Ricky'S Lunch Blog

Nope, nothing to see here. Move along.

If I were going to post a web log entry about today’s lunch, it would be about a chicken parmesan sandwich and coleslaw. But I’m not, so I recommend you leave this site immediately and speculate on whether thought-leadership in the lunch arena is dead.

Do you remember what it was like to be young and fall and love? Neither do I.

I wasn’t wearing underwear when I ate lunch yesterday. I didn’t plan it that way but after an odd turn of events in the supply closet earlier in the morning, I had no choice. It was either eat lunch without underwear or don’t each lunch at all. In Ricky’S lunch world, failure is not an option. I try not to drink my own Kool-Aide, unless of course it’s lunch time. Then I do drink my own Kool-Aide, and lots of it, because I make it special, with extra sugar.

It was an unexpectedly thrilling experience, lunch without underwear. The food seemed to taste better. I was concerned the people sitting around me at the expensive organic yuppie supermarket somehow knew, but I think that was a result of my over-active imagination. Well, that and the bloated prostate. Talk about walking the razor’s edge.

The thought-leader in me wants to take this experience to the next level. Do I need to draw you a picture? Fortunately, for the next two weeks I’ll be working out of the apartment again, so I should have an opportunity to—once again—push the lunch envelope. Stay tuned...

I met Ricky’S dad and Ricky’S dad’S girl friend for lunch yesterday at a hipster bar and grill on Broadway. By the time I arrived the old man was already knees deep into a Rob Roy. He likes them “sweet,” which means heavy on the sweet vermouth. Sometimes I have doubts about my lineage.

I ordered a catfish po’ boy. Delicious—and fun to say. C’mon, let’s try it together:

Catfish po’ boy
Catfish po’ boy
Catfish po’ boy

Almost as titillating as Del Scorcho. After a bite or two, I lifted the bun and deposited a few heaping spoonfuls of coleslaw on top of the blackened fillet. The old man and his dime piece found this disturbing, and they pretended they didn’t see me do it. Son of a bitch, it was good.

This is—hands down—the best blog entry of the week, lunchwise.

I was busy yesterday, performing my job in the usual intense, quality-centric manner. For lunch I found myself in the drive-through at McDonald’s, where I selected a number 6 value meal with a Mr. Pibb.

I know it’s vogue for us yuppies to turn up our noses at the fare offered beneath the golden arches, but I enjoyed my number 6 thoroughly. Halfway through the double cheeseburger I got a mouthful of ketchup, the strangely moist bun, some tiny onion chips, and the soft meat food. I can’t remember anything tasting better. Didn’t really even have to chew it; just swished it around.

I'd prefer not to go into detail about lunch today. Please respect my and my family's desire for privacy on this matter. Now is the time for us to reestablish the mutual support that we've let slip away during these last few self-indulgent months. I speak for everyone when I say that, as a group, we need to look inward and focus on healing.

The only thing I feel comfortable divulging is that today's lunch was crouton-intensive. Again.

I went to a locksmith on my lunch hour to have some keys made. The locksmith lady took too long trying to figure out which blanks to use and whether the right ones were in stock. This annoyed me because my dial is permanently set to Kick Ass. So I told her that while she flitted around not doing her job very well, I was going to walk down the street and get lunch.

The first place I came to was two places in one. One half was a Long John Silvers, and the other half a Taco Bell. The whole place smelled like a deep fryer, so I decided to stay.

The menu confused me, but after about 3 or 4 minutes I figured out that the items designated with an “L” were from Long John Silvers, and the items with a “T” were from Taco Bell. Think about it--it makes sense. I went with a T7 value meal and settled for a bucket-sized Pepsi because they didn’t serve Dr. Pepper.

I drenched all of my T7 items with packets Fire sauce, which is no Del Scorcho.

After my run today I went to the expensive organic yuppie food store to buy soup and some croutons. I like croutons. Not as much as I like my new accordion with the mussette tuning, but I like them a lot. Really, now that I think about it, it’s kinda stupid to compare croutons to an accordion. They’re not at all alike. I’m not even sure where I was going with that. One thing I do know for sure, though: my new accordion is sweet.

Whoa…whoa…Ricky. Just slow down and grab the reins. You’re all over the place. How 'bout we Focus on lunch. Whaddya say?

