Our latest adventure was something I had never been a part of...a wedding house. The goal of the bride was to bring the "band" back together again (all the kids from med school) and have them live together for 2.5 days. Throw in a wedding somewheres in between and there was the recipe for something...
Typically I HATE brides...they get all ooey gooey for THEIR day where everyone lavishes them with attention. Then they get uber bitchy and uppity and super proper (especially when you know they used to get railed in the local bar bathroom), pop out some pups, and well, you know the rest. Yuck, yikes, that's just what I HATE. H-A-T-E...those brides make me scared of marriage and children.
Over the years (early twenties until now) the weddings have come and gone and I have gotten a little more domesticated and used to the ideas of marriage and family. Only a few weddings have been stinkers (usually there is no alcohol and too much Jesus involved)...so this one piqued my interest because it was with good friends and this really neat idea actually housing the wedding party.
Success! Genius Success! I mean totally and amazingly awesome...here's the rundown/back story/sprinklings of fabled fame.
So the bride rents out a HUGE McMansion in Reston, Virginia....like 5,000 square feet, totally furnished, heated pool, man cave, pool table, huge kitchen...like we hit the lotto on this one. And then everyone flies in from all corners of the earth. Partying, eating, and silliness ensues.
Friday: Wedding party arrives, everyone gets their own room. The bride announces their is no rehearsal dinner, just casually catered dinner with drinks. Whawhawhat? You heard it...
Then the bride's in-laws appear (all fifty thousand, think Irish Catholics), and they are all a hoot. Happiest people on earth. Drinking, talking, reuniting. EPIC I tell you, damn epic. I got the chance to get drunk, not drive anywhere, and hang out with a ton of cool people. Can we repeat that Saturday? Funny you might ask that...
Saturday: It's wedding day, I am required to do NOTHING. Seriously, the girls sit around getting their hair and makeup did. The bride asks one favor, "Can you put the warm beer in the fridge to make cold beer?" Done and done, I go for a run. At 2pm the limo picks us up. I opted to hang with the girls all day...so there I go, hopping into the limo with beers and wine bottles. At one point in the ride a bridesmaid tells me it must be hard to hang out with the girls the whole time. I reply slyly saying, "Not that bad in a limo with a lot of upskirt action". My wife giggles...best wife ever!
The wedding takes place, a lot of beer, a great menu (believe it or not, generally wedding food sucks)...seriously a medium rare fillet and crab cake. Then the DJ just rocks it and our good friend Rob did the worm. He always does the worm, like a worm expert. Honestly, he's an orthopedic doctor/worm dancing fool. Being that he's built a little like Cecil Fielder(little chunky but damn athletic). So everyone sits there puzzled saying, "How does that guy with the belly do those athletic feats?"
Everyone danced, even our friend's granny who is 90 cut a rug...then we got all the free accouterments(flowers baby flowers)...then we jumped on the mega bus and headed back to the wedding house for the after party. The youngest 20 somethings started shotgunning beers, and the 30 somethings attempted to replicate. I had NONE of that.
Saturday 10pm....Bus rolls home, sleepy I find my second wind. Flip cup, me repeatedly denying to play flip cup saying, "I can get mighty drunk here at the bar by myself, I don't need to chug".
11:30pm: Someone opens up the pool...drinking + swimming, not a great combo, oh well, what the hell...there are a ton of doctors here right? And one of the doctors used to swim competively in college? No problem.
Things ended for me at 1am, too tired, too much beer, time to sleep.
Next day, brunch...me still doing nothing except relaxing and eating. We all leave, no drama, no cleaning up, and a great reunion and wedding with wonderful friends.
Who knows if the house made the weekend better, or the people in the house? But the idea, think about it...one stop shopping. A wedding house to host parties all weekend? Yes, of course, why did I never think of that?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Accommodations Part 1
Instead of doing something expensive, we elected for five days and four nights of camping in celebration of our 3rd wedding anniversary. The goal, set up camp in Luray, Virginia (nestled in the beautiful Shenandoah's) using the camp as home base for cooking gourmet treats by night. All the while exploring the region's offerings by day. Included, a blow by blow storyline with general insights, praise, and warning for current and future offenders of hospitality.
Day 1: Lift off...Arrival
When you are in Annapolis and need a great steak, hit up "My Butcher". For our final meal camping we chose porterhouse. Yes, there is a Wal-Mart in Luray, but I would rather have a fresh cut Porterhouse from a reputable butcher. "Mike the Butcher" is that and some. Although his store doesn't open until 11am, we banged on the door and begged them to open early...done and done, we hit the road, off to better lands.
What says AMURCAN (but made in other countries) more than Wal-Mart of Luray, Virginia, our first real stop before camping. After getting my fishing license from the skinhead working in the hunting section, we jetset with our new wares straight from child labor camps for cheap. Meg gets winks and stares from all men wearing Camouflage...I get hate filled looks as I'm dressed in Madras shorts with a t-shirt saying, "Mr. Strong"...might as well say "Mr. Fruity"...shaking my head and happy I have teeth we move on.
Safely and securely we arrive at "Outlanders River Camp" which is completely empty but in a good way. We found this spot last year and it's a beautiful one. Nestled at the bottom of the valley, ten feet off the Shenandoah river, and bordered by a beautiful pasture, we are isolated from everyone. The constant theme each night was good cocktails, stories of old, music, fire, and food. I don't suggest you go here on the weekend in the summer unless you would like to hang out with the Wal-mart crowd. I dunno, everyone is into something different I guess.
Day 2:
The Splendor of Luray Caverns...
Seriously cool to hike 1.25 miles underground while carrying the dog. Note to foreigners traveling in this here country...
1) When the Ranger says "DON'T touch the rock formations, they are old and will decay with touch", please don't act like you can't speak English. I can see you know it's wrong because you touch the rocks and look around to see if anyone is looking (Your Headphones are also saying that in your native tongue). And your dad who should have a cane because he can barely walk upright, please make him use the cane, the rock formations are not hand rails.
2) Please wear deodorant
3) When the Ranger is talking, it is impolite to talk over them, especially while wearing your Eurotrash shoes...they call us rude?
The Wasmund Distillery, Sperryville, Va
So the whiskey maker/helper wasn't too keen on giving us any free tastings, and after thinking about it, it made sense. But we got a killer tour at a Single Malt Distillery literally housed in a barn. Scotland just ordered 150 cases from them...remember, Scotland is Single Malt Mecca. The secret behind their hooch? Cherry and Applewood Smoking their grain. You can taste the smoke in the drink. And it was a blast going from the grain growing room seeing the grain all raked out and germinating, then to the smoke room, climbing the ladder to the vat and getting a HUGE whiff of a 2 day ferment...nearly took our heads off, and then to the finishing room. I kept saying, "Seriously, in Sperryville?" This is world class whiskey, and it's being done in the middle of nowhere. The maker said, "Why not, have you looked around at the beauty of this place?" Check em out, Copper Fox Distillery, they have a Single Malt Whiskey and a Rye. Equally great depending on your mood.
The Rappahannock Disaster
Matty: "Where to next?"
Meg: "Let's find some wineries in the area"...
Matty: "Well, 25 miles later, here's one, Rappahannock Cellars, I hear it's supposed to be pretty good, haven't we been there before? Maybe not...hmm.."
Matty: (Outside of the entrance), "It says we have to leave the dog leashed in the courtyard, go in an see if we can maybe have a tasting outside".
