Fish Tacos. A'ight, Kids. Gonna pause here to let the giggles die down.

There. I've stopped giggling.

Every time I hear Californians wax gastronomic about their beloved fish tacos, I grow more intrigued. So today for lunch, in hopes of drowning my sorrows over my favorite LA couple (Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel) breaking up (I know, right?), I had Pita Grill's take on the MexiCali sea wrap.

While I can't imagine the eight-store NYC chain's version in any way resembles authenticity, it was pretty damn tasty. Blackened tilapia with baby greens, pico de gallo, and "low-fat sour cream spread" on a wheat tortilla. I'd normally ask 'em to substitute some real, live full fat sour cream (mostly just 'cause I like saying 'full fat' to strangers) but every reference to sour cream on the menu includes the dreaded 'low fat' and 'spread' tags, so I didn't bother.

The filling-to-tortilla ratio left a lot to be desired, but the ample flavor of the fish made up for the meagerness of the dollop. The pico de gallo was a wimpy (as was warned), and the tortilla was not at all oily. Sad face. But still, flavorful and satisfying. And I needn't have been concerned about the Barbie Doll sour cream, as the schmear was undetectable to the human eye.

Came with a side of grilled Mexican corn on the cob "rubbed with canola mayonnaise, sprinkled with Ancho chili pepper and queso anejo." Fish tacos and a cob being rubbed, all on one plate? The schoolyard joke potential here is off the charts. Regardless, the corn made me cut loose o' some sexytime noises. Just now caught myself making them again, thinking about it.

When I saw the banana cake I'd ordered, I assumed they'd brought me the wrong thing. Where's the yellow? This is America, goddammit. Banana flavored things should be died bright yellow to identify them as banana flavored things. Right? But the dark, moist, nutty-raisiny bar topped high with what felt like butter cream frosting was indeed banana from tip to tail, and despite the non-nuclear hues, I again made with the porn grunties.

I'll continue my search for a real fish taco, but in the meantime, this'n's good enough to recommend. Especially if you don't know what a real one tastes like.

Subway does it again.

And again, it sucks. The new Texas Style Smoked Beef Brisket sandwich smells like a chemical manufacturing plant, and tastes like parking lot. Okay, the nice, executive section of the parking lot. In the shade up near the building. I happen to know it ain't difficult to accurately duplicate the taste of smoke, but I guess Subway felt the regular artificial stuff wasn't artificial enough. And this mofo was dry. The leftover half I had the next day (if you're laughing at the fact I'd eat leftover parking lot, you don't know me very well), was so dry I had to schmear some crab dip on it. The horseradish fairly well rocked it. But still.

I maintain the best that Subway slings is the Italian BMT with (and talk slowly when asking for this part) provolone, onion, tomato, black olives, and LOTS OF EXTRA vinegar and oil, on herb and cheese bread. They won't actually put extra on it, but somehow just asking for extra makes it taste better. And there's something about their v&o that makes me walk past half a dozen real, living and mouth-breathing Italian hero shops (the ones in my 'hood, anyway) to eat Chubway's. Plus, last time they accidentally put an actual, red-to-the-core, low-wood tomato on mine. Bonus!

And no sub missive would be complete without also noting their meatball marinara 'wich is surprisingly serviceable, too. Again, graded on the Upper East Side Italian Joint curve.

But this new smoked brisket? Unless you're Hellboy with a taste for home, skip it.