in the Century City Shopping Center
10250 Santa Monica Blvd.
Los Angeles CA 90067
I haven’t been totally honest with you.
It’s not that I’ve lied about anything I’ve ever written here on The Delicious Life. I haven’t. Every single word, every sentence, every thought in the form of a paragraph, every feeling, every emotion I’ve ever shared is totally and utterly true.
It’s just that I haven’t shared everything. I haven’t always revealed everything.
There’s a difference between straight-up lying and holding things back, you know.
And the thing is, some of you probably already know. At least, I would love to assume that some of you are that interested in my Delicious Life that you would poke around enough on here on The Delicious Life and even google me to find out interesting little tidbits.
Because that’s what you do when you’re interested. You google.
And if you poke, if you google, if you’re intelligent enough to put two and two together and get eleven, you will have found me out.
You will have found out that The Delicious Life is just…
A piece. A part. A shred.
I am not just The Delicious Life. I whore myself out all over the place.
You might have seen my posts on Slashfood.
Well, there's more. Get ready for it now – I am the managing editor of Slashfood.
Yes, I am Sarah J. Gim, and I am a sell-out to a mega-huge food blog.
Wait. There's more!
We are not done yet. There's even more, and it's not a bonus six-piece set of steak knives with your Showtime Rotisserie.
I am the editor for Styledash.
And just in case you were disappointed about those steak knives, there's even more.
Sometimes, I write for blogs in industries about which I have no knowledge whatsoever, but I have intelligence, which is the ability to find knowledge, so I can still write!
It's quite frightening, isn't it? That I have written about video games? On Joystiq, the biggest, baddest, gamer blog on the planet? I mean come on. About as "gamer" as I get is using my championship Tetris skills to pack the trunk of a car or store my canned goods in the pantry, spewing bitterness and hate toward Street Fighter because of an ex-boyfriend who cheated on me with his secret gamer girlfriend, interpreting the 405 freeway as a game of Frogger, and of course...
It's Burger Time.
Fuddruckers is a burger chain. I think I might have eaten at one along time ago when someone had a birthday party there. You see, that's the kind of burger joint Fuddruckers is. The burgers aren't horrible, but the selling point is the novelty of making burgers an activity with a buffet of toppings and condiments that you add yourself. I shan't go into the finer points of the Chuck E. Cheesiness of it, because you should figure that out from the name "Fuddruckers" alone. However, the fact that I had been surviving on dried fruit and bull's balls for the better part of a week drove me into the loving lines of Fuddruckers in the food court at Century City Shopping Center.
I was craving the serotonin-releasing effects of carbohydrates in the form of a buttered, grilled bun. I was in desperate need of the comfort of a warm, luxurious blanket of melted cheese. I wanted to drown my stress in an obscene mix of condiments and throw myself into the bloody dripping mess of chopped rare beef. I needed a burger in the most pornographic way possible.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of ordering my burger "medium," which at any other place, means "pink," but in Fuddruckerian translats to "hockey puck." My Slashfood side was wildly disappointed with such flagrant disrespect of beef, and though my Styledash side would normally have labeled obvious overuse of superficial darkening devices as a GlamourDon't, my Styledash side had also been subjected to accidental anorexia for five days and applied cosmetic condiments and toppings to the burger like a cougar cakes on makeup before making her way to Sunset Boulevard.
Of course, my Joystiq side was nowhere to be found - probably eating microwave popcorn somewhere in the World of Warcraft.
Though the burger itself was overcooked, I will credit Fuddruckers with having a pretty fantastically pillowy hamburger bun, and if there's one thing a fashion blogger can appreciate, it's a fantastic pair of buns. Each side had to have been spread with full, fatty butter, then turned onto the griddle to toast, rendering golden crisp edges that gave way to softness inside that was so superb, it caused a sigh.
I know. A fu(ddru)cking bun me sigh.
The thick, wedge-cut French fries were a bit of a disappointment, but ar
en't they always? All French fries hold The Promise when the idea of them registers on your brain and you order them, but though they are never bad (never, no, not ever, are French fries bad), they are never quite McDonald's. Unless they're McDonald's.
Burger Time. Thank God I wasn't nostalgic for Frogger.