Plissken's Shit Food Review: Panda Express

I fucking love Chinese food. I do. And if you don't, you're probably just a racist. You need to get past Pearl Harbor, dude. It was over a hundred years ago. And you still can't be sore that they kicked our ass in Vietnam. Fuck. Let it go. Enjoy their tasty cuisine and the rich tapestry of flavors that is Panda Express.

Being a fat guy, I already knew where one was located. Right through the Oregon State University book shop, past the mini-mart, take a right turn at that table full of hippie assholes jamming to Phish, a left past the vegan burrito place where the asshole phish-listening hippies work, straight down the hall that smells like asshole phish-listening hippie farts, past the crazy bible guy who opens the door for you while screaming "In the name of Christ!", and then left at the water fountain that squeals like Emmanuel Lewis in a trash compactor when you use it. And you're there. Simple, no?

The first thing to do when approaching a shitty Chinese joint is scope out the back room situation. But, do it carefully. The Chinese are a naturally wary people and emit a neurotoxic gas when startled. You're looking to see who's cooking this shit up. I've eaten a lot of crappy Kung Pao made by white guys with dreadlocks named Pooky, and I can tell you this is a situation where indeed the Chinaman is the issue, dude.

This particular day, I needed a lot of grease to soak up some of last night's adventures with The Kickin' Chicken, so I went with a two-item combo of the least healthiest things on the menu: Orange Chicken and Beijing Beef, with a side of chow mein noodles versus fried rice.
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I found the clear plastic take-away container to be ideal as in no way could it absorb any of the precious grease contained within.

Included with the meal (upon my request) were a couple packets of Kikkoman soy sauce. This is the good stuff, folks ... no hydrolyzed protein substitutes and caramel coloring here. Sort of like spinning rims on an '87 Ford Tempo, but what the hell.
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Fuck you, high blood pressure!

I first sampled the most popular dish served at Panda Express, my old favorite Orange Chicken.
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Wow. This stuff hasn't held up well over the years. What was once a past favorite of mine has devolved into an over-sweet under-spiced ball of grease, more batter than chicken. This is only made worse by the fact that it was scooped out of a bin that had seen more time under a heat lamp than George Hamilton. This is easily the most disappointed I've been since Haagen Dazs discontinued Sticky Toffee Pudding flavor.

Next comes the Beijing Beef, which bears a strong resemblance to Mongolian Beef with a kick.
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The website describes this dish as "crispy on the outside and tender on the inside". I guess it wouldn't sell if they told the truth and said the dish "captures the full texture and chewiness of a premium brand prophylactic". Once I got past the jaw-numbing chewiness, I found the flavor to be not too bad. Not too sweet and with just enough kick. Perhaps if this was fresh and contained a few more of the "crisp bell peppers and sliced onions" the description touts it wouldn't be bad. Perhaps.

Lastly, I ate the Chow Mein. Probably because it was the most healthy. I figure that way it'll just push the other stuff right on through, no harm no foul.
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Hrm. This stuff tasted off. Like smoke and burnt. It can't really be seen in the above, but the noodles themselves had a little char to them. Hmm. I'm not sure if this flavor is intentional or not, but I know it's not exactly pleasant. It distracts and dominates the flavor of the whole dish. I wouldn't have finished, but this damn combo meal was $5.60 and 75% noodle. On the positive side, it did lead to a series of farts that smelled like a campfire which, if nothing else, was an entertaining change of pace.

So that wraps up my adventures with the bottom rung of Chinese cuisine. I went into it with high hopes based on my past experiences with the chain and was shown truly how much they had gone downhill in a few years. Perhaps quality is location specific, I really don't know. I do know I probably won't go back to a place whose sole redeeming factor is the issuance of bad-ass black plastic forks that look stolen from the Death Star commissary.

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4/10 flushes

SnakePlissken guarantees this article 100% Ashton Kutcher free.

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