Fishywaffles are my crack. Also, Best Chicken Strips in Portland.

How have I never gone to No Fish! Go Fish! before in my life?

 Okay, the fact I spent most-all of my life way far away from the place is a kinda good excuse. But I do not think I will ever be able to live without consuming more fishywaffles. I haven’t had one in over 24 HOURS PEOPLE! THIS IS PAINFUL!

No, seriously, I considered going back three times after I ate there yesterday for more fishywaffles.

The proper term, I am informed, is “No Fish™ Sandwich”. Which is a cornmeal sandwich filled with filling-stuff and then cooked in the shape of a fish in a special grill-thingie. There is a picture I didn’t take here.

Anyway, I wandered into NF!GF! after church, ’cause I knew they had this really cool lunch special — two fishywaffles and a big ol’ bowl of soup for $5. They make their soup from scratch. Being that I had really no idea what to expect, I was kinda blown away when this platter with a bowl of soup AS BIG AS MY HEAD came rolling out. I had to go searching for the fishywaffles, they were hiding under the bowl’s edge. And they look small, not just because they were beside the big ol’ bowl of soup, but because they are kinda small.

One of my fishywaffles had lost its tail in the trip between the kitchen and my table. So I dunked it in the soup (you have to dunk things in soup, it’s in the Constitution of the United States of America. I’m a Social Science major, I know these things). That is the very instant my fishywaffle love commenced. I had a ham and cheese fishywaffle, and the tail had fillings! It was crunchy on the outside (even after dunking) and just barely sweet, plus big ol’ chunks of hand and the cheese oozing between the cracks in the cornmeal batter– I WANT FISHYWAFFLES! NOW!

The soup, when I got done falling in love, looked disappointing. It was Fidejos, which meant about as much to me as to you, but the chalk board said something about it being Mexican, and since I’m something like a Mexican, I ordered it (my other options were squash and bean and Brokeback Mountain Chowder). It had giant amounts of red oil floating in the broth, and spaghetti noodles in it which makes me think of Campbells, and then, on closer inspection, some of the green vegetables were okra!

I cautiously tasted it. Then I proceeded to inhale it. It was fantastic. It was practically orgasmic. It was just spicy enough to make my mouth burn a bit, but not enough to burn all flavor receptors beyond recognition of anything but chili.

To sum up, FISHYWAFFLES NOW OR ELSE THE FROSTED MINI WHEATS GET IT!!


Then, that afternoon, one of my housemates and I wandered down to the 39th Street Sports Pub. She wanted to watch the Steelers beat up the Chargers, I wanted to watch the Cardinals beat up the Padres, we both wanted fried food and beer.

There are game specials that are pretty damn good, we got a pitcher of Black Butte Porter and split a thing of chicken strips and fries and it came out to under $20 including tip. The chicken strips– oh my ever-loving goodness. The batter was perfect, not at all soggy, and the chicken inside moist and tender. The fries I think were out of a bag, but fried to just the right crispness.

Unfortunately, my housemate’s Steelers got hosed. But the Padres are out of the playoffs, YAY!

fish-y-waf-fles.

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