You’re right. Let me start at the beginning. The Battle Ax made me a nice salad this morning, but there was no meat in it. So I figured I’d stop and get some soup that had some protein like, for instance, chicken noodle. While in the store, I decided it would be nice to have croutons on my salad, so I bought a bag.

Back out in the parking lot I heard someone shout “Hello there.” I turned and saw my boss’s boss’s boss waving. He’d recognized me. I don’t think he knows my name yet, but that’s ok. He’s older.

Anyway, I noticed he was carrying a salad in a take-out container. Seeing my opportunity, I said “Hey. If you ever need any croutons just come by my cube.” I held the bag up and shook it so he could hear them.

“Okay,” he said. I could tell none of his employees had ever offered him croutons before.

“No. I’m serious,” I said, with another shake of the bag. “Just stop by and help yourself.”

When I got back to my cube I put croutons in both the Battle Ax salad and the soup. I liked the way they bobbed and became soaky. I waited for awhile but he never came by. He must have had a meeting or something.

Yesterday morning we had a 2-hour communications group all-hands meeting that ran long and encroached on the lunch hour. That upset me.

The meeting was led by my boss’s boss’s boss. This fellow is a true maverick—one of the smartest, fairest, most motivating, dynamic, insightful managers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for. A born leader, he knows how to bring out the best in himself and in the people who work for him. I don’t know how he does it. A real diamond in the rough. Maybe one in ten thousand could wear the mantle of leadership as successfully as he does. Talk about a beacon of light in a dark cave. I hope that by studying him, I may someday attain one-tenth of his leadership skills.

Anyway, the goddamn meeting ran long, which was a result of the updates we received from the various communication process improvement task forces. Even with hunger gnawing at my innards, I was inspired—on the spot—to form a Lunch Improvement Task Force (LITF), for which I volunteered to serve as chair. The first order of business will be to draft the LITF charter.

So at 12:30 I returned to my cube and hurriedly ate my breaded chicken breast sandwich, which I’d prepared before leaving for work. It had jack cheese and lots of mayo on it. I also had some grapes and coffee. When I finished, I did not run down to the vending machine on the second floor and get Oreos (E10), peanut M&Ms (E5), nor a jumbo KitKat bar (D3).

I ran my little half-marathon yesterday, and all I could think about for the last 12 miles was lunch. So as soon as I crossed the finish line, I rushed home, washed myself, and headed straight for the Jewish deli down the street.

I enjoyed my corn beef hash and eggs. I doused the entire plate, toast and all, in Tabasco sauce. I know that sounds like breakfast, but—trust me—it was lunch.

Although the food was good, I was cranky. I think that was because of all the blood. You see, it rained during the race, which increased the friction on the various parts of my body where skin met cloth. So both my heels and my right nipple bled. That’s my right nipple. If you were looking at me head-on, you’d say it was my left nipple.

Long-time readers of Ricky’S Lunch Blog will recall something similar happened on a trip to Mexico last year. I guess the take-away from this conversation is that Ricky’S nipples are very sensitive. Pointy too.

Lunch yesterday was weird. So weird that I don’t really know where to start. It was Kafkaesque. One time standing in line for a movie I heard a guy use the word “Kafkaesque” in describing something to his date. A look of impatience flashed across her face as she realized it was going to be a long night.

Anyway, yesterday our Staff Activities Committee (SAC) sponsored free ice cream day. The SAC holds all sorts of special events like this to keep morale up and make the employees believe people care about them. Truth is, we have a huge SAC—what with over 1200 employees.

Look…I changed my mind…I don’t feel like telling you the rest of the story. In the end, lunch consisted of a breakfast burrito, a bottle of Izzy Clementine soda, and a free ice cream sandwich. There. You happy?

Show of hands: Who thinks I wrote this just so I could use the words “Kafkaesque” and “huge SAC” in a single entry?

We had a bit of a scare yesterday. For a few precarious hours early in the day, it appeared we might have to go without lunch.

