Off the Grid

Why does this place exist? I am, of course, talking about the fast food chain, Pockets, with its clever marketing tagline, “Fresh Food Fast.” I’m overwhelmed by the creativity. I understand that in addition to drive-thrus (you can thank Wendy’s for that invention), Darwinism essentially spawned the notion of “pocket food” to support our on-the-go lifestyles. But at least in the ’80s and ’90s they were doing it with some finesse. Case in point: Hot Pockets, the original pocket food. Remember this clip from a time way too long ago? Maybe you even lived it out as part of your after school fantasy. I know I sure did.

I’m offended that in the naming process of the different Hot Pocket species, the talent glaringly left off BBQ Beef–the original, indigenous Hot Pocket, whose shelf life was masterful. Of course, it was frozen. But I never witnessed a case of freezer burn on it once, no matter how long it lurked in the freezer (which, if I knew about it, probably wasn’t for very long). In fact, the other day I bought a box of them and hoarded them in my freezer until I finally got the gutso to heat one up in its little crisper sleeve and sample it, bite by bite, hoping to relive my childhood in slow-mo. The sad part was, it tasted pretty frickin’ good–so good, in fact, that I found myself trying to practice some degree of restraint with the Hot Pocket, taking small bites at a time and then sealing it up in a Ziploc bag to save for later. That little pocket lasted me a good four days, because who wants to get overwhelmed by their childhood memories all in one rush (or develop disgusting Hot Pocket Thighs in the process)? Not me.

Splat.

Pockets as a restaurant concept is far fouler and less endearing. While I tend bar at a spot kitty corner from the joint, I have purposely never ventured inside. Today, I did on a whim because I was tired of everybody spinning tales of the grossness. The calzones, they say, are abominable– cheezy, gooey masses that shock the system like caloric bombs. I decide to start with the basics and order up the Original Pocket–awesome shredded iceberg lettuce, green peppers, shredded carrots, mushrooms and mozzarella. The entire thing is tossed into a brown, prison-esque lunch box and piled between two pieces of dry, wheat bread that still manage to defy science. One bite, and the texture is bouncing around your mouth like rubber. The lettuce is slightly browning, the carrots more muted than bright, and the sad packet of fat-free Italian dressing they give me looks as if it comes straight from the failed salad campaign launched by Burger King in the ’80s.

Dressing, circa 1986.

I can only imagine what the more complicated Pockets taste like. Some of the names can be easily converted into “Pocket Porn,” so to speak–The Asian Pocket, Bam Bam’s Pocket, The Greek Pocket (gold medallion chain sold separately) and of course the awesomely appetizing Tuna Pocket. The restaurant’s few saving graces include some canvas oil paintings of Pocket meals–a pretty ballsy move, if you ask me, for such stale, sickly food. To elevate wilted vegetables into a quasi art project is commendable. So props.

Straight from the Louvre

Additionally, I notice several bottles of Cholula strategically (thankfully) placed near some of the garbage bins, which work wonders in masking the taste. Good thing I spent a lot of time going there during my brief stay. A couple of bites and the garbage had my Pocket’s name on it.

A brilliant disguise.

Integrity at its finest.

So much for the Pockets Pledge, I guess. If the world must revolve around where-we-need-to-be-next and food is the ultimate adaptation, I’ll take a frozen Hot Pocket any day of the week. Bring on the beef (one small bite at a time, of course).

Thank God.