That Time I Lied to You All.

I’m terrible. Last week, I flat out lied to you. I didn’t intend to, but I totally did. I spilled my guts on Valentine’s Day on Facebook so you may have already seen me expose myself. If you don’t follow me on Facebook, what the @#%@! is wrong with you?!

vdaylie

Allow me to explain myself further.

We cancelled our plans at the local meat house. It was Atlantic City’s fault.

We went to AC for a quick getaway romp, as a break from that literal snot-faced kid and to have a moment together before Big A leaves again. We love to gamble, we love Vegas, it’s a short drive away, it seemed like a good plan. We were just unprepared as to HOW good of a plan it was. Our only concern, really, was that we would be snowed in up there. And if we had, big flipping whoop, what’s one more night?! But we weren’t. It didn’t even snow enough to stick and my plans to make a snowman with the bartender at Hard Rock were disappointingly squashed. I did hit some lucky streaks and decided AC was my town.

ANYWAY. To the food and the abandonment of our plans. We had picked a few random places to try that were sort of off-Boardwalk and had amazing Yelp reviews. We opted for the Iron Room first because the place offered a ridic huge whiskey menu. That was all we needed, really. It took us each like ten minutes to browse the booze menu. I was not anticipating the experience to be my #2 dining experience OF ALL TIME. (The #1 being a stupid expensive Batali/Bastianich steak dinner in Vegas).

We each got a flight – three scotch for him, three bourbon for me. (and three beers for George Thorogood, am I right?!) And we selected few tapas-type plates to nom on. Steak Frites with pepper gravy. Good. Steak Tartare. Great, once I got over the texture and raw thing. (Big A ordered it well done. The kitchen didn’t listen.) And Sweet Fried Chicken on a duck fat and cheddar waffle with lavender velouté. @!#$%! AMAZING. I’m pretty sure Big A and I would have stabbed each other with forts had the portion been any smaller. We were thisclose to licking the plate clean. I’m drooling right now, just reliving it. 

Chicken and Waffle, Round 1. It's blurry because I just wanted to $%@# eat it.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 1, Iron Room. It’s blurry because I just wanted to $%@# eat it.

So for something completely different than raw steak and gourmet chicken and waffles, the next night we opted to go to a supper club called Kelsey’s for…chicken and waffles. Soul food chicken and waffles. With maple syrup. And mac and cheese. And cornbread. And the cutest older ladies rocking the karaoke night. Ughhhhhh. So much goodness.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 2. Pre-syruped.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 2, Kelsey’s. Pre-syruped.

Two dinners. All the chicken and waffles Atlantic City had.

Plus an amazing pulled pork sandwich, buffalo chicken strips, gas station cheese-stuffed pretzels, hot dogs and slightly hungover Panda Express. So much. Too much. We didn’t even wake up in time for breakfasts and still managed to cram in all the foods.

And that’s why we decided to forgo the Fogo. We just wouldn’t be able to give it the appreciation it deserves so we’re saving it for another day when the chicken and waffles are a distant memory and we dream once again of copious amounts of meat.

I’m sorry I disappointed you. Is there anyway I can make it up to you?

A photo of me and some delicious bourbon? Ok!

Basking in the goodness.

Basking in the goodness.

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