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Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tartatin!
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A pre-Thanksgiving sidecar
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Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Sloppy Joe Pizza, Sloppy Joe's, Key West
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Friday, November 19, 2010
Park Central Cafe, South Beach, Miami
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Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The World Series of Gastronomy, Pt. II
New York, ALCS (New York Yankees vs. Texas Rangers)
I hate predictions. I hate making them. I hate reading them. The Buddha says there's no room for hate in our lives. Hate conflicts with our sangha, and I agree, which means I have to find some peace in a predictions heavy world.
I don't know who's going to win tomorrow's game. Predictions are part of the job, fodder for the hype machine, so fans can get lathered up in defense of their team or comforted by the warmth of the majority ("We're favored!").
The real problem with it all is that people take predictions so seriously. My postseason predictions went something like this:
AMERICAN LEAGUE
Tampa Bay Rays over Texas Rangers
Minnesota Twins over New York Yankees
Tampa Bay Rays over Minnesota Twins
NATIONAL LEAGUE
Philadelphia Phillies over Cincinnati Reds
San Francisco Giants over Atlanta Braves
Philadelphia Phillies over San Francisco Giants
WORLD SERIES
Philadelphia Phillies over Tampa Bay Rays
As we all know, it was difficult to be more wrong. But, do I really need emails telling me I "ate crow" and that I'm "a douchebag?" Didn't know who was going to win. Didn't care. Dig deep into that musty cliche bag: That's why they play the game, pal...
It reminded me of the great anecdote of 1961 when Roger Maris was melting under the pressure of surpassing Babe Ruth's now-quaint single-season record of 60 home runs in a single season and one person too many asked, "hey Rog, do you think you can break the record?" and Maris replied, "How the fuck should I know?"
Food brings us together. So do the playoffs. In that spirit, I care about three things:
Fast games
Compelling games
Good cities in which to dine.
Therefore, let's reexamine those predictions, shall we?
Minnesota Twins over New York Yankees: Minneapolis is an underrated town, especially in the summertime, but outside of Manny's steakhouse (http://www.mannyssteakhouse.com/) formerly in the Hyatt Regency and now in the W Hotel on 9th/Marquette I don't know what I was thinking on that one.
Tampa Bay Rays over Texas Rangers: This prediction was made entirely for selfish, gastronomic reasons, the first being a desire to revisit the legendary Bern's (http://www.bernssteakhouse.com/) and to score a tennis lesson in Tampa to establish even a mediocre two-handed backhand. Secondarily, Tampa is more than Bern's, it has wonderful secondary choices from Donatello's (http://www.donatellotampa.com/) - the old-school Italian that started my palate craving for carpaccio to Roy's, the signature exception to the no-chain rule...
Philadelphia over Cincinnati: Picking the Phillies to beat the Reds was solid along baseball lines, and does not require verbosity. Philadelphia was the better obvious choice, but is also an underrated food town, especially for those of us who remember when Walnut Street was anchored by Rib-It and McDonald's. Philadelphia also does an excellent job of adopting the Japanese izakaya tradition of bars that serve above-average food. In this vein, the Standard Tap in Northern Liberties (http://www.yelp.com/biz/standard-tap-philadelphia) leads the way.
There were writers who were pulling for Atlanta to beat San Francisco. This, of course, was nonsense and provided the ultimate proof that years of regular-season hot dogs and October box lunches has stomped the sportswriter taste buds into sawdust. There is no better town in America for food than San Francisco. Any variation on this theme is merely cosmetic, individual matters of taste that cannot be quantified - the difference between choosing Mays or Mantle over the other in their respective primes...
Leonard Koppett was a legendary sports writer for four decades. He is credited with Koppett's Law, which is loosely stated as, "Whatever creates the greatest inconvenience to the largest number of people must happen."
That law, massaged to the sports writers, has read, "Whatever screws the beat writer is what will happen." So, we didn't get Tampa or Philadelphia, but we got San Franscisco and four nights in New York, but had to make Texas work. If you care about food, the writers actually won this time...Who could have predicted that?
I hate predictions. I hate making them. I hate reading them. The Buddha says there's no room for hate in our lives. Hate conflicts with our sangha, and I agree, which means I have to find some peace in a predictions heavy world.
 |
| Remove hate from your life: don't make predictions. |
I don't know who's going to win tomorrow's game. Predictions are part of the job, fodder for the hype machine, so fans can get lathered up in defense of their team or comforted by the warmth of the majority ("We're favored!").