Meg: "Okay, sure thing"
Meg: (Returning, steam starting to shoot out of her ears) "They wont let us taste outside, they wont let her inside, and it's too hot to leave the dog in the car. I'm not tying my dog up in the yard like a redneck in order to taste their wine."
Matty: "Was the lady snooty?"
Meg: "No, but she was totally unaccommodating, we are THE only people here, we're leaving, I will NEVER taste their wine".
THAT is how to lose our business. Yes, we respect everyone is a small business owner, and there are rules. But if you like to make money and run a successful business, go the extra mile. Had you actually tried to accommodate us, we would have stayed, we would have probably spent money. Meg and I are both suckers for customer service. We received none, thusly we left.
Remember, Virginia wine still isn't that great...it's tolerable, and I've given it very favorable reviews. But your bottles are 22 dollars and up...I can buy pretty killer stuff for 30 from reputable well established places like Napa, or OTHER COUNTRIES...why waste my money on Virginia wine sentiment out of nostalgia and pride? I like your wine, I yet don't love it. Please don't take me for granted, no matter how many po dunk medals you won at the county fair last year. Henceforth, the title of this blog is called Accommodations in tribute to your lack of service.
Thirsty and hungry we headed back to Luray. And we land at this placed called "Victoria Inn Wine Bar". It has a porch, it's perched on the top of Main St, but I was not having high hopes after Rappahannock. Meg was steaming mad, and I was starting to smolder. At first glance, I saw this: Small menu, small wine list...losing hope fast.
As we walked on to the porch the owner was smiling, happy to have us. "Sure your dog can hang out on the porch" She says. As we sat we find out the following: This place is under new ownership...new blood coming out of Orlando. Husband/Wife team, he cooks, she runs the front of the house. They just opened 2 weeks ago, so already she's apologizing for the small menu and small repertoire of wine. Oh, and she spent hours upon hours on the play list for the music playing in the background? Let's also mention they have Thomas Keller quoted at the Mast Head of their Menu...these people have balls and as we delved into our first glass of wine, we start realizing we found something special.
BLT: Local Pork Belly Braised in goodness with a beautiful sear, Tomato Jam, Micro Greens
Crab Cakes: Jicama Slaw, Chipotle Mayo, Fried Lightly with a nice Florida Crab Cake style to them
Shrimp Fry Rice: Pure Goodness, flavor profile well developed, not greasy, but greasy enough
Pork Chop: Roasted Medium, Sweet Potato Hash
Chocolate Mouse Cake, Toasted Pinenuts, Creme Anglaise
Bill: $108...and we had 4 glasses of wine, that's a deal.
Literally we ran out of this place telling everyone we could find to go here. I could potentially see them on Food and Wine in the "Best New Chefs" category in the popular trend of better food gracing smaller towns all over the USA. Thank you!
Day 1: Lift off...Arrival
When you are in Annapolis and need a great steak, hit up "My Butcher". For our final meal camping we chose porterhouse. Yes, there is a Wal-Mart in Luray, but I would rather have a fresh cut Porterhouse from a reputable butcher. "Mike the Butcher" is that and some. Although his store doesn't open until 11am, we banged on the door and begged them to open early...done and done, we hit the road, off to better lands.
What says AMURCAN (but made in other countries) more than Wal-Mart of Luray, Virginia, our first real stop before camping. After getting my fishing license from the skinhead working in the hunting section, we jetset with our new wares straight from child labor camps for cheap. Meg gets winks and stares from all men wearing Camouflage...I get hate filled looks as I'm dressed in Madras shorts with a t-shirt saying, "Mr. Strong"...might as well say "Mr. Fruity"...shaking my head and happy I have teeth we move on.
Safely and securely we arrive at "Outlanders River Camp" which is completely empty but in a good way. We found this spot last year and it's a beautiful one. Nestled at the bottom of the valley, ten feet off the Shenandoah river, and bordered by a beautiful pasture, we are isolated from everyone. The constant theme each night was good cocktails, stories of old, music, fire, and food. I don't suggest you go here on the weekend in the summer unless you would like to hang out with the Wal-mart crowd. I dunno, everyone is into something different I guess.
Day 2:
The Splendor of Luray Caverns...
Seriously cool to hike 1.25 miles underground while carrying the dog. Note to foreigners traveling in this here country...
1) When the Ranger says "DON'T touch the rock formations, they are old and will decay with touch", please don't act like you can't speak English. I can see you know it's wrong because you touch the rocks and look around to see if anyone is looking (Your Headphones are also saying that in your native tongue). And your dad who should have a cane because he can barely walk upright, please make him use the cane, the rock formations are not hand rails.
2) Please wear deodorant
3) When the Ranger is talking, it is impolite to talk over them, especially while wearing your Eurotrash shoes...they call us rude?
The Wasmund Distillery, Sperryville, Va
So the whiskey maker/helper wasn't too keen on giving us any free tastings, and after thinking about it, it made sense. But we got a killer tour at a Single Malt Distillery literally housed in a barn. Scotland just ordered 150 cases from them...remember, Scotland is Single Malt Mecca. The secret behind their hooch? Cherry and Applewood Smoking their grain. You can taste the smoke in the drink. And it was a blast going from the grain growing room seeing the grain all raked out and germinating, then to the smoke room, climbing the ladder to the vat and getting a HUGE whiff of a 2 day ferment...nearly took our heads off, and then to the finishing room. I kept saying, "Seriously, in Sperryville?" This is world class whiskey, and it's being done in the middle of nowhere. The maker said, "Why not, have you looked around at the beauty of this place?" Check em out, Copper Fox Distillery, they have a Single Malt Whiskey and a Rye. Equally great depending on your mood.
The Rappahannock Disaster
Matty: "Where to next?"
Meg: "Let's find some wineries in the area"...
Matty: "Well, 25 miles later, here's one, Rappahannock Cellars, I hear it's supposed to be pretty good, haven't we been there before? Maybe not...hmm.."
Matty: (Outside of the entrance), "It says we have to leave the dog leashed in the courtyard, go in an see if we can maybe have a tasting outside".
Meg: "Okay, sure thing"
Meg: (Returning, steam starting to shoot out of her ears) "They wont let us taste outside, they wont let her inside, and it's too hot to leave the dog in the car. I'm not tying my dog up in the yard like a redneck in order to taste their wine."
Matty: "Was the lady snooty?"
Meg: "No, but she was totally unaccommodating, we are THE only people here, we're leaving, I will NEVER taste their wine".
THAT is how to lose our business. Yes, we respect everyone is a small business owner, and there are rules. But if you like to make money and run a successful business, go the extra mile. Had you actually tried to accommodate us, we would have stayed, we would have probably spent money. Meg and I are both suckers for customer service. We received none, thusly we left.
Remember, Virginia wine still isn't that great...it's tolerable, and I've given it very favorable reviews. But your bottles are 22 dollars and up...I can buy pretty killer stuff for 30 from reputable well established places like Napa, or OTHER COUNTRIES...why waste my money on Virginia wine sentiment out of nostalgia and pride? I like your wine, I yet don't love it. Please don't take me for granted, no matter how many po dunk medals you won at the county fair last year. Henceforth, the title of this blog is called Accommodations in tribute to your lack of service.
Thirsty and hungry we headed back to Luray. And we land at this placed called "Victoria Inn Wine Bar". It has a porch, it's perched on the top of Main St, but I was not having high hopes after Rappahannock. Meg was steaming mad, and I was starting to smolder. At first glance, I saw this: Small menu, small wine list...losing hope fast.