Why? Well it had to do with breakfast, a vastly inferior meal. I don’t care what the “experts” say; breakfast is not the most important meal of the day. In fact, I’d rate it second or possibly third. To summarize, the hierarchy of meals is as follows:

First place: Lunch
Second place: Dinner and Breakfast (tie)

Anyway, yesterday breakfast spiraled out of control. I won’t go into detail but here’s the short list of things I put into my mouth while seated at the table:
• Orange juice
• Coffee
• Scrambled eggs
• Steak
• Sweet potato hash browns
• A biscuit
• A yarmulke-sized, chocolate-frosted, Bavarian-cream-filled donut
• Half of a glazed devil’s food cake donut

For most, this would obviate the need to consume another meal at mid-day. But for me the thought of skipping lunch brought on a mild panic attack that grew increasingly severe as the morning waned.

By noon I was frantic. So between the 8th green and the 9th tee box I raced over to the little hot dog shack and bought a bratwurst and a yellow Gatorade. Not fully in command of my faculties, I squirted Tabasco sauce all over the brat and then covered it in mustard. Three bites and it was gone.

Then I drove the 9th fairway like a righteous son of a bitch.

Can you recall a recent blog entry that better demonstrates my thought leadership?

For the last two days in a row I had Battle Ax salads for lunch. She got up a little early, chopped everything up fresh, and even dried the lettuce in a salad spinner. Then she stuffed it all into a tupperware and sent me on my way.

Yesterday, just before I left the apartment I remembered the frozen Turkey breast. I retrieved it from the icebox and carried it to work in my sparkly disco rave purse. I let it defrost on the side of my desk while I thought up some snappy text for a trade show exhibit.

Come lunch time, when no one was looking, I tore up the turkey with my fingers and distributed it over salad. It was good, and some of the ladies in the office stopped as they passed by my cube and said things like, “My, that looks wonderful!” and “You get points for the healthiest lunch!” They didn’t really say it with that much enthusiasm, but it’s my lunch blog, and I think it’s a more exciting with the exclamation points.

Battle Ax salad, two days in a row. A less confident thought-leader might suspect something is going on, possibly with that swarthy chef from the restaurant downstairs, who speaks with this bullshit Italian accent even though he was born, raised, and went to reform school on the south side of Cleveland. What a phony. I don’t like that guy.

This is a very effeminate blog post. Certainly not one of my best. My hormones have just been on a rollercoaster lately.

I bent down to give the old Battle Ax a peck on her cheek before leaving for the office today.

“Oooo,” she said, wincing. “You’re a little spicy this morning.”
“I’m spicy 24-7, baby.”
“No, I mean your breath.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks for letting me know,” I said, but I didn’t mean it.

The reason I stunk so bad was because for our date last night we went to this noisy, pricey, trendy joint for dinner and I got the Mediterranean pasta. It had black olives, tomatoes, and chicken, and it was swimming in tasty olive oil. It also had red onions and a mound of feta cheese on top, which I think was where most of the stink lived.

Lunch, Ricky. Lunch, lunch, lunch.

Dammint, I know what my own blog is about! Stop pestering me, or I’ll…I’ll...

Anyway there was plenty left over, so I got a doggie bag and brought it for lunch today. Very first bite, a big drop of orange oil slid from the end of the fork onto my gray Brooks Brothers shirt, just below my left nipple. Now I’m the smelly laughing-stock of the communications group.

German leftovers
With cabbage rolls that taste like
Meatballs from Sweeden

Today is the second anniversary of the founding of Ricky’S Lunch Blog. Yes, it has been two years since I stepped up to fill the leadership void that had been allowed to develop within the lunch arena.

Take a look back at that first entry. Its purity is breathtaking, and even with the passing of time it reads as if it were composed only yesterday. What I like most, though, is that it foreshadows the magnificent lunch-blogging accomplishments to come.

How can you thank me? You can’t really. The sacrifices I’ve endured in my enormously successful efforts to advance lunch thinking along a broad front are too numerous and painful to list in this forum. Just know that I did it—and will continue to do it—for you, the most discerning and committed community of lunch enthusiasts on the Information Super Highway.

So how can you thank me? By never taking lunch for granted.

To celebrate, let’s have some fun! I want everyone who reads this to post a comment telling me (1) what you had for lunch today, and (2) what you would do differently if you could live your life over again. Here, I’ll start:

(1) After my piano lesson I went to the expensive, organic yuppie grocery store and made myself a salad from their expensive, organic yuppie salad bar. I also got a cup of chicken and artichoke soup. I ate it at my desk and didn’t splatter any dressing on my shirt.

(2) I’d drink more chocolate milk. Like Bosco.