Soy Dogs, get lost, not interested, they possess zero snap, never looking healthy, resembling flaccid impotence to me. I don’t care if you microwave Soy Dogs in a wet paper towel for 1 minute or throw them on the grill, the saved points on Weight Watchers aren’t worth the taste of boundless, zero thrills yuckiness throughout. Plus, soy dogs on the grill burn faster than Hitler’s desire to annihilate whenever his old school herpes sores pierced through his precious stash again. When the best thing you can say about a Soy Dog is, “I like the Ketchup on it, because if I ever needed a palate cleanser to erase the depressed, doughy, middle-aged malaise I’m trying to desperately avoid right now through forcing myself to eat this rubbery fake news conjuring hot dog, it’s now.”
But soy dogs aren’t reflective of the flavorful, absorption potential of soy either nor do soggy soy dog links compare to the scrumptious, splendidness of Morning Star’s soy nuggets, which got me into adopting more soy-based meals into my diet. I even put my sales hat on in Morning Star’s honor and sold the shit out their soy based frozen products on my own mock advertising portfolio for junior copywriter roles after my daughter was born, when my Stay-At-Home Comedian journey began, such as Morning Star Nuggets, “So Good You’ll Eat The Crumbs”, which I also billed as the “Best Piece You Never Had.” My favorite print ad in my portfolio was reserved for breaded Morning Star burgers: Fuss Free + Guilt Free +Mess Free=Zero Regrets. Soy Dogs were a long distance memory now, offering less titillating interest than Hello Kitty trying to lip-sync Surrender by Cheap Trick for Karaoke Critter Appreciation Night.
There’s a vegetarian restaurant by NYU called Bamboo, which does tantalizing, recreationist wonder with soy, especially in the form of fried chicken replication, somehow magically transforming soy into real deal Holyfield tasting fried chicken, compelling even Iron Mike back in the day to chew off more than a nibble, passing the bad boy soy boy test in my book, holla, thank you very much. Again, Guilt Free +Fuss free +Mess Free= Zero Regrets, especially, when A) You get to devour huge mounds of protein rich soy based fried chicken, without feeling like a lazy brain, fast food junkie whale B) Don’t have to concern yourself with breading anything or worry about the concentrated shots of estrogen in the soy based fried chicken, knowing your 9-year-old daughter has nothing to bare upstairs yet. Plus, if my daughter fills out like mommy, chances are she won’t become another busty beauty like Jennifer Tilly. And C) It’s impossible to regret ordering soy based fried chicken when it tastes like an airy light version of the real thing, especially knowing that a block of soy was never a living breathing, claustrophobic, nerve damaged chicken who died of a heart attack the time Pedro Martinez showed it a cockfighting fight on YouTube to see if Chicken Little was ready to fight up a weight class after he promised to pump her up with chicken liver schmaltz hormones with his signature breaking balls speed.
I got my 2 boys into soy dogs for a bit, before I introduced them to the highly superior Hebrew National Jumbo Dogs, draped with spicy brown mustard, whenever we ran out of ketchup again, because I plopped out every last drop to make soy dogs still eaten by daughter on occasion, edible tolerable, from start to finish. Last night, I decided to slay Tofu The Terrible again and make my best batch of Golden Child Tofu Pitas, made in a yummy, barbeque sauce, consisting of fried sweet red peppers and red onions, promoting my daughter to declare, “Daddy, I want the recipe for your Golden Child Tofu Pitas. Eddie Murphy lives, through a random, yet not direct quote from the Golden Child, which is “I, want the knife”. What Gen X Dads understand, holla, thank you very much.
First, you must dehydrate the soy wrapped in paper towels to soak up all the water weight lost from a hilly, 45-minute Peloton ride through a no-go zone in Germany, holla thank you very much. Then, you must cut semi substantial squares of dehydrated soy to fry up in vegetable oil later on a high flame, only to be a tad fussy about using thongs to flip over each golden child cube of glistening perfection over individually to ensure the golden-brown crackling crust or else the soy cubes resemble deflated, smooshed, pieces of torn of airplane pillows.
But make sure to caramelize the red peppers and red onions separate 1st, before mixing it with the too cool for school golden child cubes, which you must splash with soy sauce throughout to give it the much needed salty, funky kick throughout if you don’t want the bubbly soy pieces to taste like chewy, flavorless soy gum either.
Adopting soy into your diet won’t be life changing but you’ll be amazed at soybeans potential for recreationist splendor, where the thought of soggy soft day afternoons, fade faster than Daddy, next time his kids try to show him what lunch they’re making for Hello Kitty on their Amazon Fires Tablets next.
Never forget. Guilt Free +Fuss Free + Mess Free= Zero Regrets. My 7-year-old son caught a kid in his class cheating off his math quiz at school, but my son isn’t Chinese. So if my son takes after me at all, I’m not as mathematically challenged as I think.