As we walked on to the porch the owner was smiling, happy to have us. "Sure your dog can hang out on the porch" She says. As we sat we find out the following: This place is under new ownership...new blood coming out of Orlando. Husband/Wife team, he cooks, she runs the front of the house. They just opened 2 weeks ago, so already she's apologizing for the small menu and small repertoire of wine. Oh, and she spent hours upon hours on the play list for the music playing in the background? Let's also mention they have Thomas Keller quoted at the Mast Head of their Menu...these people have balls and as we delved into our first glass of wine, we start realizing we found something special.
BLT: Local Pork Belly Braised in goodness with a beautiful sear, Tomato Jam, Micro Greens
Crab Cakes: Jicama Slaw, Chipotle Mayo, Fried Lightly with a nice Florida Crab Cake style to them
Shrimp Fry Rice: Pure Goodness, flavor profile well developed, not greasy, but greasy enough
Pork Chop: Roasted Medium, Sweet Potato Hash
Chocolate Mouse Cake, Toasted Pinenuts, Creme Anglaise
Bill: $108...and we had 4 glasses of wine, that's a deal.
Literally we ran out of this place telling everyone we could find to go here. I could potentially see them on Food and Wine in the "Best New Chefs" category in the popular trend of better food gracing smaller towns all over the USA. Thank you!
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Marterella Winery...
As we packed our bags and left our Redneck campground (winding our 3rd anniversary trip to a close), we knew we had one goal in mind. "Wood Burning Pizza Oven"...We had to visit that winery...we just met the owner yesterday, and we felt so chic. It was like meeting a celebrity. Hell, I think it was even better than meeting a celebrity. We had no idea what we were in for...
After navigating a great coffee house, Central Coffee Company in Sperryville, Virginia (Honest to goodness best coffee ever, greatest lesson in coffee tasting, and all certified National Wildlife Refuge for safe practicing of ecofriendly planting and disposal), and checking out a neat little winery called Narmada in Little Washington, we wound our way through a few pig paths to find Marterella Winery in Warrenton, Virginia.
One word, Home...
Going there was like coming home. Katherine Marterella was our kind of people. And that day, she was frazzled, stressed, all over the place. She instantly recognized us and graciously thanked us for coming. We told her we were hungry and looking forward to pizza and wine. She grinned, looked around, and ran out saying, "Shoot, I gotta get the oven going, gimme a minute"...her daughter stepped in to help pour wine and Meg and I started laughing. The girl, right out of college was not the local wine expert as she awkwardly read from the tasting notes...but something about the place stuck with us.
This was natural, and this was real. This was probably what Napa was like back when it was just honest farmers trying to make something special. It reminded me of watching "Bottle Shock". Sure there was swirling and spitting and discussion of floral accents with roundness and balance...but there were no airs. This, was the winery we wanted to open and run. This, was like Cheers.
Katherine came back to the counter and said, "Thank you so much for coming, you all truly made my day, it's been one of those days, kind of a bad day". And she kept moving with whirling dervish speed, pouring, making phone calls, and coaching her daughter on the finer points of running a business. Generally I'd find this off putting. I don't want to know if your day is bad, just serve me wine, do your job, I could care less about your life. Yet we were both strangely sucked in and felt at ease. It was like stopping by unannounced at your friend's parents house for a chat. While they were always busy, they always took time and never missed a step in running their own lives.
This was a lady running a business, making pretty good wine (The Reserve Rose and Pinot Grigio were my favorites), and giving lessons in hospitality by just being herself.
It was her house, it was a spacious sun filled room where everyone there was smiling, drinking, and laughing. Turns out, everyone there were regulars, they were all "her friends" as she said. I cannot imagine anyone going there and not being her friend (Should we move closer, we would be regulars and need help from Betty Ford herself). Katherine's personality is infectious, it's her spirit, organized, smart, businesslike, yet sometimes frazzled, sometimes all over the place. In the perfect place we all try to go and try to be, she was a reflection of what we could be if we had our own way...if we could get away with it. Casual, yet pragmatic.
As the day drew to an end, my shoes were off, Fenway was running around with the vineyard dogs, Meg was basking in the sun, and I was actually cooking the pizza in the oven. Katherine looked over and said, "Gettin' the hang of it, I think a lot of people enjoy doing that".
That, Yeah, I think we do, and I hope to be able to do a lot more of it.
After navigating a great coffee house, Central Coffee Company in Sperryville, Virginia (Honest to goodness best coffee ever, greatest lesson in coffee tasting, and all certified National Wildlife Refuge for safe practicing of ecofriendly planting and disposal), and checking out a neat little winery called Narmada in Little Washington, we wound our way through a few pig paths to find Marterella Winery in Warrenton, Virginia.
One word, Home...
Going there was like coming home. Katherine Marterella was our kind of people. And that day, she was frazzled, stressed, all over the place. She instantly recognized us and graciously thanked us for coming. We told her we were hungry and looking forward to pizza and wine. She grinned, looked around, and ran out saying, "Shoot, I gotta get the oven going, gimme a minute"...her daughter stepped in to help pour wine and Meg and I started laughing. The girl, right out of college was not the local wine expert as she awkwardly read from the tasting notes...but something about the place stuck with us.
This was natural, and this was real. This was probably what Napa was like back when it was just honest farmers trying to make something special. It reminded me of watching "Bottle Shock". Sure there was swirling and spitting and discussion of floral accents with roundness and balance...but there were no airs. This, was the winery we wanted to open and run. This, was like Cheers.
Katherine came back to the counter and said, "Thank you so much for coming, you all truly made my day, it's been one of those days, kind of a bad day". And she kept moving with whirling dervish speed, pouring, making phone calls, and coaching her daughter on the finer points of running a business. Generally I'd find this off putting. I don't want to know if your day is bad, just serve me wine, do your job, I could care less about your life. Yet we were both strangely sucked in and felt at ease. It was like stopping by unannounced at your friend's parents house for a chat. While they were always busy, they always took time and never missed a step in running their own lives.
This was a lady running a business, making pretty good wine (The Reserve Rose and Pinot Grigio were my favorites), and giving lessons in hospitality by just being herself.
It was her house, it was a spacious sun filled room where everyone there was smiling, drinking, and laughing. Turns out, everyone there were regulars, they were all "her friends" as she said. I cannot imagine anyone going there and not being her friend (Should we move closer, we would be regulars and need help from Betty Ford herself). Katherine's personality is infectious, it's her spirit, organized, smart, businesslike, yet sometimes frazzled, sometimes all over the place. In the perfect place we all try to go and try to be, she was a reflection of what we could be if we had our own way...if we could get away with it. Casual, yet pragmatic.
As the day drew to an end, my shoes were off, Fenway was running around with the vineyard dogs, Meg was basking in the sun, and I was actually cooking the pizza in the oven. Katherine looked over and said, "Gettin' the hang of it, I think a lot of people enjoy doing that".
That, Yeah, I think we do, and I hope to be able to do a lot more of it.
Accommodations Part 2
Some of our trip has to be montaged in time based format. These snippets hold high comedy and remind you of what life would be like if you were as dumb as my wife was to marry me. That, and the fact that I cannot rage all damned day on one bad experience in customer service. Fun to note that we all can easilly dwell on the 1% that is bad, get riled up, and lose sight of the good...
Day 3:
11:30am: Johnsonville Cheddarwursts and a cold Natty Boh. One cannot say enough about meat in tube form. Sure it might be 11am, that's why we go hiking after a lunch like that. Back to happy thoughts...cheese, grease, beer...
