Sometimes I just want to live a little and eat a lot, so last Thursday my fellow Hongry Girl and I hit up Chima Brazilian Steakhouse. Four days later I'm finally walking less like a lady goose on egg-layin' day and more like a grown-ass woman in heels (albeit with ankles making cracking sounds equivalent to cuss words). Four days later my wallet is still wondering what the kcuf happened to its contents. Meanwhile, my colon is just like, "Nah, dude. I'm good."
I usually reserve acts of outright gluttony for Thanksgiving, trips home to SC (Bojangles, BBQ and Grandma's, oh my!), mini Snickers bars and bowls of freshly fried okra, but with the newness of Spring I thought I'd go on and switch my style up. Plus, I'm a notorious homebody and decided that instead of my usual retort of "No, I'm broke," I'd go with "Sure! When do we eat?"
Apparently there are only four Chima steakhouses, but I'm certain that in America, where we loves us some more, other restaurants are offering this unique all-you-can-eat-'cause-we'll-just-keep-bringin'-it-to-ya experience. You start out at a bar laden with different cheeses, soup, rice and beans and salads - it's everything from fresh mozzarella to giant asparagus to black beans to Caesar salad to arugula and endive and my new favorite, gorgonzola mousse. The idea is to add these fixin's to your plate to accompany the slaughterhouse of meat that is to come.
Back at your table you have a little palm-sized card. The black side is like the "No thanks, I'm good" side, whereas the orange side is the "All You Can Eat Meat" side. Flipping my card over to orange I suddenly become aware of all the swashbucklin' attired dudes parading slabs of meat on large skewers. A waiter sets down some crazy-good cheesy puff pastry business along with some encrusted sausage balls, some kind of cheesy herb spread and something else I was too distracted to notice. I eyeball that bread and become Cartman up in a bag of cheesy poofs as the voice of Louis Armstrong begins to warble in my head:
Heaven. I'm in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly eaaaaaaaaaat ...
I'm so glad I'm wearing a loose-fitting dress.
Midway through slaying my giant spear of asparagus, the sausage man appears at my side. I take one, and while ruminating on its nicely spiced succulency, the boneless chicken medallion man comes, followed moments later by the the filet mignon wrapped in bacon man. My plate begins to look a lot like the end of a Tetris match and I flip the card over to black, but then Mr. Lamb Chops comes and I never have lamb chops so I flip back to orange. Oh, top sirloin man, I just can't do it. The roast pork with Parmesan goes by and I swore I'd have it, but I just can't. I'm chewin' and I'm chewin', but more and more I'm starting to feel like Augustus Gloop stuck up in the tube.
I'm sippin' on Guarana as I sample my friend's swordfish which has been caressed by the loveliest passion fruit sauce ever. Mr. Beef Rib comes by along with the flank steaker and the pork ribber wit the sauce and I'm reeling. I swirl some Malbec and lean back swearing I'm way fatter than Fat Joe ever was. Our sweet, sweet waitress offers to take our plate and urges us to go back for a new one. I have visions of stomach pumping so I do what my mama told me to do: I stand up and stretch and waddle to the ladies' room.
Now, you know you done ate too much when, without warning or nary a sneeze or sigh, your right contact just Geronimos from your eye. It gave up and rightfully so because I have always had eyes like a plate and a stomach like a saucer. Perhaps it thought that if I couldn't see it, I wouldn't do it. It was wrong.
I am now all about moussing food, because this passion fruit mousse with the melted chocolate on the side?
Nom nom nom nom Nom nom nom nom
Sing that to the Tidy Cats' meow meow tune until the last bottle of beer drops from the wall. I walked in lookin' right cute and rolled out looking a lot like the browner versions of these:
The meal was sumptuous, the experience a ton of fun (food pun well intended for my fat arse) and well worth the expense. I'll do it all again as soon as I can figure out how to rent an extra stomach so as to fully portray the Hungry Heifer I am.