Rodizio is a Brazilian steakhouse much like Fogo de Chao, with the dual advantages of a non-downtown location and cheaper prices. At a mere $20 for a lunch of unlimited anything-you-can-imagine, you can't go wrong. Our table's green "bring me more food" indicator was in its full upright and locked position for a solid hour. (Green side up means more food, red side up tells the meat ninjas to ignore the table, and a sideways indicator means that you've surrendered like a weak Frenchman):
Despite a relatively sparse lunch crowd, the meat ninjas weren't giving our table the attention I felt it deserved early in the meal, but I took a slow and steady approach and didn't leave until I'd eaten so much that the owners will surely ban me for life or seriously reconsider their pricing strategy. The meat ninjas will be passing down the legend of "Bottomless John" for generations. The nickname was born not only out of my late-meal decision to remove my pants due to eating-induced waistline discomfort, but also out of my unquenchable appetite.
Comparing Rodizio to Fogo, one mildly disappointing difference was the notable absence of bacon from Rodizio's salad bar, but I'm willing to forgive the oversight because of the delicious yucca dish and the amazing sausage/black bean mixture. I haven't left a restaurant so delightfully uncomfortable in many, many years. I don't know if heaven exists, but if it does, I imagine it's a place where calories don't exist, stomach space is unlimited, and all food comes wrapped in bacon, including bacon itself.
Don't worry, every plate was licked clean before I was done.
After a painful ride home and an "eventful" trip to the bathroom, I spent a half hour on the floor, sleeping my way out of a protein-induced coma. But in short order I felt surprisingly well and immediately got to work, drawing up blueprints and whittling my own special food indicator that will be dipped entirely in green paint and will be spherical in shape, making it impossible to lay on its side--I'm no quitter.
As if the day hadn't already involved plenty of eating, Saturday evening marked the early celebration of my grandma's 80th birthday. The menu consisted of homemade vanilla ice cream with all kinds of sweet, sweet mix-ins:
Normally, I'm a model of discipline and self-control, but 80th birthdays are a rare occurrence and a major milestone. I figured it would be disrespectful and downright rude to not fully participate in the festivities, so I grudgingly took one for the team downed 3+ servings of ample proportions. But keep in mind, I did this strictly out of love and respect my grandmother--I received no personal satisfaction whatsoever from this delicious event.
Did I mention that Saturday was a calorie-intensive day? It's okay, it'll all even out as long as I don't eat anything until Thursday. Plus I burned through a fair amount of calories yesterday as I hiked and sweated out bacon and Oreo frosting. It was a great weekend, and more good news is on the horizon: I have a going-away lunch for one of my coworkers in less than a month at none other than Rodizio Grill! My only change in strategy will be to wear loose-fitting, highly-elastic sweat pants instead of jeans. And, or course, I'll be bringing my homemade food indicator.