Onward and Upward to the Jacobs's Death March on Skyline Drive. If you haven't driven Skyline Drive, do so. We hiked about 5 miles of breathtaking gorge/mountain/trail. I spouted off story after story of nostalgia camping/camp counselor memory while Meg said, "See, I like hiking, but this is a frekkin death march"...
5pm: Jamaican Jerk Chicken with Rice and Peas done on the grill accompanied with a nice cold Pale Ale or Pilsner.
7:30pm: Getting misty, this was really a week of telling Meg how much I loved her, loved everyone, and overindulging in alcohol.
8pm: I really love this awesome new whiskey from Copper Fox Distillery...let's pour another on the rocks. So smooth...ah, this Cigar is great...everything is just GREAT!
9:30pm: Due to the campfire starting to spin, I have one of the following:
a) Vertigo
b) Too much to drink
c) The Rapture is coming and this is how it happens
Still not sure on the answer...
3am: Why did all the sheets on the air mattress get rearranged? We both wake up shivering and my wife complains I smell of cigars and booze. I blame the dog for all of our troubles (The dog continues to snore and exhale loudly at the mention of her misdeeds).
Thursday, May 5th
Feelin' a lil' rough we decide to quell our misery with more sampling of the Virginia Wine Country.
Here are the wineries and their profiles:
Fox Meadow Vineyards: First winery of the day. Nice service, nothing memorable, a fine start (Remember, it was 11am, and I was just starting to wake up, shake off the cobwebs as well as the tremors. My palate was in no shape to sample wine, but my spirits were a little improved after the first whiff of fermented fruit.
Phillip-Carter: Awesome director Mark Parsons, GREAT Rose. Mark KNOWS food, and wine, and we were totally at home. Dog ran around the tasting room and he gave us good suggestions on where to eat for lunch. Coulda sat there for hours talking shop...yet we had to make good on his suggestion to eat at Forlano's in The Plains, Virginia.
Forlano's....Grilled Meatloaf on house made panini, Meg went for the BLT...had a nice Viognier from Delaplane Cellars with lunch. Across the porch were two ladies stopping for lunch with their Golden Retriever. Naturally, I introduce Fenway and we learn one of the ladies owns a winery. "What's the name of your winery" I call as they head towards their car. "Marterella" she calls back. "Stop by tomorrow for lunch, we have a wood burning pizza oven." Spirits renewed with that post food coma wine buzz, I elected for a nicely brewed coffee for a pick me up. Listen, there is an art to riding the line when mid-day wine tasting.
Naked Mountain Winery: Drink Naked! Under new management, sweet locale on a Mountain. Really liked their Reserve Chardonnay. Dog ran around, bright sun, vineyard, certainly awesome new young owners. Although none of the wine blew my mind I would always go back. Again I find it so interesting that I can write such scathing things about things I dislike. However, when it comes to something that was rather enjoyable and it met our expectations, I sit here typing these little one liners.
5pm: All set for our Porterhouse, we put it aside. Too exhausted for MORE gourmet, we did it all day. Leftovers would suit us just fine. Three nights of camping was starting to get to us. It was time to go home...
Day 3:
11:30am: Johnsonville Cheddarwursts and a cold Natty Boh. One cannot say enough about meat in tube form. Sure it might be 11am, that's why we go hiking after a lunch like that. Back to happy thoughts...cheese, grease, beer...
Onward and Upward to the Jacobs's Death March on Skyline Drive. If you haven't driven Skyline Drive, do so. We hiked about 5 miles of breathtaking gorge/mountain/trail. I spouted off story after story of nostalgia camping/camp counselor memory while Meg said, "See, I like hiking, but this is a frekkin death march"...
5pm: Jamaican Jerk Chicken with Rice and Peas done on the grill accompanied with a nice cold Pale Ale or Pilsner.
7:30pm: Getting misty, this was really a week of telling Meg how much I loved her, loved everyone, and overindulging in alcohol.
8pm: I really love this awesome new whiskey from Copper Fox Distillery...let's pour another on the rocks. So smooth...ah, this Cigar is great...everything is just GREAT!
9:30pm: Due to the campfire starting to spin, I have one of the following:
a) Vertigo
b) Too much to drink
c) The Rapture is coming and this is how it happens
Still not sure on the answer...
3am: Why did all the sheets on the air mattress get rearranged? We both wake up shivering and my wife complains I smell of cigars and booze. I blame the dog for all of our troubles (The dog continues to snore and exhale loudly at the mention of her misdeeds).
Thursday, May 5th
Feelin' a lil' rough we decide to quell our misery with more sampling of the Virginia Wine Country.
Here are the wineries and their profiles:
Fox Meadow Vineyards: First winery of the day. Nice service, nothing memorable, a fine start (Remember, it was 11am, and I was just starting to wake up, shake off the cobwebs as well as the tremors. My palate was in no shape to sample wine, but my spirits were a little improved after the first whiff of fermented fruit.
Phillip-Carter: Awesome director Mark Parsons, GREAT Rose. Mark KNOWS food, and wine, and we were totally at home. Dog ran around the tasting room and he gave us good suggestions on where to eat for lunch. Coulda sat there for hours talking shop...yet we had to make good on his suggestion to eat at Forlano's in The Plains, Virginia.
Forlano's....Grilled Meatloaf on house made panini, Meg went for the BLT...had a nice Viognier from Delaplane Cellars with lunch. Across the porch were two ladies stopping for lunch with their Golden Retriever. Naturally, I introduce Fenway and we learn one of the ladies owns a winery. "What's the name of your winery" I call as they head towards their car. "Marterella" she calls back. "Stop by tomorrow for lunch, we have a wood burning pizza oven." Spirits renewed with that post food coma wine buzz, I elected for a nicely brewed coffee for a pick me up. Listen, there is an art to riding the line when mid-day wine tasting.
Naked Mountain Winery: Drink Naked! Under new management, sweet locale on a Mountain. Really liked their Reserve Chardonnay. Dog ran around, bright sun, vineyard, certainly awesome new young owners. Although none of the wine blew my mind I would always go back. Again I find it so interesting that I can write such scathing things about things I dislike. However, when it comes to something that was rather enjoyable and it met our expectations, I sit here typing these little one liners.
5pm: All set for our Porterhouse, we put it aside. Too exhausted for MORE gourmet, we did it all day. Leftovers would suit us just fine. Three nights of camping was starting to get to us. It was time to go home...
Friday, April 15, 2011
Liberation
Spring inflicts the nostalgia of grilling. For me, there is nothing like getting home early from work only to steal the rest of a sunny day. It's like getting tax free money from the government. You mean I can drink a few beers, grill on our porch, marvel at the yard I scaped and since it's early I can be ready to be back at work free of hangover the next day? Fuckin' A right man!
Within my internal clock, the lengthening days and plentiful sun provide the nostalgia of grilling with dad, miscounting beers, and waddling to the kitchen table, grinning because mom only thinks we drank 2 beers and is satisfied we insist on water with dinner(We are merely biding time until we can go back outside and start being boys again).
Time and time again, whenever I get that early slip out of the office, I find myself grabbing the $3.22 package of Chicken Thighs, Bar-b-que sauce, a can of baked beans, and a six pack of suds. It's a ten dollar meal with leftovers that spawn instant happiness. I slink outside, blaring music that was popular in the mid 90s thinking that was only a few years ago, and I get happy. It feels good, I feel free, the dopamine washes through my system and I think this is why we live to eat.
There are those however who find no adventure in food and often find new and unfamiliar food scary. "I don't like that, ewwww"...
