Guy Fieri, America’s culinary master who looks like a wart hog that was violently attacked by an albino porcupine, opened up one of his gourmet wonderland emporiums in Las Vegas, which is pretty smart, because after you get all the way drunk, you usually want to wrap your mouth hole around deep fried gluten wrapped in deep fried cheese wrapped in deep fried creamed pork rinds and covered with bacon-embedded lard sauce. I think I just described the amuse-bouche at Guy’s Las Vegas restaurant. Guy Fieri’s Vegas Kitchen & Bar opened in April, and just like his Times Square barf house, the critics have fallen in love with all the delicacies on the menu. Everything on the menu will make your heart stop, literally.
The menu of the makers of Lipitor’s favorite restaurant has the usual stuff that’ll make most of your internal organs clock out and quit this bitch. There’s a Mac-N-Cheese Bacon Burger and fondue dippers. But the bright shining star of the menu is the $12 Guy’s Cheesecake Challenge, which is basically half of a cheesecake that’s been attacked by fudge, pretzels and potato chips. It looks like some kind of mess that a 4-year-old would make, which is pretty impressive since Guy usually has the culinary skills of a 2-year-old. He’s truly growing as a culinary artist.
Instead of sitting flat — commonsense, quotidian, even jejune — the cheesecake is set on its edge like a wheel, so it presents itself as a sort of runaway half of a dirty and broken Thundarr the Barbarian moon that’s been ripped out of orbit by cosmic forces beyond our reckoning. And, by now calorie-drunk, swooning with surfeit, I imagined Guy Fieri straddling that ragged crescent cake-moon like a motorcycle, riding into a cold and inscrutable universe, crying for an answer, a connection, somebody, anybody, with his painted flames and chocolate-sauced potato chips, his pepperoni armor and outsized burgers: Is anybody out there? I’ve got cheesecaaaaake!
Why did Andrew give me that visual? Just when my tongue was starting to get moist over something that looks like Mama June’s colon, he just had to make me picture Guy getting his crotch sweat all over it while riding it. And I bet Guy’s crotch sweat IS fudge.
But even though that disgusting thing would stop me from shitting for weeks, I still would. I’d hit it. I’d eat it ugly, which is saying a lot since it’s already damn ugly.
Pic: Vital Vegas