Poetry can be beautiful, it can lift your spirits, it can take you to a place you never thought possible. And then there’s times when poetry wants to make you take a shower with pizza and do dirty things.
As our own Elie Ayrouth went down to St. Louis to find out what goes down after hours during Tastemade’s “All Nighter” show, he stumbled upon a slam poetry session and dropped a poem about his favorite cheesy pie that could almost be mistaken for a Too $hort verse.
Elie has a knack for turning anything sexual, as his Nikki Giovanni-like spoken word flows actually had the crowd bobbing their heads.
Pizza is life
Pizza is sexy
It’s curvy, it’s saucy
Pizza is my wife
It’s deep, deep dish
No, no deep sea fish on my pizza
Paper thin crust
Mile-long cheese pulls
Mountains of pepperoni and basil
It’s nipply in Napoli
Cheese drips everywhere
My food boner burstin’ through my jeans, every seam wih me and my slice
Is ripe with wide eyes, for better or worse, I can’t see the world outside
I need a drink just thinking about my love for this piece of bread, sauce an cheese
It makes me weak to my knees and despite what’s outside
I keep my eyes on the pie
Just one piece, maybe two, maybe six
There’s no bad day for pizza
And even when the pizza’s bad, I want a garbage bag
full of seconds and thirds
until my stomach spits
and this world has heard that I got love for pizza
I want to fold it, I want to rip it
let it wrap around my tongue
as I run up the spiral staircase of a food boner building on my ground floor
the delivery guy’s almost here
I can’t wait to start eating some pizza
Some good did come from that awful-looking Ghostbusters remake, as without its heavy promotion, the Key Lime Slime Twinkies and Hi-C’s Ecto Cooler drinks would have never made their way back on store shelves and into our 80s-loving hearts.
The green slime-inspired products look like they’d make a perfect couple on Love Connection, so our buddy Nick Chipman from Dude Foods found a way to masterfully mix the two for a ghastly recipe that’ll leave your tongue green with envy, and food coloring.
We first saw this recipe come to life on Tastemade’s All Nighter show, as our own Elie Ayrouth strolled into Chipman’s Wisconsin home and watched the man put it together. As Elie spent the night trying to figure out what the night life is like in Milwaukee, it only seemed natural to visit the Frankenfood King at 4 a.m.
Chipman essentially made a neon green Ecto Cooler batter, dumped some Key Lime Slime Twinkies in it, and dropped it into the fryer like my mixtape. As an added bonus, Chipman added some mint custard, seeing how it’s a big deal in Wisconsin.
Sure this dessert looks a little gnarly, but it beats out that garbage Ghostbusters trailer, any day.
The legalization of marijuana in Denver has only bolstered an already eclectic social scene. In addition to their bustling craft breweries, there is now a host of legal dispensaries ready to serve you marijuana you can smoke, eat and even drink. Of course, one of the most glorious parts about a legal dose of marijuana is the damn near criminal level of munchies that immediately takeover your night.
In the latest episode of All Nighter, a new web series that chases me around different cities in the wee hours of the morning, I hop right off the plane, smoke a legal blunt with a bunch of strangers, and embark on the nastiest, sloppiest, most delicious and inebriated food journey I could pack into one night.
The fine reporters at BroBible have already broken down the episode’s hot eateries, while a journalist at The Kind has dug into the episode’s exploration of craft brewers vs. craft marijuana dispensaries. I also use a marijuana friend-finder app which helped me find people to indulge with, drive me around in a limo, and was able to order a pizza straight to the limo.
Above is Episode 1 of our new series All Nighter we’ve made with Tastemade. This story is what I learned about Los Angeles by drinking with Jack Sparrow on Hollywood Blvd.
1am it is. Hollywood Blvd is void of its daytime crowd, a few stragglers here and there, myself, our skeleton TV crew of Los Angeles natives, some homeless, and a few B-grade cosplayers. Jim, our rugged MacGyver sound guy tucks away behind a corner, artfully always out of frame. James, our fearless director and camera man is bug-eyed, his Jew-fro looking ever more all-over-the-place as he digs up our next shot.
“It’s dead out,” James manages surveying the empty streets, his face bleak and fatigued. Being up past 8pm is not a good look on skinny Seth Rogen.