Why?
The responses are predictable ranging anywhere from "It sounds gross", "I don't know, I just don't like it", "Long story, bad memories", or the tale of someone lovingly throwing together a Insert Name Here "Special" that ends up looking like dog shit twice passed and 48 hours old, generally with a pale yellowish color.
Regardless of personal reason, the intuitive central theme of disliking certain foods involve a negative memory. Instead of conjuring pleasure, food can cause pain. Fear, sadness, the deep rift in your soul you push away merely to move on to happier times.
For my father, Asparagus conjures up his wildly abusive step-dad making "Canned Tuna Fish with Canned Asparagus Omelets" and forcing them down the hatch with the gusto of a tyrant conducting mass genocide. For my wife, Bar-b-qued chicken resurrects the bad times in life...single mom, broken home, working 15 hours a day, and fixing the same meal of "Dry Chicken, Bar-B-Que Sauce, with Broccoli Cheddar Rice". My cousin once barfed all over the dinner table because her broccoli casserole touched another food on her plate. "EV-ery-THING needs to be separated on the plate" my Aunt reported, defending this heinous action (thanks for the heads up, and I still HATE Broccoli Cheddar Casserole).
Every time my mouth waters for bar-b-que'd chicken thighs, my wife denies with a child-like "Yuck". I feel like that secretive overly obese person who buys McDonald's and sits in their car crying in an empty parking lot as they eat...similarly I wait for my wife to work a night shift leaving me home alone...all the while I greedily lick my chops, happy to be alone and indulge in my own filth. I keep checking through the closed blinds, sneaking another juicy bite, making sure she isn't coming home early to catch me with bar-b-que face, dirty neck napkin, and bar-b-que hands (Remembrances of watching The Playboy Channel when I was 14).
Observantly through my posts you discern I'm an adventurous eater. But why? Was it because Mom and dad MADE me try everything at least once? I used to sob and gag at the table when dad would yell at me to finish my omelet (dry, cheese all eaten, nothing but bland grossness), often compromising at going hungry and sitting in my room as punishment. What made me change in some ways yet still abhor Broccoli and Cheddar Casserole?
Our preference for food is a microcosm of our life. Regardless of negative memory, some cope and thrive while some never recover. For me, the bad memories weren't all that bad and my palate changed. I grew to appreciate my father's berating at the non-appreciation of my mother's dry omelets and I pressed on to enjoy new ventures, appreciative that they always encouraged/forced me to try new things. Other fallen citizens never got up the gusto to conquer new territory, thusly falling into the category of eating the familiar for whatever comfortable reason it invoked.
Regardless the category of eater ("New And Exciting", vs "Just The Familiar Please"), I am convinced we all Live to Eat. And I still contend that when done the right way, in the right setting, and with the right person (just like anything in life), the fear of the dreaded ingredients can be changed. Thusly pushing away the fear, darkness, and pain, only to liberate our hearts with the pleasure of something new.
Within my internal clock, the lengthening days and plentiful sun provide the nostalgia of grilling with dad, miscounting beers, and waddling to the kitchen table, grinning because mom only thinks we drank 2 beers and is satisfied we insist on water with dinner(We are merely biding time until we can go back outside and start being boys again).
Time and time again, whenever I get that early slip out of the office, I find myself grabbing the $3.22 package of Chicken Thighs, Bar-b-que sauce, a can of baked beans, and a six pack of suds. It's a ten dollar meal with leftovers that spawn instant happiness. I slink outside, blaring music that was popular in the mid 90s thinking that was only a few years ago, and I get happy. It feels good, I feel free, the dopamine washes through my system and I think this is why we live to eat.
There are those however who find no adventure in food and often find new and unfamiliar food scary. "I don't like that, ewwww"...
Why?
The responses are predictable ranging anywhere from "It sounds gross", "I don't know, I just don't like it", "Long story, bad memories", or the tale of someone lovingly throwing together a Insert Name Here "Special" that ends up looking like dog shit twice passed and 48 hours old, generally with a pale yellowish color.
Regardless of personal reason, the intuitive central theme of disliking certain foods involve a negative memory. Instead of conjuring pleasure, food can cause pain. Fear, sadness, the deep rift in your soul you push away merely to move on to happier times.
For my father, Asparagus conjures up his wildly abusive step-dad making "Canned Tuna Fish with Canned Asparagus Omelets" and forcing them down the hatch with the gusto of a tyrant conducting mass genocide. For my wife, Bar-b-qued chicken resurrects the bad times in life...single mom, broken home, working 15 hours a day, and fixing the same meal of "Dry Chicken, Bar-B-Que Sauce, with Broccoli Cheddar Rice". My cousin once barfed all over the dinner table because her broccoli casserole touched another food on her plate. "EV-ery-THING needs to be separated on the plate" my Aunt reported, defending this heinous action (thanks for the heads up, and I still HATE Broccoli Cheddar Casserole).
Every time my mouth waters for bar-b-que'd chicken thighs, my wife denies with a child-like "Yuck". I feel like that secretive overly obese person who buys McDonald's and sits in their car crying in an empty parking lot as they eat...similarly I wait for my wife to work a night shift leaving me home alone...all the while I greedily lick my chops, happy to be alone and indulge in my own filth. I keep checking through the closed blinds, sneaking another juicy bite, making sure she isn't coming home early to catch me with bar-b-que face, dirty neck napkin, and bar-b-que hands (Remembrances of watching The Playboy Channel when I was 14).
Observantly through my posts you discern I'm an adventurous eater. But why? Was it because Mom and dad MADE me try everything at least once? I used to sob and gag at the table when dad would yell at me to finish my omelet (dry, cheese all eaten, nothing but bland grossness), often compromising at going hungry and sitting in my room as punishment. What made me change in some ways yet still abhor Broccoli and Cheddar Casserole?
Our preference for food is a microcosm of our life. Regardless of negative memory, some cope and thrive while some never recover. For me, the bad memories weren't all that bad and my palate changed. I grew to appreciate my father's berating at the non-appreciation of my mother's dry omelets and I pressed on to enjoy new ventures, appreciative that they always encouraged/forced me to try new things. Other fallen citizens never got up the gusto to conquer new territory, thusly falling into the category of eating the familiar for whatever comfortable reason it invoked.
Regardless the category of eater ("New And Exciting", vs "Just The Familiar Please"), I am convinced we all Live to Eat. And I still contend that when done the right way, in the right setting, and with the right person (just like anything in life), the fear of the dreaded ingredients can be changed. Thusly pushing away the fear, darkness, and pain, only to liberate our hearts with the pleasure of something new.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The New York Diary
Blow by blow, a tribute to the New York food scene is tedious and overdone. I don't want to be that New York hipster sneering at the latest craze. Instead, I will give you the running diary of the Jacobs's latest sojourn...
Thursday, April 7
4:45AM: Wake up, pack car, yell at wife, make coffee, need coffee, feed cat, apologize to wife.
5:55AM: Hop train, Meg goes right to bed. Me, I'm wired, delve into a book that inspires me to write in diary fashion (Thanks Bill Simmons).
10AM: Arrive at Penn Station, charge back into city life, check bags, head to David Chang's Momofuku Noodle Bar.
12PM: After telling the cabbie how to get there (this is a recurring theme and I don't understand why they need directions, they are fucking cab drivers in effing New York), we arrive at this little noodle bar. You can read your own reviews. But what transpired there was something new for us.
