Buff me @ Jimmy Buff's! NJ, March 2011

Herro errybody! I see that the traffic is is low to my blog and everyone is too shy to post a comment. In order to maintain interest I am crawling out from under my burger bun to give you another gastro-perience.

If I had to make a sweeping generalisation, New Jersey is a bit of a hole. If King George III were to wrestle power to bring America back to the bosom of the English, I think he would carefully sidestep The Garden State. However, tucked away somewhere in West Orange, lies 'The Originators of Italian Style', Jimmy Buff's. That's right, Giorgio Armani. Who are you?

Jimmy Buff's serves hot dogs. Pardon me - Newark hot dogs. Pulling into the carpark, I could not help but noticing the eating house/shelter/thing. The restaurant, if I can call it one, is a portacabin that has probably seen more renovation and reconstruction than Ronaldo's knee. When walking inside, it really does feel like as if George Orwell has bundled you in the back of his time machine and dumped you into the swinging 50s. The posters and certificates must have absorbed more photons of sunlight than a melanoma, and the furniture must be made of the most nonbiodegradable material known to man; i.e. 1950s plastic.

What was particularly ironic was that the staff of this originator of Italian style were 100 % non Italian nor originators of Italian style- they were Peruvian. Mi dispiace. Anyway, I ordered the flagship meal - the Newark Double. This beast consisted of the most delicate of bread buns raped by a greasy hot dog thing, another greasy sausage thing, fried potato slices, a dollop of ketchup and a dollop of mustard. Imagine offering Rodin's 'The Kiss' to anarchists as a peace offering after destroying London.... Watching the Peruvian originator of Italian style at work was like watching a pool cleaner do his stuff. He did a lot of fishing around for dark sausages in a pool of bubbling oil, then he fished for potato slices in another vat of oil. This vat actually looked like a swimming pool. It had a gradient floor so all the cooked vegetables bits could bask in the shallow end whilst the potato slices were treading oil in the deep end. Forget about invading Iraq for oil, I suggest Uncle Sam invade this place.

I'll tell you what. The friedness of the fried food was actually very acceptable on my palate. This stuff is perfect hangover food. After you have installed a secret webcam in a gay guy's dorm room in a drunken Bud Light stupor, head to this place to clear your heavy heads.

The Ho Down says: I am currently unBuffing myself of the Jimmy Buff's in order to try and get buff again. Enuff said.