I have several airplane bottles of whiskey digging into my thigh, it’s been at least an hour since our last location filming All Nighter, and my buzz is fading quickly. Too long between sips and my energy is over. Too many drinks and I’m an asshole incapable of holding a conversation.
Superman and Jack Sparrow pose with some fans on Hollywood Blvd.
“Take a picture with Jack Sparrow and Superman,” James demands, as we walk up to a couple costumed actors. Jack Sparrow fit the bill nicely, a 40-year-old man with bags under his eyes. His sidekick, a high school-aged Superman, felt a little less accurate. He was baby-faced and endearing with virgin teeth and a costume two sizes too big. Superman flexes, Jack Sparrow gives me his gun, we all mean mug for James.
James puts the camera down and immediately turns into a producer, “we have reservations at a bowling alley down the street, you guys want to bowl with our host for a scene in the show?”
Jim pops out from behind the corner with his sound equipment, Jack Sparrow takes note of the new addition to our TV street gang. Jack Sparrow speaks, “they don’t allow costumes there.”
James immediately begins the most trivial, yet oddly fascinating negotiating process I’ve ever been witness to. “How much for your time?”
“Well…we make about $5 a photo? Maybe $25 for a couple hours?” Sparrow said, initiating the casting process. I immediately began calculating this gentleman’s time in my head, and then looked over at the wide-eyed Superman who looked on in eager anticipation. Their night was wrapping up anyways, they both seemed pretty eager to be on camera and have their last hour of their work day accounted for.
Our crew walks away for a few moments to regroup. I crack open a high school-sized mini bottle of whiskey to lubricate.
We make a call to the bowling alley, and they concur that no costumed men are allowed. James makes an executive decision that the scene only works with Jack Sparrow, and the inclusion of Superman would crowd the frame.
By the time we returned to Jack and Superman, the two were lit up with excitement. Superman had apparently called his mom and told him he needn’t a ride any longer, and had picked up contact lens solution from the CVS up the street in preparation for his sleepover at Jack Sparrow’s.
James breaks the news that we’ll only need Jack Sparrow for the scene, he offers them both cash for their time, but that Superman would have to sit just off frame for the sake of the shot. I gulp and look at Superman’s young, once rosy cheeks and watch the color of opportunity wash away from his face. In that moment I saw every failed opportunity Hollywood ever dealt this young Superman in the gloss of his eyes. What would he tell his mom tomorrow morning when she asked how his night went?
I’d spent my entire life living just a half hour away from Los Angeles in sunny Orange County, but never once had I witnessed Hollywood in action. I’d heard about struggling actors, dealing with rejection, putting your heart out there week-after-week, but until this moment, I had never seen it in person. And just like that, we marched on to a dark alleyway because of course, “the show must go on.”
Jack Sparrow and I shared a few “street cocktails” and hammed up for the camera about the beauty of California, particularly Los Angeles.
Our conversation brings up the usual themes, LA’s perfect weather, beautiful women, the land of opportunity — the entire boozy conversation occurring in an ironically dark back alley between a Jack Sparrow impersonator and a silly food blogger. All the while a defeated and equally hardworking Superman is slumped on the curb just out of frame and within earshot, waiting for this damn scene to end.
And despite trekking all over Los Angeles that evening, everything I learned about Hollywood was cemented in this scene. It takes a James being a shrewd producer and diligent director. It takes a Jim to capture the sound. It takes a Jack Sparrow to roam Hollywood Blvd looking for a buck and a performance. It takes a young actor like Superman to get sidelined for a scene that means nothing in the grand scheme of his career.
And that’s Los Angeles. It resembles a series of opportunities that can look like a kid in a Superman costume on Hollywood Blvd, or a street corn vendor in the valley. An audience will only see a finished product, their favorite movie or an interview on TV — but therein lies the beauty of it all, the wake of a production, the romanticism of not knowing what your next project could be.
“That’s a cut,” James squeaks whirring his camera off. Jack and I have bonded, we hug it out because that’s what fifteen minutes of sharing high-level stories about California will do to some bros. As we emerge from the dark alley Jack gives me a few tips for finding a good steak on Hollywood Blvd and how excited he is that his hometown St. Louis Rams are becoming the Los Angeles Rams. Superman is silent.
The main Hollywood drag is just as quiet as when we left it. We bid a final farewell to our two heroes — they walk back towards the bright lights while our team makes an opposite march away from the hoopla — back into the darkness.