The real problem with it all is that people take predictions so seriously. My postseason predictions went something like this:
AMERICAN LEAGUE
Tampa Bay Rays over Texas Rangers
Minnesota Twins over New York Yankees
Tampa Bay Rays over Minnesota Twins
NATIONAL LEAGUE
Philadelphia Phillies over Cincinnati Reds
San Francisco Giants over Atlanta Braves
Philadelphia Phillies over San Francisco Giants
WORLD SERIES
Philadelphia Phillies over Tampa Bay Rays
As we all know, it was difficult to be more wrong. But, do I really need emails telling me I "ate crow" and that I'm "a douchebag?" Didn't know who was going to win. Didn't care. Dig deep into that musty cliche bag: That's why they play the game, pal...
 |
| Your World Series city |
 |
| When a wrong prediction goes oh, so right... |
It reminded me of the great anecdote of 1961 when Roger Maris was melting under the pressure of surpassing Babe Ruth's now-quaint single-season record of 60 home runs in a single season and one person too many asked, "hey Rog, do you think you can break the record?" and Maris replied, "How the fuck should I know?"
Food brings us together. So do the playoffs. In that spirit, I care about three things:
Fast games
Compelling games
Good cities in which to dine.
Therefore, let's reexamine those predictions, shall we?
Minnesota Twins over New York Yankees: Minneapolis is an underrated town, especially in the summertime, but outside of Manny's steakhouse (http://www.mannyssteakhouse.com/) formerly in the Hyatt Regency and now in the W Hotel on 9th/Marquette I don't know what I was thinking on that one.
Tampa Bay Rays over Texas Rangers: This prediction was made entirely for selfish, gastronomic reasons, the first being a desire to revisit the legendary Bern's (http://www.bernssteakhouse.com/) and to score a tennis lesson in Tampa to establish even a mediocre two-handed backhand. Secondarily, Tampa is more than Bern's, it has wonderful secondary choices from Donatello's (http://www.donatellotampa.com/) - the old-school Italian that started my palate craving for carpaccio to Roy's, the signature exception to the no-chain rule...
Philadelphia over Cincinnati: Picking the Phillies to beat the Reds was solid along baseball lines, and does not require verbosity. Philadelphia was the better obvious choice, but is also an underrated food town, especially for those of us who remember when Walnut Street was anchored by Rib-It and McDonald's. Philadelphia also does an excellent job of adopting the Japanese izakaya tradition of bars that serve above-average food. In this vein, the Standard Tap in Northern Liberties (http://www.yelp.com/biz/standard-tap-philadelphia) leads the way.
There were writers who were pulling for Atlanta to beat San Francisco. This, of course, was nonsense and provided the ultimate proof that years of regular-season hot dogs and October box lunches has stomped the sportswriter taste buds into sawdust. There is no better town in America for food than San Francisco. Any variation on this theme is merely cosmetic, individual matters of taste that cannot be quantified - the difference between choosing Mays or Mantle over the other in their respective primes...
 |
| Boulevard. |
 |
| The classic Berkshire rib chop from Boulevard |
 |
| Beef carpaccio from Pizza Nostra, San Francisco (Potrero Hill) |
That law, massaged to the sports writers, has read, "Whatever screws the beat writer is what will happen." So, we didn't get Tampa or Philadelphia, but we got San Franscisco and four nights in New York, but had to make Texas work. If you care about food, the writers actually won this time...Who could have predicted that?
The World Series of Gastronomy, Part I
New York, October 17 -
Back in the San Francisco days, I dated a woman named Emily. It was one of those aromatic May-December things - she was 21, I was 26, and the enormous gulf of our years tore us apart. It was awful.
We had two things in common, though, and both sustained us through viewing the world from almost completely different lenses. The first was jazz. We loved the music but differed heavily on artists. She as a Wynton Marsalis/Jazz Messengers kind of person. I was a John Coltrane man.
That bears repeating: I was a Coltrane man.
Coltrane now.
Coltrane tomorrow.
Coltrane forever.
