, in my house! So it was true. There is a cookbook out there with Kris Jenner claiming to be the author and head “cook”. Sure. Why not. I mean if Snooki and J-Woww have books out that tell you how to live your own life (just like them) then why not someone who I thought didn't even know what a garlic press is.

“Is it for squeezing, like, little limes?” I could almost hear one of them speak. That is if I actually caught one of the episodes and not immediately hit the button on my remote trying to remove them from my screen. Still, I've seen enough of the show to get a hint of what it's about. I guess. Does Kris Jenner do a lot of cooking on the show? Yeah. That's what I thought...

But I really wanted to be fair going into reviewing this book. I mean, what if Kris Jenner is an amazing cook? What if she can lay down a souffle smackdown to make Bobby Flay run for cover as he pulls the soulless ginger hair from his head? What if?

So I opened the book to find this dedication:

And this photo:

Then I realized I was actually in for a ride. Not a fun ride, not an educational ride, not a ride where I come out enlightened at the end gleaming “I'm really glad I did that.” No. I could already tell this was going to be a bleak and baleful journey, with grimace inducing recipes, epic eye rolling inspiring musings on life and vapid tales of “celebrity” blessings and the fact that she was married to a dude that did not want to be a dude and her famous daughter got that way by making a sex tape and owning an orbit enticing and internet breaking butt.

As a fooder professional, I knew the job was going to be dangerous when I took it. So I carried on; reading the anecdotes, studying the recipes, following directions and finally eating my own foot because I locked myself in an abandoned refrigerator near the Santa Cruz wash due to the near lack of flavor and necessity from her passages.

Let us travel these tasteless roads together shall we? 

Day 1.

Flipping through the glossy pages of this culinary tome, I quickly realized that ol' Kris here was more into selling a sort of lifestyle than anything else. First few pages were slathered with gawdy 80's era dining room decor, the type of swirly gold leafed designs that used to symbolize opulence, which now occupy the dusty shelves of your local resale depot with cat lady grandmothers picking over them with cigarette stained fingers. Horrible. I didn't take any photos of them. Why would I? This is the Homeskillet, dedicated to all things food and awesome, and her taste in plates and settings was more inspiring to my vertigo and easy gag reflex.

Then came the recipes. "Recipes". Okay, maybe I am sounding like a snooty snot here but at first glance her recipes were the type of easy make, easier bake varietals that one would come across on the back of a bag of shredded cheese. I went a little blind for a moment reading them so I retreated to my family of cookbooks that I actually use and enjoy.

That's right....more David Chang. Sorry.

  

Yes, that is a vintage children's book above Thomas Keller's "French Laundry Cookbook" and made more sense than Kris Jenner's concoctions.

My brain and taste buds began to rattle so I killed a case of Hamm's beer and went to bed.

Day 2.

 Going back to Kris' cookbook I realized that there weren't a lot of photos of the food. Who does that? I mean, that's why I'm not a huge Rachel Ray fan (one of many reasons mind you...) because her stupid cookbooks don't have enough pictures. You need pictures! I want pictures of the food. It's such an essential, a basic basic in my opinion. The first thing you do is that you eat with your eyes, that's why eating is an all sensory experience and, like, the best thing ever. How hard is it to put a bunch of pictures in your cookbook? There is obviously a budget here. You know, Kardashians and TV and Bruce (well, Caitlin now) and all that, you think they could afford a shot of her kebabs or summer salad or something. 

Nope. Not really. But I did find this one:

Yes. THAT Kim...

And this one:

The dad that paid for all of this crap...

So it became apparent, quite quickly, that Kris Jenner is hyper aware of who got her to where she is. And a cookbook now. Why not? To quote Jane's Addiction: Cash in now honey / Cash in now! Because in a few short years this book, along with their names, could be just as synonymous with faded pop garbage like the Hiltons and Vanilla Ice's and such.

Wait, doesn't Vanilla Ice have a reality show now? Probably...

I knew it!

So another day was done and I had to ease the strain by putting a large straw in a box of wine then went out and committed petty crimes.

Day 3.

Wait. There are pictures of food in the book. Not much, but some. And, just like the home decor that was burning the eyes earlier, these shots look like they belonged in a collection called "The Sad Mom's I Give Up Food For A Family That Hates You Anyway".

Check it:

"Guacamole"

Enchiladas covered in shaving cream and orphan tears.

After exfoliating your feet, top on the pile of flavorless noodles tossed with ketchup.

Pretty sure this is an image from a Village Inn menu circa 1993.

