Posted in WRD 308

WRD 308: Post 5

Antagonist:

Murray, Jim. “The Leviathan.” Concept illustration. Concept Art World. N.p., 2015. Web. 22 Jan. 2016. <http://conceptartworld.com/?p=39062>.

Study of stick figure fighting poses for potential use in 25-panel comic:

Posted in WRD 308

WRD 308: Post 4

Concept: abstracting features away from reality works in comics to assist the reader in identifying with the characters, while too much abstraction can have the opposite effect.

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Posted in WRD 422

WRD 422: Post 5

Criticisms of the restaurant Jalapeños:

Jalapeños feels Americanized in its food and style. Although the vibrant colors and memorabilia-covered walls are a far cry from most American restaurants, the lighting, layout, and general atmosphere were composed comparably to many of the major chains with which I am familiar. Similarly, though the vast majority of menu items were in Spanish, there were several items that I feel could have appeared on any steakhouse menu, sans guacamole. There were none of the more traditional Mexican foods we have discussed in class, such as birria or menudo; steak, chicken, and shrimp reigned supreme.

Compliments:

The food I received was delicious. It was excellently cooked and seasoned, and it was brought to the table steaming hot. The portion sizes were more than satisfactory (save that I would have appreciated some more guacamole), and the presentation was pleasing to the eye, incorporating a variety of colors into a meal that was, at its core, comprised of approximately five ingredients. Each individual portion of the meal was apportioned so that it was up to me to allocate what I wanted and how much into my tortillas, much like a fajita. The service was fast and the server was friendly. Overall, it was a pleasant experience.

Posted in WRD 422

WRD 422: Post 4

Location Study: Jalapeños, restaurant, Lexington, KY.

The building is a plain brick structure located within a commercial center, though the wall beneath the entrance’s awning is vibrantly painted. It is demarcated by a telltale neon sign with an offset, sombrero-sporting jalapeño caricature.

The inside is dimly lit by overhead lights, similar to a steakhouse. The seating is separated into booths and tables, all of which are painted in bright hues. The seat of each chair and booth lacks cushioning. The chairs are intricately carved and feature small painted adornments, most of which are floral. The walls are lined with numerous and sundry ornaments.

The food I consume is Huasteca: skirt steak, cheese, beans, and guacamole, served with flour or corn tortillas. I go with flour this time. Everything on the plate is comfortably warm, the plate itself hot to the touch when it is brought to the table. The steak is predicably tough, as all skirt steak it, yet it is flavorful. The cheese requires two hands to separate, as it is thick and stringy. The beans are served in a bowl that could be mistaken for containing soup; thus, even my last bites of the beans are not dry. I quickly run out of guacamole, as I am a fan of avocado and pile it too high on my first tortilla. I come away from the meal with a box of leftovers. I ate approximately three-quarters of the meal before I became full.

Posted in WRD 422

WRD 422: Post 2

I would like to visit Coba Cocina and El Rancho Tapatio.

I imagine the former will not be possible in my lifetime, for several reasons: (1) it has a fancy website, complete with high-definition images of steaks that undergo 3D transitions; (2) I saw it from the road once and it looked like the modern architecture fairy blessed an aquarium; (3) I hear it actually has an aquarium inside; (4) I couldn’t figure out whether the numbers on their menu were prices or fanciness levels. In my experience, 1+2+3+4 = they could probably charge me twenty dollars for atmosphere and I would feel obligated to pay it. Of course, this is no reflection on the food, because it may very well be worth it; I just hope I get to try it someday to test the theory. (Side note: if you buy, I’ll eat.)

I would like to try out El Rancho Tapatio because their website boasts authentic Guadalajaran cuisine, and noting a specific region of Mexico lends more credibility to their claim than merely stating the word “authentic,” as many restaurants do (nothing against those retaurants if they actually do serve authentic food, of course). This WRD class has so far interested me in menudo and tortas, both of which appear on their menu, and neither of which I have found on the other websites I have explored tonight. I also approve of their marketing, as they list available coupons on their website, which is always appreciated by a college student.

Posted in WRD 308

WRD 308: Post 1

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Have you ever considered what a watery grave would look like just fifteen feet from the shoreline? How the light would dance on what dwelt below, soft currents brushing loose strands from their proper places? It wouldn’t be long before the gentle tides of the lake lifted the pale corpse to the sandy beach, the gases within helping the form to float and bob along without will.

In an event devoid of all such poetry, an innocent boy could have become such a form. He was young, and he disliked the life jacket his parents had so earnestly enforced. He wished to swim as his sister did, but he lacked the proper control to keep himself afloat while propelling himself forward on his own power. Thus, when it came to be that the boy convinced his parents to let him stay in the shallow, cordoned-off area of the water on a floating raft, he was trusted not to clamber out of it. Then his mother saw his head dip below the water.

The boy no longer remembers anything of what occurred while he was beneath the waves, though there are images in his memory of what might have been a dream of the experience. He looks up, into the green water above his head, spying a couple of bubbles as they drift upward, as if sucked into a great, vibrant void. He sees the sunlight refracted through the water, filtered from harsh beams of summer into the soft, almost caressing particles of a warm day. Time stretches out into infinity, slowing the darkening progression of the blessed light into into the sickening hues of an olive mire. He feels disorienting pulls from currents he doesn’t know how to battle against, tendrils of some watery eldritch abomination—at once urging him toward the sandy shore, toward safety, and then out further into the lake—in a bitter tug-of-war comprised only of gentle inclinations. Yet each pull shares one characteristic with its brethren: downward. I’ll die, he thinks, though this is the limit of his power. Without control over his breathing, alone and afraid, the young boy’s urge is to gasp. And that, he now imagines, is what he attempted.

Luckily, the boy was quickly retrieved and suffered nothing save a mild scare, having not been under long enough to even reflexively breathe in the water. The water was shallow enough that his mother needed only to wade in knee-deep to pick him up and cradle him, making sure there was no water in his lungs. She carried him to the sandy shore, letting the sunlight warm him from the shock, and she sat with him in that way mothers do when their child cannot articulate their need for comfort. All in all, it was a thankfully uneventful moment, thanks to her watchful eyes.

Posted in WRD 422

WRD 422: Post 1

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It smells clean—not in the manner of an antiseptic or toothpaste, but as something crisp and fresh. That’s the avocado. The green paste brings vibrance to the bread, which shuns all color, with even the crust cut off. A simplicity in the even triangularity of the shape belies the bread’s previous form. There is no spice to the chicken, bound together by mayonnaise so that the contents entire form a conglomerate. The texture, overall, is similar to a chicken salad sandwich—homey, comforting. It’s the kind of meal you would associate with a lazy Saturday afternoon.

In my case, eating the ave palta was a reprieve after the frantic worry of the previous night, as I struggled to prepare the dish for Spanish Club the following day. The avocados I’d purchased from the grocery store were somewhat less than ripe, and had the glorious effect on my blender of stopping the blades in their tracks (this after having both removed the pit and chopped the fruit into multiple pieces, albeit large ones, which I’d hoped the blender would rectify). I’d chosen to bring the dish due to its apparent simplicity, which I denounced as lies and propaganda as the night went on. However, once the deed was done and the sandwiches composed, I found the end result to be quite delicious—a sentiment shared, luckily, by the rest of the club.