Guy Fieri knows flavor, after all, he is eternally in possession of his one-way-ticket to Flavortown.
But does he always love the food he crams into his cakehole?
I’m here to say no! Void that ticket to Flavortown, unless you want a detour into Shitsville. Guy has exactly five different reactions to the two-stop-bus-ride-to-spicetastical-settlement going on when he takes a bite out of the concoction displayed for his extremifiable enjoyment.
You see, if Guy goes in head first to the double-meltacular- triple-sausage-red-eye-flight-to- herbalicious- hamlet, he’ll turn to the camera and make a face that is devoid of all emotion. This face means, “Fuck, why didn’t I think of this?! But even more important, how do I steal this for my flavortastic brasserie Johnnie “No Thumbs” Garlic?”
Whereas, if Guy pulls back from his first bite, eyebrows as high as fuck, nodding slowly and able to form coherent sentences such as “This is good”, or “I like <insert one of fifty condiments> slathered-on-this-crustifiable-meatacular-wasabi-horse-drawn-carriage-to-quadruple-bypass-parish”, this pontificating reaction means, “Where is my chuff bucket, I’m going to hurl.”
However, if Guy goes in for a bite, chews thoughtfully, then goes in for another bite, he is amiable to this dish. He doesn’t hate it, but he doesn’t love it, it’s just so-so. He’ll probably suggest adding Sriracha or mole or deep-fried mayonnaise so that he could have battled with Steven Seagal in this round-house-kick-to-the-gullet-bullet-train-to-zestylicious-megalopolis.
But hold on, if Guy first stands back in awe of this triple-by-pass creation, spinning the plate like a dreidel on the first day of Hanukkah, this reaction is pure, unadulterated awe. He is enthralled at the chef’s ability to create such a flavortastical-delicacy-enveloped-in-velveeta-smothered- in-gravy and stuffed- with- habanero-spiced-kimpchi-slaw- with-a-chicharrón-crustalicious-pony-express-overnight-delivery-to-mouth-watering-parcel-#102648.
Last but not least, if Guy removes anything, and I mean anything from the dishtastic delight, all reactions after he swallows is a lie. How could he tell you the truth about his disdain for the coddled egg in the middle of the pizza that almost took him on a tater-tot–truffle-soaked-uber-ride-to-the-capital-of-coconut-chutneyville?
And there you have it, five reactions to watch for the next time Guy embarks on his next journey aboard a spaceship-ride-across-the-tequila-lime-noodlerific-szechuan-stratosphere!