Please steam your broccoli until it is a dark green, blanching out all flavor and texture and then go watch "Schindler's List" to try and cheer you up.

I couldn't take anymore. So I drank a whiskey called Peg Leg Ronaldo's and slammed my toes on the legs of the living room table multiple times until I was clear headed again...

Day 4.

Then it was time to get down. Let's try the recipes!

If you can image a gaggle of chicken parts literally praying to be put out of its misery, then you might have a sense of what I was dealing with here. Does Khloe Kardashian even know what buttermilk is, outside of a line of moisturizer her and her sister Kourtney sell under their Double K brand of stuff you don't need? Not too sure.

So that night I ate a bag of roofies and took advantage of myself.

Day 5.

I didn't even attempt. Rather I drank turpentine, burned all my shoes and air guitar'd naked to the collective works of Captain and Tennille. 

Day 6.

Not too sure what a "mashie" is but it resembled a tight loaf of control top nylons stuffed with horse glue and albino sex criminals. The flavor was elementary school cafeteria perfection and that inspired me to snort thumb tacks and then proceed to parade without a license which got me arrested and finally I received a decent meal and I wept happily into my man gruel and juice box.

Hell.

Day 7.

Here they are. Nicole's "famous" nachos...

I don't see OJ here but, well....uh....

Oh. They are to die for....

Hallucinating, I took off one of my arms and began to beat the invading horde of Martha Stewarts that were descending on me screaming "Why Metal Mark? WHY?" 

I don't know imaginary Martha Stewarts. I. Don't. Know...

Day 8.

Trying to make sense of it all, I busted out my notebook and began to score my thoughts down on my whole experience.

Madness...

Nothing. Pages and pages of mind vomit and I came out as empty as her concept for a lemon tart dessert. I couldn't make sense of any of this. Then, I realized that I skimmed over an image in the book, another life advice from the queen B of D list celebrities.

This. This is what Kris Jenner suggests a "well stocked" fridge is supposed to look like:

Yeah.

So I took one of those Gatorades, poured half down the toilet, filled the rest up with furniture varnish and went to Toys R Us and stole as many My Little Pony's as my shorts could fit and handle. 

Another night in jail. Another scrumptious free meal.

Day 9.

It was here, exhausted, famished, drained, hungover, baptized and given the key to the city of Murdoch, WY, that I knew my journey with "In The Kitchen With Kris" had to come to an end.

So I asked our cat, Lil Poundcake, what she thought about it.

I don't speak cat, but that look shrieks "I will kill you"...

Maybe it was the large amount of harmful chemicals I had ingested in a few short days, but I'm pretty sure she zoned in on my brain waves and instructed me to "bury it".

Yes, oh wise and fuzzy master. I will do thy bidding.

Back to the abyss, foul demon!

Thing is, it didn't work. Like a zombie bad penny, the cookbook arose and came back to me. Frustrated, confused and slightly aroused, I had no other choice than just to leave it for dead by the dumpster.

And there it sits to this day...

Sometimes when I get lonely or nostalgic, I'll go out to the dumpster and visit Kris and we silently recall and revisit all the good times we had.

Yeah. Good times...

Another image from the book. This...but no food photos.

Good...

With Bruce. Pre Caitlin days before her nachos made him wanna cut it off...

Times.

Well kids. That's the Homeskillet take on Kris Jenner's cookbook. It was the best of times....no it wasn't. It was the worst of times. But it was....times.

Don't say I didn't warn you here. But the only way to deal with a foul culinary mistake such as this, might I prescribe lots of violence and abusive substances. It's the singularly reasonable notion to ride out the level 8 hell ride you will be subject to.

Or, better yet....just stay away. Just say no. Don't do it. It's probably the best advice I can give you in this fragile state that I am now in. 

Now...go. Leave me. Leave me to regain the sanity and regrow the man that I know still lives within me. 

Sorry Bruce. I mean...Caitlin. I now know what you had to go through. Perhaps I too will join you on the other side. But first, I'd have to get the 'go ahead' from my wife.

Yeah. She said no. Sorry man. 

Or...

Anyway, here is my final thought on the matter:

Not enough pepper spray in the universe can keep this level of hate at bay...

Cheers!

Camera and Typing:

Metal Mark 

Mid June, 2015 

Metal Influence:

Electric Wizard

"Legalize Drugs and Murder"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zNG63rf9LQ

 

"Screw you Metal Mark. And your food blog sucks!" - Kris Jenner