We have always wanted good Dim Sum, and in San Francisco we were sorely disappointed with greasy, salty, bloaty, and oft blandish lacking direction Dim Sum. Step in David Chang and we were welcomed with a soy soft boiled egg with onion crispies (a snack), move on with steam bun pork belly, pickled cucumber and kim chi, duck confit salad with poached egg, and blast your socks off ramen with poached egg and pork belly.
I'm an egg slut, he seems to be one too as just about every dish had poached egg on top...top that with a great regional pilsner/lager list, and we needed a nap.
2pm: Goaddamn this hotel, nothing but slack jawed small towned Americans and deer in the headlight foreigner tourists, neither really speak English and have no sense of being self aware...they are in my way, I am very sleepy, and they wont let us check in until 3....
2:05pm: To the bar for a few more nap inducing cocktails?
2:55pm: After an act of congress, license, passport, credit cards, and promise of naming our first born Olga, the lady at the front desk is convinced I am actually who I say I am, and can stay with my wife and we get our room.
3pm: Did they really just give us a room directly outside of the elevator? Eh well, at least we're tired.
7pm: Woke up thinking it was 7am, disoriented, feeling a bit unpolished after those harmless cocktails, time to rally to the rooftop bar. We meet up with Meg's friend from Driver's Ed and proceed to imbibe a cocktail and head up to "The Plaza Hotel" for cocktail lounge/jazz action.
8pm: We just went through an airport style security check to see jazz? Guys are walking around with ear buds on and sunglasses, still remains a mystery as to who was there. Nonetheless we enjoyed some "great" 12 dollar Sam Adams (Budweiser for 10 bucks, what a deal) and a nice lounge act by a band named "Lapis Luna".
10:15pm: Again, the cabbie needs directions to "Babbo" which infuriates our friend Tina who is now a local. Take the fact that his culture's norm is to treat women as 5th class, and the fact that she was kind of raised in that setting and now she is all independent and shit...we have an old fashioned melee in the cab about why he shouldn't be driving and we should. I love how he keeps silent as we keep jabbing about how cabbies should know where they are going especially for the fact that they are CAB DRIVERS for cripes sake...love it how he suddenly became deaf or forgot how to speak English...
10:45pm: Tina heads to Brooklyn, we head into Babbo where our flamingly gay waiter "Vinnie" happily helps us and makes eyes at me. Nothing wrong with gays, it's just that my wife loves to watch the flamboyant ones make eyes at me due to the one mishap years ago when I was date rape french kissed after a night of platonic male bonding...she still giggles, I still cringe (I guess I know how a ton of girls felt in college when I pulled that same trick).
10:46pm: Meg still making Vinnie and Matty jokes...
11pm until...
Round after round of pasta, clearly indicating we were searching for that amazing comforting 11pm and a few cocktails later comfort dish. Yes, the Lambs Brain Ravioli were great, sure the Beef Cheek Ravioli were great....indeed so was the Guanciale(Pigs Cheek Braised with Ramps). And actually, at one point into the Guanciale, I reminisced about my grandmother's pot roast (When you do that to me you're doing something). Mario Batali has to be given respect, look at what he did for food over the last ten years. However, nothing blew us away. We can't wait to taste more Batali places, and we adore the book "Molto Mario" as it has opened our eyes making Italian food accessible to the home cook. He is a hero and forever will be in my mind as one, I just didn't love the food...such is life.
1am: Wobbly, I pose for a picture with my wife by the centerpiece of the restaurant. I saw the picture the other day and said, "When did we take that?" Oh Vinnie, you sly little devil you with your "half glass" pours.
1:20am: Drunkenly I take lobby furniture next to our door and place it in front of our door as if it will act as a noise buffer and double as a "Do Not Disturb Sign"...it's my eff you to the hotel for their crap service and my annoyance with their tourist patrons.
Friday, April 8th
The point of the trip was to not eat at status fancy places and do New York on the cheap...er....Day one, New York 1, Jacobs 0...
9:30am: We vow to try and do it on the "CheapER"....
10:15am: My wife and I walk outside of the room and she says, "Ugh, who the hell would put this furniture in front of our door, effing hotel"...I shrug...
10:30am: (After an hour of my wife getting ready and me growing steadily hungry and staying steadily hungover) Ess-A-Bagel. You want New York in a bite of breakfast go here...surly yet helpful New Yorkers making and doing the Lord's work....Lox, Potted meat, Bagels, Pickled every kind of fish possible, Kosher, Non-Kosher. Two quick Bagel Sandwiches, couple of coffees, and we decided to kill time till our next meal.
11am-1pm: We proceed to walk about 5 miles exploring people, sights, and Central Park. I realize no one speaks English in this city, which really isn't bad since my Grandparents started that way. But I realized that it's not just American tourists who are dumb and inconsiderate...it's the whole fucking human race. Wanting to go into a crowd like Neo from "The Matrix" and start throwing elbows on "Mr. Smith"...
1pm: Salumeria Rosi...aka Meat Heaven. Lardo, Prosciutto, Pasta, Wine...Cesare Casella is a genius and god to me. We walked 2.2 miles home to make room for the next indulgence. Feeling less perturbed about tourists...
2:30pm: I just saw Kelly Kapowski from "Saved by the Bell"...she was pushing a baby carriage, looking a little plumper than I remember, hair a little longer, and wearing house slippers...but there she was. She froze and took an escape route when she saw me whip out the iPhone and probably loudly say, "It's Kelly Kapowski" (Hey, I just went to meat heaven and had a few glasses of wine, who cares).
I could give a shit about taking her picture, I was only calling Nicky Freitag, my old high school buddy and co-chair of the self appointed "Saved by the Bell Fan Club", devastated he didn't pick up I left a rambling 3 glasses of wine into the afternoon tall tale story of my run in with fate....he texts 5 minutes later his disappointment that I didn't accost her with one liners from the show like he did to "Mr. Belding" when he met him on a golf course.
Meg happily commented, "She looks a little busted, that makes me feel better as she was the standard of "Pretty" in high school"...true, but c'mon...she's Kelly Kapowski busted or not. I once dreamt she and I got married in place of Mark Paul Gosselaar on "Saved by the Bell Vegas Wedding". I think I was in my mid twenties then...
4pm: Nap
6pm: Collichio and Sons Tap Room...Ricotta Cavatelli, Brocolli, Parmesan, and Soffritto....that is what we were searching for...THAT was the comfort pasta dish. Drunken Onion Jam and Bone Marrow on Toast Points...and one of the best burgers ever with pickled ramps and bread and butter pickles (Burger = 70% Chuck, 30% short rib).
8pm: Dessert = Zepolle With Banana Malt Ice Cream & Butterscotch. Zepolle = Doughnuts of a higher calling!
10pm: Carnegie Club for jazz...imagine my delight when we find out it's a cigar lounge as well (Meg thinks I totally planned that). So we have a seat, light a stogy, and shoot the shit. All the while a semi familiar looking gent walks in with his wife and shares chat about just seeing the Charlie Sheen show/wreck/debacle, living in New York, and wanting to visit Annapolis.
We share some similar stories (food travel, etc), and I am temped to ask if he is a celebrity (cause he looks so damn familiar), especially after being on such a roll with my Kapowski sighting. Suppressing the urge, we hang out a little more and our new friend hands us his card and says, "Since you guys live in Annapolis and we've never been, shoot me an email of where to eat and go, we are looking to travel there in the near future." They exit stage left...five minutes later the bartender tells us we should make friends with this guy as he just picked up our tab.
