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.

4 comments:

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