I don’t know why, but this is my third time writing a food-related column. As a disclaimer, these are not recipes, reviews or anything else worthwhile. I’m also just a man, sitting in front of a MacBook Pro, asking readers to love his musings.
As the spiritual leader of the millions and millions of The Monitor’s readers who also eat food, I feel it is my duty to lead you all toward enlightenment. So naturally, this unapologetic carnivore was told to try some plant-based food.
I think my editor meant for this column — for the sake of levity amid heavy times — to provide a facetious look into a polarizing subject for many South Texans who quibble over these matters. But if I’m being honest, I’m doing it to save you from having to torture your taste buds. It’s a sacrifice I was willing to make for you, dear reader.
I was also willing to sacrifice a coworker.
I decided it would be a good idea to get another voice, another palate, involved in such food matters to offer an outsider’s perspective. She probably doesn’t want her identity being shared, so we’ll just call her Galerie Vonzalez — an employee at The Monitor.
As a native New Yorker who was born and raised in Texas, I am more accustomed to the finest dining experiences and Michelin star restaurants, which is why I proposed trying Chipotle’s new plant-based chorizo.
The impious “food” is made with pea protein, according to a sign inside the restaurant. This is good. I’m always in favor of more protein. For the guns. In my sleeves.
As I flexed the muscles in my throat to keep myself from regurgitating, I ordered a burrito bowl with the devil’s chorizo, white rice, black beans, corn, pico de gallo, cheese and lettuce. Galerie ordered the taco plate with white rice and black beans. We took our seats and studied the gentrified concoction before us.
Before I go on, I must say that I genuinely love Chipotle. It was almost always my go-to, post-workout meal in my more disciplined gym days. You know, for the guns.
I scooped some faux-rizo (fake chorizo) with my fork and took a closer look. It certainly smelled like chorizo, but how would it taste? I did a sign of the cross and went in. It actually kind of tasted like chorizo. The consistency was a bit off though. Probably because it’s made from PEAS!
My Nana (grandmother) would be throwing chingasos right now if she knew I was eating this hippie food.
Galerie scooped some rice and beans onto one of the tortillas, which probably aren’t real either, along with a healthy (no pun intended) serving of the faux-rizo. A look of bewilderment overcame her as she tasted the pea experiment. “It’s … not that bad,” she said, not very persuasively.
I decide to try another bite, but this time I load up on the other ingredients. It’s actually not terrible. In fact, it tastes alright for PEAS! But I still can’t get past the strange consistency.
I gave the meal a generous 6 of 10. It wasn’t entirely bad, but I’ll probably never order it again. It just wasn’t for me. Maybe it’s for you. How do I know? I’ll stick to Chipotle’s delicious steak (for the guns).
Galerie, on the other hand, scored the meatless chorizo a 6.5 for the unpleasant aftertaste.
Needless to say, we finished our meals and departed from Chipotle, embarking on another meatless journey.
Like a beacon of hope to weary, hungry travelers, a red and white sign illuminated the clear evening sky. A sign of hope. It was the Colonel, welcoming us with open arms.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry masses yearning to eat meatless,” I think I heard him say.
We entered the nearly empty Kentucky Fried Chicken, ready to go above and beyond for you — our favorite reader. Greeting us at the counter was an advertisement for KFC’s “Beyond Fried Chicken,” which they claim is made from plant meat (specifically soy and wheat proteins, according to KFC’s website), and not chicken meat.
They offer a six-piece combo and a 12-piece combo. Each order comes with “secret recipe fries” (but we don’t like secrets), a medium drink, and a choice of dipping sauce. I don’t remember getting any sauce. My esteemed colleague also added two biscuits to our order for some reason.
When our order number was called, I went to retrieve it. When I placed the tray on the table, Galerie exclaimed, “Oh s—, they’re square!.” Indeed they were. Square mysteries from beyond our wildest dreams. The advertising is accurate.
The square mysteries are not vegetarian, vegan, or Certified Vegan, according to the website. (So then who is this for, exactly? Aliens?) While they are 100% plant-based, they are fried in the same fryers as their chicken. Not good for the guns or the gut.
Galerie grabs a piece of plant meat and pulls it apart at the middle to better examine what it is we’re about to devour. We’re met with … wait, what the — what the hell? What is this? It … kind of looks like and smells like chicken, and it admittedly does have a very chicken-like texture, but it is also full of tiny holes.
Well, here goes nothing. We both took bites from our respective pieces and took a moment to process this extraordinary moment. “Wow,” Galerie said, pleasantly surprised. “Wow,” is all I could say as well. This actually… tastes like chicken. What in the world? I definitely wasn’t expecting that.
Galerie gave the meal an 8 of 10. She said that she would happily try the weird squares again, willingly. Good for her.
I give this meal a 7 of 10. I probably won’t try it again. But if somebody threatened me and forced me to try this again, I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world (like pea chorizo).
Why do I do this to myself?
“Frankly Speaking” is an occasional column authored by Monitor staff writer Francisco E. Jimenez, who often delves into all things South Texas flavor from food and culture to entertainment and the arts.
