Saturday, March 10, 2012

Gold Standard 2012

Waiting in line to get in The Gold Standard, I recited this poem from The Gray:

Once more into the fray
Into the last good fight I'll ever know
Live and die this day
Live and die this day

I know, drama, huh? I saw people adjusting their belt buckles, doing psychic lunges and arm windmills and was like, yeah, it's on. Humans against wolves, here we go.

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I marched towards Ink's beef tongue and tendon taco. No fear. It was cold like the Alaskan wilderness. There was a snoopy snow cone machine or something like it that the Voltaggio was man-handling.

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Do these checkerboard Vans echo the napkins? Jeff Spicoli, you have a lot to answer for.


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The taco? The taco was like mini airplane bottles of booze you improvise with duct tape into a wolf killing system whilst weeping over men's wallets filled with Kmart family photos aka psycho-delic Jack London feral genius and the product of a palate that looks like two eggs in a sizzling frying pan. With paprika on top.

The horseradish power? Ye to the yo, homeboy. The tendon added that final crunchy funyan piece. I coulda danced all night. And still have begged for more. Suddenly those very white lyrics have taken on an obscene flavor. Okay, moving on.

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Next up, MB Post, because I heard it was more animalistic than Animal. But what do I spy with my wolfish eye? Something that looks like quinoa, cous cous or bulgar topped with what I suspect is a square of lard.

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It turns out to be a salad of cous cous, persimmon, pomegranate, marcona almonds and feta. Isn't this the parrot-ization, the aviary nation building, the pigeon theocracy in the form of a moist grape nut? I thought this was the church of meat and marrow.

Canary in a charcoal mine maybe but this thing was Liam Neeson. It had a particular set of skills. Namely, Ph.D in ass whoopin. Salty, sweet and let's not neglect, acidic. "You is important." Yeah, I threw in a little Viola Davis because she's an assassin too.

These were the alpha and beta wolves if you can induct a grain into the predator family.

The other big dog, for me, was Kobawoo's roast pork on pickled radish with kimchee garnish. Just barely rich and spicy with a refreshing hit of brine all up on my K-9. I know. I'm a lyrical embarrassment.

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I ate a gang load of these to the point no one would accompany me back to the table. I looked up at the sky to see if God according to Anthony Bourdain might give me sign, if it was really okay to eat like five portions of one thing, and seeing no sign either way, I was like "eff it, I'll do it myself." Then I got up and kicked some more ass.

The ceviche from Palate was also really good. And the perfect portion size. This is a marathon not a sprint chef people. A big ass plate is an act of aggression. You sink my battleship? No you don't. Because I can eat it all.

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The best dessert was Providence's pistachio something or other. It was like a provincial cheesecake that went to Milan and never looked back. Don't look back Jacqueline aka Mary Ann.

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The other best dessert was the mango ice cream from Saffron. This was creamy with all the floral, citrus and dairy-ish notes of the real thing. I dedicate even better than the real thing by U-2 to this small cone.

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There were some celebs under the big top. Susan Feniger who looks like a technicolor judo master who might paint houses on her off time.

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I was really excited to see Pressed Juicery. The best juices in the world. Period.

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Steve Jobs told us to Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish. Task Two, mission accomplished. Task One, easier said than done at a food fest.

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Guy: Hahaha, it's so weird, I coulda sworn I packed another box of these beignets. Haha.

Girl: Giggle giggle. Yeah. So weird. Heheh. It's like umm some uh rogue employee uh ate a few while no one was looking. giggle... giggles..
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Mexican Chocolate. Hells to the yeah. The Mexicans know the Chocolate.

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Once the hippopotamus, as I like to call my stomach, was full, I drained my cup like a G. My cup runneth over and then when it was dry I runneth over to the beer fountains and filled it back up. Due to the summer like heat, prosecco and beer was the way to go.

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At the end, it was just me and my Hoe. I rolled out in my Chevy Impala still full-ish and hopeful that there will be a Gold Standard 2013.

As Shakespeare famously wrote, Once more into the fray, in my hand my portable food tray.... Willie MilkShake-Spear, the lesser known but equally brilliant cousin of the Bard. I know. I'm a lyrical embarrassment.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Lefty for Life

Don't you hate that annoying ass tourist who you show like the Eiffel Tower to and he's like oh we got something like this in America but it's better, it's called the St. Louis Arch. You go to the leaning tower of Pisa and she's like man, these Pisans should fix this, it's all crooked like their teeth.

We all do this really and it's just a way of saying, my hometown is the best. LA is hard to beat. That's all I'm saying really. NY is great but it's just never gonna be on par or even in contention or top of the heap despite the song. I mean, Frank Sinatra, once he hit the top, lived in LA did he not? Sure did.

NY has got some good looks though. Let's not lie. Central Park is nice. It is indeed a glorious park as Herb and Fritzi know.

