Truff Enuff

 The word came down from on high. A reputable source. An amateur chef and hot sauce lover. He had found a new hot sauce that he thought I should try. It was Truff. A hot sauce with a black truffle base. The only problem? It could be found at the local Safeway.

Safeway. It's not my most favorite spot on the planet. The Eureka market has a gaggle of customers that tend to irritate the shit out of me. From the snotty white folks to the growers from Bulgaria to the tweakers. A few weeks ago I was there when a lady, acting all L.A. gang, threatened to kill everyone. It was seven a.m. and far too early for a mass shooting. I would brave the customers in order to obtain this hot sauce, though, which actually took me over a month to acquire.

Every time I went to the store, I was focused laser-like on getting what I needed and then getting the fuck out with little conversation in between. Hence, I always forgot that I wanted the hot sauce until I got home or until the guy who recommended it to me asked if I had bought it yet. It doesn't help that I have nearly 100 bottles of various sauces. Adding one more to the mix would cause looks from the girlfriend. 

Truff, posed kind of erotically

The times I did remember it, I couldn't find it on the shelves. A week or so ago I broke down and asked a store employee, who looked like his favorite activities were vaping and watching video game streams, if he could help me find it. He assured me that the store carried no such item and never had. He was, as I'm sure he was used to being, wrong.

I found it and then I bought it, and all was well until I learned Oprah actually "likes" the white truffle version of it. I haven't tried the sauce yet, but now I'm filled with all kinds of dread. If Oprah likes it the brand, I'm sure I won't. I almost don't even want to try it. If it turns out I enjoy the flavor, what other Oprah-liked things am I wrong about? Would I somehow align with Oprah? I'm sure she's a fine woman, but nobody who knows me well would say our tastes are even close to similar.

I'll be trying the sauce soon. If I like it and suddenly I'm writing about vagina candles or books about middle-aged women discovering themselves in Greece, you'll know what happened to me. Pray for me.

It's a Mod, Mod World

 My luck when ordering food has always been abysmal. If I'm with a group of people, and the order is going to be wrong, it will be my food that is fucked up. Nowhere has this ever been apparent than it has been in Eureka, CA. Some examples:

At McDonald's once I waited 15 minutes for my order. As people who ordered after me got their food, I asked about mine and was told they forgot about it, but would have it right up. After waiting far too long again, I was told they forgot it again, and would have it right up. I had to whip out my cell phone, call my wife, who was waiting in the car, and loudly explain that I was waiting for the food and if I didn't have the order in five minutes I would "come out to the car and get my gun and shoot someone in the fucking face!" My food came right out.

At Taco Bell, a lady was handing me my bag and asked if I wanted any sauce. I asked for Fire sauce. She took the bag away and walked back to get sauce. A minute later she handed me the bag, and I drove away. I didn't get any sauce. I have no idea what she did on her little journey, but I can be assured it wasn't getting me sauce.

At a sushi restaurant with a group of people, they all got their order. I was told mine was coming. After 15 minutes I was told they forgot what I ordered. I was sure they wrote it down, but whatever. I reordered. After far too long a wait, my order arrived . . . and it wasn't close to what I wanted. The waitress asked if I wanted them to replace it and I said, "Since everyone else is done eating, I doubt it. Plus, I don't want to give you guys another chance to screw it up."

Recently, at the taco truck across from Leon's Mufflers, I ordered my usual. The woman who always takes my order is a little rude, but I can handle that. She knows what I like, and punches it in the system before I even finish ordering it. That's service. I always get a burrito without beans. Always. Last time I ordered, she knew what I wanted before I asked. She even nodded when I reminded her, "No beans." Fucking burrito was filled with beans.

Now, last night, I went to Mod. The pizza is not great, but it is one pizza place everyone in the house can agree on because everyone likes different things on their pizza. I got pepperoni, spicy sausage, red onions, and mushrooms. Pretty standard. Hard to fuck up . . . unless you are in Eureka and work at Mod. I paid my forty plus dollars, and drove home. Upon opening my box I found a pizza with red bell peppers, mushrooms, and motherfucking artichoke hearts! Who the hell puts that on pizza? Savages. 

Not my pizza from Mod, but crappy looking nonetheless.

I was livid. So livid that when I was advised to call Mod or take the pizza back, I declined because if I had to go back to the pizza place I would hit someone, break something, or a combination of both. The workers, who are generally nice, are really socially conscious, maaannn, but they also really know how to fuck up a pizza. How the hell did that happen?

I won't buy myself anything else from any place that fucks up my order, unless they are really a phenomenal establishment, which are few and far between in Eureka. 

I have a feeling I'm going to end up saving a shit ton of money by the time it is all said and done. And as for Mod . . . you fine folks can take pleasure in knowing you were the straw that broke the camel's back.