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| - If you've ever wanted to die by food-induced coronary, I've found you Fat Heads. Over the course of our al fresco evening here, ten of us sampled the following fat-saturated delights:
~ Cornmeal crusted, deep fried Buffalo-Style Shrimp.
~ Deep-fried cheese 'n' potato Pierogies with a side of sour cream.
~ A giant plate of Garlic Fries dusted with Parmesan and parsley.
~ The Artery Clogger Headwich: two fried eggs, bacon, ham, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion and mayo between one big-ass bun.
~ Two of "Maxim" magazine's #5 sandwich in all the land, The Southside Slopes Headwich. This bad boy has a split kielbasa, fried pierogies, American cheese, grilled onions and horseradish sauce on one of those head-sized buns.
~ A Tuna Steak Sandwich with char-grilled yellowfin, lettuce, tomato, onion and garlic-Parm mayo.
~ The Best BLT served on rye and topped with -- what else? -- American cheese and mayo.
~ Cajun Tuna Taco Press, Cajun-spiced yellowfin, black olives, cilantro tomatoes, cucumber, lettuce, red onion and taco sour cream sauce panini-pressed in a flour tortilla.
All burgers, the Fried Fish Sammie, and the Tuna Steak Sammie come with hand-cut fries; everything else comes with hand-cut homemade potato chips. The menu literally dictates absolutely no substitutions since it's a "complete hassle" for the kitchen to switch. Really? It's all deep-fried potato.
So how were the heart-attacks on a plate? Stick with what Fat Head's known for, those Headwiches and burgers, because they were the runaway stand-outs (and you could literally feel your arteries hardening with each sloppy, greasy bite), enjoyed tremendously by those what ordered them. Everything else was just OK; my Cajun Tuna Taco Press, and FIL's Tuna Steak Sandwich -- both requested rare -- came out regrettably cooked within an inch of their beautiful lives.
For me, the greater pleasure here were the beers. Fat Head's menu of standard draughts is rather uninspired and unadventurous -- Yuengling, Bell's Oberon, Guinness, Sierra Nevada, Newcastle, Smithwick's -- but their own creations are where it's at. We sampled their Alpenglow Weizenbock, a banana-y, bubble-gum-y dark unfiltered wheat brew with toasted malt overtones. I loved their Mexicali Smoke, too, a chipotle-spiced rauchbier. Husband was exceptionally disappointed that they'd run out of their award-winning Head Hunter IPA, however, since he's in love with that bitter style.
Carson Street reminded me of Adams-Morgan-meets-Georgetown in the worst possible way on our post-eleven-pm-Saturday-night visit with gaggles of bachelorette parties shrieking at the tops of their lungs and hosts of popped-collar fratties clogging the streets. Fat Heads, too, was wall-to-wall with drunken, raucous and phenomenally loud groups of young'uns. I'm too old for all those shenanigans anymore; if I return to Fat Heads, it'll be for the Portly Fellow Headwich I *should* have ordered, and it'll be at the early-bird hour.
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