Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Ms. Cheezious Restaurant

There’s something very American about a restaurant owing its beginnings to a food truck. No, not because of the “can-do” attitude that comes with starting from the bottom, pulling yourself up from your bootstraps, and working your way up to success. No. It’s because a truck that literally drives food to your location just isn’t enough for us fat fucking Americans. We need 10,000 square feet of space to store all the grease we need to assassinate our pancreas.

I loved Ms. Cheezious the first time I had it, and now that they’ve set some roots and I don’t need go through my usual ritual of bribing someone at the NSA for their current location, I love it even more. I never really got into the food truck thing because of that. Nobody wants to hire Dog the Bounty Hunter just because they want a grilled cheese sandwich, you know? I mean, nobody wants to hire Dog the Bounty Hunter at all, really.

…I don’t need go through my usual ritual of bribing someone at the NSA for their current location…

Dana and I went the Sunday on its opening week. I expected to find hordes of people, and I anticipated maybe eating in the car, or if we were lucky, getting a standing room only spot near the restrooms. The place just opened, and they have a reputation for making the best grilled cheese out of a truck in Miami-Dade county, so that wasn’t some wild assumption I pulled out of my ass or anything. I mentally prepared. I drank my pre-workout drink just in case. I had my Swiss Army knife handy. I braced myself as I entered and holy shit it was empty. Two people there. Sunday at, like, 7 PM on its opening weekend and it was empty. I wondered if maybe people were driving around with a bloodhound and Daryl Dixon aimlessly looking for the food truck.

Inside, the place looked great. It had that “we found this shit on Etsy, that’s why this chair wobbles a bit” decor. You know what I’m talking about. Mason jars, reclaimed wood, muted pastel-colored chairs; the works. It’s the kind of stuff women pin on Pinterest. They have an outdoor area too, with some trees and very tastefully done. It almost makes you forget that someone was murdered a few blocks west. That’s Miami for you.

I’ve never been on Etsy, what’s the decor like?

You just said, “oh”, didn’t you? Photo credit: Sunflower F.

Before I get to how great the food was (and it was), I should mention that even though the place was as full as Kanye West is humble, it took over 30 minutes from when we placed our order for us to receive food. Again, I don’t know if they had to track the fucking truck down to get the food, but it was an absurd amount of time for us to wait. And we were hungry as hell. The second time we went with some other people, service was quick, so it was more than likely an isolated incident. Still, I felt the need to point that out for both posterity and the opportunity to make fun of Kanye.

The sandwiches are, of course, scrumptious. I scrumpted™ the hell out of my food. We shared a Southern Fried Chicken and Waffle Melt, which is self-explanatory, and a Mackin Melt, a sandwich that gained sentience and decided to eat a bowl of mac and cheese. I also had a side of fries, which tasted fresh and greasy. All in all, I ate enough carbs to make a morbidly obese man tell me he’s concerned for my health. I wanted the s’mores sandwich, but Dana threatened to leave me, and I figured it wasn’t worth it. I could always just come back another time without her knowing.

Even with the obscenely long wait, I left happy. Happy enough to return a couple of times, which for a place that hasn’t been open for more than two months, that’s not bad.

For them, I mean, it’s not bad for them. It’s terrible for my health.

So where the hell is it?
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