Not a celebrity as far as we know, just a great and generous guy...less agitated about the idiots touring New York at this point.
12:30am: We decide to give it a rest, anxious to chase the night, but wise enough to let it go...you can't chase a good night out. When someone pays your tab, you now are playing with house money. Fold the deck and move on...
1am: Back at the hotel, wreaking of poorly ventilated cigar bar, I proceed to go "Cookie Monster" all up and down my Carrot Cake Cupcake from "Crumbs".
1:30am: Still picking crumbs out of my hair.
Saturday, April 9th
10am: We too shall be tourists, after arguing and nearly having a hypoglycemic meltdown we settle into Grand Central Station and find solace in burnt coffee and Falafel from one of the many market vendors. What is it about street food that makes me really hungry even as I write?
12:30pm: We simulate the immigrants coming to America circa 1800/1900s by buying tickets to Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty. Here are the similarities, no English spoken, throngs of people, lines out the wazoo, people panhandling for money...just a little cleaner and less impoverished I bet. We sell our tickets to someone as we have no time for this (seriously the line was too long), snap some photos of our nation's landmarks and head up-town to "Craft Bar" by Tom Collichio with whom I'm in love with after last night's meal.
Nothing blow your mind good, but all around solid. Snacks, meatballs, drinks...
2pm: Let's walk to our hotel, grab a cab, and head home
3:45pm: We wait for a cab to take us a mile...
4:15pm: No cab...??? Oh, we are told it's change of shift, so we start walking and see a couple of the black Lincoln Town cars that love to gouge you and enjoy doing so without lube.
"How much to Penn Station?" My wife asks, "15 dollars." He replies..."Fifteen dollars, seriously? That's ridiculous"....The he starts with a condescending "Women are inferior" tone that sets my wife and me over the edge, "Fuck Off!" I say as we walk on...
Meanwhile it's now 4:30....25 minutes till train time, still not a mile within the station...enter warp speed walking, pushing foreigners out of the way, becoming ugly Americans and loving the adrenaline...
4:50pm: Hop on train
4:55pm: Train departs
5:05pm: Sam Adams, book, New York City Esq Pie as soon as we reach our doors.
Thursday, April 7
4:45AM: Wake up, pack car, yell at wife, make coffee, need coffee, feed cat, apologize to wife.
5:55AM: Hop train, Meg goes right to bed. Me, I'm wired, delve into a book that inspires me to write in diary fashion (Thanks Bill Simmons).
10AM: Arrive at Penn Station, charge back into city life, check bags, head to David Chang's Momofuku Noodle Bar.
12PM: After telling the cabbie how to get there (this is a recurring theme and I don't understand why they need directions, they are fucking cab drivers in effing New York), we arrive at this little noodle bar. You can read your own reviews. But what transpired there was something new for us.
We have always wanted good Dim Sum, and in San Francisco we were sorely disappointed with greasy, salty, bloaty, and oft blandish lacking direction Dim Sum. Step in David Chang and we were welcomed with a soy soft boiled egg with onion crispies (a snack), move on with steam bun pork belly, pickled cucumber and kim chi, duck confit salad with poached egg, and blast your socks off ramen with poached egg and pork belly.
I'm an egg slut, he seems to be one too as just about every dish had poached egg on top...top that with a great regional pilsner/lager list, and we needed a nap.
2pm: Goaddamn this hotel, nothing but slack jawed small towned Americans and deer in the headlight foreigner tourists, neither really speak English and have no sense of being self aware...they are in my way, I am very sleepy, and they wont let us check in until 3....
2:05pm: To the bar for a few more nap inducing cocktails?
2:55pm: After an act of congress, license, passport, credit cards, and promise of naming our first born Olga, the lady at the front desk is convinced I am actually who I say I am, and can stay with my wife and we get our room.
3pm: Did they really just give us a room directly outside of the elevator? Eh well, at least we're tired.
7pm: Woke up thinking it was 7am, disoriented, feeling a bit unpolished after those harmless cocktails, time to rally to the rooftop bar. We meet up with Meg's friend from Driver's Ed and proceed to imbibe a cocktail and head up to "The Plaza Hotel" for cocktail lounge/jazz action.
8pm: We just went through an airport style security check to see jazz? Guys are walking around with ear buds on and sunglasses, still remains a mystery as to who was there. Nonetheless we enjoyed some "great" 12 dollar Sam Adams (Budweiser for 10 bucks, what a deal) and a nice lounge act by a band named "Lapis Luna".
10:15pm: Again, the cabbie needs directions to "Babbo" which infuriates our friend Tina who is now a local. Take the fact that his culture's norm is to treat women as 5th class, and the fact that she was kind of raised in that setting and now she is all independent and shit...we have an old fashioned melee in the cab about why he shouldn't be driving and we should. I love how he keeps silent as we keep jabbing about how cabbies should know where they are going especially for the fact that they are CAB DRIVERS for cripes sake...love it how he suddenly became deaf or forgot how to speak English...
10:45pm: Tina heads to Brooklyn, we head into Babbo where our flamingly gay waiter "Vinnie" happily helps us and makes eyes at me. Nothing wrong with gays, it's just that my wife loves to watch the flamboyant ones make eyes at me due to the one mishap years ago when I was date rape french kissed after a night of platonic male bonding...she still giggles, I still cringe (I guess I know how a ton of girls felt in college when I pulled that same trick).
10:46pm: Meg still making Vinnie and Matty jokes...
11pm until...
Round after round of pasta, clearly indicating we were searching for that amazing comforting 11pm and a few cocktails later comfort dish. Yes, the Lambs Brain Ravioli were great, sure the Beef Cheek Ravioli were great....indeed so was the Guanciale(Pigs Cheek Braised with Ramps). And actually, at one point into the Guanciale, I reminisced about my grandmother's pot roast (When you do that to me you're doing something). Mario Batali has to be given respect, look at what he did for food over the last ten years. However, nothing blew us away. We can't wait to taste more Batali places, and we adore the book "Molto Mario" as it has opened our eyes making Italian food accessible to the home cook. He is a hero and forever will be in my mind as one, I just didn't love the food...such is life.
1am: Wobbly, I pose for a picture with my wife by the centerpiece of the restaurant. I saw the picture the other day and said, "When did we take that?" Oh Vinnie, you sly little devil you with your "half glass" pours.
1:20am: Drunkenly I take lobby furniture next to our door and place it in front of our door as if it will act as a noise buffer and double as a "Do Not Disturb Sign"...it's my eff you to the hotel for their crap service and my annoyance with their tourist patrons.
Friday, April 8th
The point of the trip was to not eat at status fancy places and do New York on the cheap...er....Day one, New York 1, Jacobs 0...
9:30am: We vow to try and do it on the "CheapER"....
10:15am: My wife and I walk outside of the room and she says, "Ugh, who the hell would put this furniture in front of our door, effing hotel"...I shrug...
10:30am: (After an hour of my wife getting ready and me growing steadily hungry and staying steadily hungover) Ess-A-Bagel. You want New York in a bite of breakfast go here...surly yet helpful New Yorkers making and doing the Lord's work....Lox, Potted meat, Bagels, Pickled every kind of fish possible, Kosher, Non-Kosher. Two quick Bagel Sandwiches, couple of coffees, and we decided to kill time till our next meal.
11am-1pm: We proceed to walk about 5 miles exploring people, sights, and Central Park. I realize no one speaks English in this city, which really isn't bad since my Grandparents started that way. But I realized that it's not just American tourists who are dumb and inconsiderate...it's the whole fucking human race. Wanting to go into a crowd like Neo from "The Matrix" and start throwing elbows on "Mr. Smith"...