We came together where it counted _ at the intersections of Wayne Shorter and Stan Getz _ as well as with Trane overlaps. Lee Morgan _before he was shot to death in between sets by his common-law wife (ironically at an East Village club named Slugs) was a Jazz Messenger but played as a 19-year old on Coltrane's seminal Blue Train) and it was Emily who introduced me to Antonio Carlos Jobim and Joao Gilberto. I may have, yes, called her a "Southern California brat" to her face, but you have to give her credit for that...
But where Emily made the most important imprint on my life was with a single sentence. Oakland, California, it was, Piedmont Ave...
"Food," she said. "Food brings people together."
The first year I began covering baseball was 1998, the Oakland Athletics for the San Jose Mercury News. Obesity statistics in America have clearly reached pandemic proportions and sportswriters around the country have certainly done their part. That year, not only did I track how many baseball games I covered for the Mercury that year (112 of 162) but I also counted how many hot dogs I ate across the American League (144, I believe. I will consult my 1998 scorebook).
144 hot dogs in 112 games.
America has grown, both in education and waist size since those innocent days. And NO, I do not regret asking the sales clerk at the Macy's Westshore in Tampa a month earlier "What is happening to this country?" when it was easier to find size 38x30 jeans instead of my size (33x32).
The citizens of the great city of New York - without being asked their permission - paid out $1.3 billion in taxpayer money for new Yankee Stadium and one of the touches of the new yard is a calorie chart next to each item along the stadium concourses and food court. When the Yankees and Texas Rangers met for Game 3 of the American League Championship Series I had resolved that this would be the season I would avoid the nightmarish box lunches that are the annual fare for the press during the postseason: Roast beef suffocated by plastic, a withered pear, some Lay's potato chips and maybe a brownie.
Hadn't I graduated from this? Didn't I have a more inspired culinary destiny for myself?
It was time to eat healthier, time to stake my claim as an evolved gastronomist.
It was time to renounce, McGwire-like, the year 1998, when I ate 144 hot dogs. (in 112 games).
It was time to order the Nathan's cheese fries at 1341 calories...
In other words, with one basket of cheese fries, I was eating the equivalent of 4 1/2 Nathan's hot dogs (Kobayashi would be proud!)
At that moment I decided it was time to rethink the Golden Arches...Maybe they were good for the world.
After all, one Quarter Pounder with Cheese (510 calories) + a Big Mac (540 calories) + 6-piece Chicken McNugget (280 calories) = 1330 calories combined.
(source: http://nutrition.mcdonalds.com/nutritionexchange/nutritionfacts.pdf)
"You rely on us to deliver quality food, and we take that responsibility seriously. From our team of registered dietitians to our trusted suppliers, we’re dedicated to making you feel good about choosing McDonald's foods and beverages." -- From the McDonald's company web site.
Back in the San Francisco days, I dated a woman named Emily. It was one of those aromatic May-December things - she was 21, I was 26, and the enormous gulf of our years tore us apart. It was awful.
We had two things in common, though, and both sustained us through viewing the world from almost completely different lenses. The first was jazz. We loved the music but differed heavily on artists. She as a Wynton Marsalis/Jazz Messengers kind of person. I was a John Coltrane man.
That bears repeating: I was a Coltrane man.
Coltrane tomorrow.
Coltrane forever.
We came together where it counted _ at the intersections of Wayne Shorter and Stan Getz _ as well as with Trane overlaps. Lee Morgan _before he was shot to death in between sets by his common-law wife (ironically at an East Village club named Slugs) was a Jazz Messenger but played as a 19-year old on Coltrane's seminal Blue Train) and it was Emily who introduced me to Antonio Carlos Jobim and Joao Gilberto. I may have, yes, called her a "Southern California brat" to her face, but you have to give her credit for that...
But where Emily made the most important imprint on my life was with a single sentence. Oakland, California, it was, Piedmont Ave...
"Food," she said. "Food brings people together."
The first year I began covering baseball was 1998, the Oakland Athletics for the San Jose Mercury News. Obesity statistics in America have clearly reached pandemic proportions and sportswriters around the country have certainly done their part. That year, not only did I track how many baseball games I covered for the Mercury that year (112 of 162) but I also counted how many hot dogs I ate across the American League (144, I believe. I will consult my 1998 scorebook).
144 hot dogs in 112 games.
America has grown, both in education and waist size since those innocent days. And NO, I do not regret asking the sales clerk at the Macy's Westshore in Tampa a month earlier "What is happening to this country?" when it was easier to find size 38x30 jeans instead of my size (33x32).