Tunnels enhance the nature-ness.

Sasquatch lives.

There are lots of pretzel carts outside the Met. All of which claim NY provenance. NY pretzel cart. Pretzel Co. of NY etc. etc. I mean, can you imagine if you came all the way to NY and you ate a New Jersey pretzel by mistake? That would be terrible. It's not gonna happen though, rest assured, the NY carts will see to that.

We had to go to Katz's because how could you not? You must. It's like going to Vienna and not eating Vienna sausages. Be culturally sensitive. Geez.


Business is good. And there's different striations of society here like there are different striations of fat in the pastrami. Immigrants and businessmen and students and tourists. We all love When Harry Met Sally. And Meg Ryan - you can spell it Rye-in. Coincidence? I think not.


The Pechter in the Rye.


The giant trenchers of pickles gladden the Korean pickle addicted heart which beats for the pickle.


Those in the know - the regs- order plates of thick piles of pastrami and they get the bread on the side. It's really a surgeon general's nightmare. Then the pastrami slicers hand you a slice of meat while you wait like a foretaste of death. It's Machiavellian. But spelled pastrami.

If you can't navigate the line it's probably because you're a Valley girl. But kevineats has been kind enough to try and explain that there are many lines, just pick one - preferably the shortest one - and then order your food, then move your ass over to the drinks line and order some drinks then sit down, eat your food and chew carefully because no one knows how to do the heimlich maneuver, then pay at the door. If you hesitate over which line to pick, you will be called over by the pastrami slicers who are adept at dealing with Valley girls.


You can buy a salami and there are desserts too. But I didn't see anyone else eating any dessert so I didn't get one either. It's strictly monkey see monkey do when you're a tourist. Don't do what the other monkeys aren't doing bc you'll probably be stoned to death. I'm no Rick Steves but just trust me.


Does anyone see a problem with the pickle situation here? Because let me tell you, this plate is missing some pickles. We didn't get the kelly green ones just the olive green ones. My heart like stopped when I saw this tray coming at me devoid of certain of the pickles that I had seen and noted but I decided to let it go. Because I'm normal and I'm not crazy. I'm not going to go over and demand more pickles. I'm going to eat the pickles I have and I'm going to like it. Then I'm going to think about why we didn't get the other pickles more times than a rabid dog thinks about biting into your brains.

I think, after deep thought, what happened is that when we ordered pickled tomatoes which are like a dollar or two, we probably got asked whether we wanted the regular pickles and there was a mis-communication and somehow... oh, you stopped reading the pickle rant like 5 min ago? okay, I'm moving on too.

Anyhoo, chicken noodle soup. Not great. But I loved it anyways.


The pastrami sandwich was good but (this is where you may want to stop reading if you're easily annoyed or from NY or you love Katz's) I'm thinking it probably wasn't the best pastrami sandwich ever plated. I'm sure Langer's bread is rye-ier, and it's just a thick slab of serious rami for your mommy served up hot mean and greasy. This is not like that.

My yobosaeyo agreed. He claimed some pastrami he had in Culver City was better which is like grounds for fatwa probably so let's not circulate that too widely.

Would I go back? Absolutely. It's a really great place and it's very good stuff. And I'm still watching When Harry Met Sally whenever it's on TV and I'm going to love NY all over again whenever I see it. And I'm going to watch Serendipity and love NY all over again whenever I see it.



We took a walk after lunch. Walking off the fatses from Katz's. We looked at secret gardens. Then we walked back to the hotel and ate a Dylan's Candy Bar chocolate bar from the mini-bar.

Overall, I loved the Met a lot. And I barely scratched the surface. We got a membership because after getting two admission tickets, it's almost the cost of a membership. You can actually donate whatever you want, say $5, and get in even though the recommended donation is $25. The membership really paid off the next day when we stopped in to use the restroom. They don't let you use them unless you pay for admission. I know. Animal cruelty.












Portraits of boys with their dogs are amongst my favorites.

Here's lookin at you NY kid and NY dog.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Photobooth & Steve Jobs

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I don't know if blogging is somehow attributable to Steve Jobs. He certainly didn't single-handedly invent the means of procrastination-connection called the internet. I believe, the man who did, was named Al Gore. Nonetheless, I'm sure he was involved in that whole deal and he was involved in developing Mac's photobooth. I love photobooth because it allows me to take 42 photos in rapid succession of myself without the need for a single human helper and now I have an excellent and dignified self-portrait gallery to hold in reserve as my funeral collage so everyone can remember what a beautiful, well dressed and impressively reserved personage I really was. They can also see my oven and feel like hey, I think I had a similar oven once (when I was in college). Thanks Steve Jobs. You've made my future funeral way more cooler than it otherwise would have been aka black and white photo of my high school graduation close up mug. I owe you one. Then again, your computers are way overpriced so maybe you owe me one. Whatever. It's cool.