1pm: Salumeria Rosi...aka Meat Heaven. Lardo, Prosciutto, Pasta, Wine...Cesare Casella is a genius and god to me. We walked 2.2 miles home to make room for the next indulgence. Feeling less perturbed about tourists...
2:30pm: I just saw Kelly Kapowski from "Saved by the Bell"...she was pushing a baby carriage, looking a little plumper than I remember, hair a little longer, and wearing house slippers...but there she was. She froze and took an escape route when she saw me whip out the iPhone and probably loudly say, "It's Kelly Kapowski" (Hey, I just went to meat heaven and had a few glasses of wine, who cares).
I could give a shit about taking her picture, I was only calling Nicky Freitag, my old high school buddy and co-chair of the self appointed "Saved by the Bell Fan Club", devastated he didn't pick up I left a rambling 3 glasses of wine into the afternoon tall tale story of my run in with fate....he texts 5 minutes later his disappointment that I didn't accost her with one liners from the show like he did to "Mr. Belding" when he met him on a golf course.
Meg happily commented, "She looks a little busted, that makes me feel better as she was the standard of "Pretty" in high school"...true, but c'mon...she's Kelly Kapowski busted or not. I once dreamt she and I got married in place of Mark Paul Gosselaar on "Saved by the Bell Vegas Wedding". I think I was in my mid twenties then...
4pm: Nap
6pm: Collichio and Sons Tap Room...Ricotta Cavatelli, Brocolli, Parmesan, and Soffritto....that is what we were searching for...THAT was the comfort pasta dish. Drunken Onion Jam and Bone Marrow on Toast Points...and one of the best burgers ever with pickled ramps and bread and butter pickles (Burger = 70% Chuck, 30% short rib).
8pm: Dessert = Zepolle With Banana Malt Ice Cream & Butterscotch. Zepolle = Doughnuts of a higher calling!
10pm: Carnegie Club for jazz...imagine my delight when we find out it's a cigar lounge as well (Meg thinks I totally planned that). So we have a seat, light a stogy, and shoot the shit. All the while a semi familiar looking gent walks in with his wife and shares chat about just seeing the Charlie Sheen show/wreck/debacle, living in New York, and wanting to visit Annapolis.
We share some similar stories (food travel, etc), and I am temped to ask if he is a celebrity (cause he looks so damn familiar), especially after being on such a roll with my Kapowski sighting. Suppressing the urge, we hang out a little more and our new friend hands us his card and says, "Since you guys live in Annapolis and we've never been, shoot me an email of where to eat and go, we are looking to travel there in the near future." They exit stage left...five minutes later the bartender tells us we should make friends with this guy as he just picked up our tab.
Not a celebrity as far as we know, just a great and generous guy...less agitated about the idiots touring New York at this point.
12:30am: We decide to give it a rest, anxious to chase the night, but wise enough to let it go...you can't chase a good night out. When someone pays your tab, you now are playing with house money. Fold the deck and move on...
1am: Back at the hotel, wreaking of poorly ventilated cigar bar, I proceed to go "Cookie Monster" all up and down my Carrot Cake Cupcake from "Crumbs".
1:30am: Still picking crumbs out of my hair.
Saturday, April 9th
10am: We too shall be tourists, after arguing and nearly having a hypoglycemic meltdown we settle into Grand Central Station and find solace in burnt coffee and Falafel from one of the many market vendors. What is it about street food that makes me really hungry even as I write?
12:30pm: We simulate the immigrants coming to America circa 1800/1900s by buying tickets to Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty. Here are the similarities, no English spoken, throngs of people, lines out the wazoo, people panhandling for money...just a little cleaner and less impoverished I bet. We sell our tickets to someone as we have no time for this (seriously the line was too long), snap some photos of our nation's landmarks and head up-town to "Craft Bar" by Tom Collichio with whom I'm in love with after last night's meal.
Nothing blow your mind good, but all around solid. Snacks, meatballs, drinks...
2pm: Let's walk to our hotel, grab a cab, and head home
3:45pm: We wait for a cab to take us a mile...
4:15pm: No cab...??? Oh, we are told it's change of shift, so we start walking and see a couple of the black Lincoln Town cars that love to gouge you and enjoy doing so without lube.
"How much to Penn Station?" My wife asks, "15 dollars." He replies..."Fifteen dollars, seriously? That's ridiculous"....The he starts with a condescending "Women are inferior" tone that sets my wife and me over the edge, "Fuck Off!" I say as we walk on...
Meanwhile it's now 4:30....25 minutes till train time, still not a mile within the station...enter warp speed walking, pushing foreigners out of the way, becoming ugly Americans and loving the adrenaline...
4:50pm: Hop on train
4:55pm: Train departs
5:05pm: Sam Adams, book, New York City Esq Pie as soon as we reach our doors.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Bromancing The Stone
I cannot tell you how much a bromance can make a marriage stronger. I am at the point that every time me and the boys hang out it's all about the finer things...cigars, great Bourbon or Scotch, Wine, Steaks...anything that is great...but this more than about food today.
I just wanted to shout out the boys who helped me grow up, cope, regress, and grow stronger.
In your darkest times and in your best, things are always better with people. Lots and lots of people. Call it being dependent, or just call it the need for social. Me, I left rural for city...and I am convinced I am always "CITY". I always need that college community. Is that why Facebook happened? As much as my mother says, "Your father and I never grew up in the dorm life"...I'm glad I did. Loneliness is the balls in life, and in all honesty, I am deathly afraid to be alone.
So many times in life my friends have bet the odds on me and taken their losses. And when things kinda came sour on my manloves, I kinda bowed out...most of the time for the best..but sometimes a little too chicken.
I have never bet on someone who was down...I always bowed out. Or, if I bet, I hedged.
This weekend I decided to bet on the off horse...and...I think he was the better horse, it just wasn't his race.
It inspired me to write this post to everyone who bet on me, and those who made my life better,
and I think it was worth it.
If it's not, the money I laid down was worth it in itself. Because, hats off to my wife, she made me take risks, she made me open my eyes to the terror of bad happen, and she made me cope. Deal with this MattyJakes she said, you can lose, but you will live an epic life in trying.
0% chance she is wrong, 100% chance she is right.
I just wanted to shout out the boys who helped me grow up, cope, regress, and grow stronger.
In your darkest times and in your best, things are always better with people. Lots and lots of people. Call it being dependent, or just call it the need for social. Me, I left rural for city...and I am convinced I am always "CITY". I always need that college community. Is that why Facebook happened? As much as my mother says, "Your father and I never grew up in the dorm life"...I'm glad I did. Loneliness is the balls in life, and in all honesty, I am deathly afraid to be alone.
So many times in life my friends have bet the odds on me and taken their losses. And when things kinda came sour on my manloves, I kinda bowed out...most of the time for the best..but sometimes a little too chicken.
I have never bet on someone who was down...I always bowed out. Or, if I bet, I hedged.
This weekend I decided to bet on the off horse...and...I think he was the better horse, it just wasn't his race.
It inspired me to write this post to everyone who bet on me, and those who made my life better,
and I think it was worth it.
If it's not, the money I laid down was worth it in itself. Because, hats off to my wife, she made me take risks, she made me open my eyes to the terror of bad happen, and she made me cope. Deal with this MattyJakes she said, you can lose, but you will live an epic life in trying.
0% chance she is wrong, 100% chance she is right.
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