The citizens of the great city of New York - without being asked their permission - paid out $1.3 billion in taxpayer money for new Yankee Stadium and one of the touches of the new yard is a calorie chart next to each item along the stadium concourses and food court. When the Yankees and Texas Rangers met for Game 3 of the American League Championship Series I had resolved that this would be the season I would avoid the nightmarish box lunches that are the annual fare for the press during the postseason: Roast beef suffocated by plastic, a withered pear, some Lay's potato chips and maybe a brownie.
Hadn't I graduated from this? Didn't I have a more inspired culinary destiny for myself?
It was time to eat healthier, time to stake my claim as an evolved gastronomist.
It was time to renounce, McGwire-like, the year 1998, when I ate 144 hot dogs. (in 112 games).
It was time to order the Nathan's cheese fries at 1341 calories...
At that moment I decided it was time to rethink the Golden Arches...Maybe they were good for the world.
After all, one Quarter Pounder with Cheese (510 calories) + a Big Mac (540 calories) + 6-piece Chicken McNugget (280 calories) = 1330 calories combined.
(source: http://nutrition.mcdonalds.com/nutritionexchange/nutritionfacts.pdf)
"You rely on us to deliver quality food, and we take that responsibility seriously. From our team of registered dietitians to our trusted suppliers, we’re dedicated to making you feel good about choosing McDonald's foods and beverages." -- From the McDonald's company web site.
Monday, November 8, 2010
What do you do in the shower?
Here's what I do: I waste the valuable resource of water by showering too long, but what I've lost in green points over the years I've recouped through inspiration.
Today, clearly channeling having watched High Fidelity for the thousandth time the other night, I thought about my two holy grail choices for 2011...
1) The French Laundry, Napa Valley, California (http://www.frenchlaundry.com/)
2) O Ya Boston (http://www.oyarestaurantboston.com/)
Dreams or goals? You be the judge...
Meantime, as the year winds down, two places really stood out: Tojo's Vancouver (http://www.tojos.com/) and Boa Los Angeles (http://boasteak.com/)
Today, clearly channeling having watched High Fidelity for the thousandth time the other night, I thought about my two holy grail choices for 2011...
1) The French Laundry, Napa Valley, California (http://www.frenchlaundry.com/)
2) O Ya Boston (http://www.oyarestaurantboston.com/)
Dreams or goals? You be the judge...
Meantime, as the year winds down, two places really stood out: Tojo's Vancouver (http://www.tojos.com/) and Boa Los Angeles (http://boasteak.com/)
It's been awhile...
NOVEMBER 8, 2010, and much has changed since snapping off a quick photo of a little sushi from my beloved Samurai (827 Boylston Street, Boston) and beginning a transcontinental gastronomic adventure periodically interrupted by the Texas Rangers zooming past the Yankees only to fall flat against the surprising championship charge of the San Francisco Giants.
We have a new World Series champion. We have food. We have toys. We have questions that need answers. We have much to discuss.
But before we begin, a quick note about Samurai: Old-school Bostonian will remember the space as the back-bay staple Gyuhama, down the street from the Boston Public Library. Gyhuma has been gone since summer 2006 and while people like to lament closings and the passage of time, I do not mourn its lost. I'm glad it's gone.
Samurai sushi is better. The atmosphere is better. The drinks are better. The fish is fresher, the rolls more creative and tastier. The flavor of the unagi was not left in the microwave. And Samurai retained Gyuhama's one virtue - it serves until 1 a.m. Tuesday and Wednesday, 2 a.m. Thursday through Saturday.
You see, late-night dining is very important around these parts...
We have a new World Series champion. We have food. We have toys. We have questions that need answers. We have much to discuss.
But before we begin, a quick note about Samurai: Old-school Bostonian will remember the space as the back-bay staple Gyuhama, down the street from the Boston Public Library. Gyhuma has been gone since summer 2006 and while people like to lament closings and the passage of time, I do not mourn its lost. I'm glad it's gone.
Samurai sushi is better. The atmosphere is better. The drinks are better. The fish is fresher, the rolls more creative and tastier. The flavor of the unagi was not left in the microwave. And Samurai retained Gyuhama's one virtue - it serves until 1 a.m. Tuesday and Wednesday, 2 a.m. Thursday through Saturday.
You see, late-night dining is very important around these parts...
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