Phoenix

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars


About a month ago I was in Phoenix for my buddy Mike’s bachelor party. We had a good time, ate a little, drank a lot, and drove even more (but not while or directly following drinking, because that is wrong). See, I used to think that St. Louis was the world’s largest suburb, but I realize now that Phoenix is. Everything is 30 minutes away. If you’re downtown and want to go to Scottsdale? 30 minutes. If you’re in Anthem (where my buddy lives) and want to get anywhere? 30 minutes. If you’re in Scottsdale and want to get to another part of Scottsdale? 30 minutes. The airport? 30 minutes. The line to get into a hot club in Scottsdale? 30 minutes. The line to get into my pants? 30 minutes. The list goes on, but everything seems 30 minutes away. I have a feeling the Super Bowl next year is going to be a disaster since the stadium is 30 minutes away from ANYTHING (including the parking lot). Mike claims it isn’t that bad, and you get used to it. But he’s getting married, so clearly he’s an idiot (Amy, if you’re reading, I love being married. It’s awesome. I can’t wait to grow old with you.).

This coming weekend we’re heading back there for the wedding, where I happen to be the Best Man. I’ll be honest, I’m a little nervous about writing the speech, or coming up with the speech. I think I’m more worried about my wife’s reaction than I am the Bride’s. Either way I’m sure it’s going to kill. Clearly I’m hilarious.

Any who, here’s a list of where we ate, and a little bit of what we did to celebrate the end of one chapter in Mike’s life, and the start of another (even if the new chapter is painful to read). Just jokes people.


Restaurant: Denny’s
Location: Anthem, AZ

The goal was for everyone to arrive at PHX around the same time on Thursday night (around 7:30), so Mike could grab us at the airport (Tony, Deni and myself), then we could head out on the town (meeting Adam where ever we decided to go). Well, it was raining in Phoenix. Yeah, apparently it rains there. I didn’t know that either. Tony and Deni were delayed out of St. Louis and got in an hour late. Now, my trip was a little more trouble. I was trying to save some cash since it seems you can’t fly into PHX for less than $450. Especially in March. Especially on short notice. So my flight was going to take me from Chicago to Pittsburg to Phoenix, getting me in around 7:30. When I got to the airport there was a line at US Airways two hours long (minimum). Why? Because all of their self check-in kiosks were broken. All of them. After waiting for 5 minutes, and realizing that I would never make my flight at this rate, I cut the line and walked up to one of the machines that had a sign that clearly said “Out of Order”. I played with it for a minute, then got the lady’s attention behind the counter and said, “I’m sorry, I not sure if this is working or not, but it’s not letting me get my boarding pass.” She grabbed my ID, punched a couple of keys on her computer, and handed me a boarding pass. I then turned around to see about 350 people staring at me like I was the anti-christ, or Jim Hendry, which is pretty much the same thing to me at this point. I felt bad. 8 seconds later that feeling went away as I cruised through security on my way to my gate.

And that is where karma caught up with me. My flight was delayed. By an hour. Meaning I’d miss my connection in Pittsburg (which was running on time). I talked to the ticket agent and she said everything was booked, and she wouldn’t be able to get me on a plane to PHX until two days later (no joke). The best option she had for me was to keep my flight to Pittsburg, sleep in the airport overnight (they wouldn’t cover a hotel), then fly out on a 7 a.m. flight to PHX that would get me there at 9-ish (and in time for golf). I was livid. She booked it for me, and gave me a number to call if I decided to just cancel my trip and take the refund. I called the number and talked to another lady to see if she could do any better. I told her I was going there for a wedding, was the best man, and really, really needed to get there that night so that the bride wouldn’t kill me. She was able to find me a flight on a different airline and needed her supervisor to authorize it. He didn’t. So, there I was, stuck with two options: 1) Pittsburg or 2) cancel my trip. Then I heard the ticket agent from the next gate make a final boarding call to Vegas. I figured what the hell, if I’m going to be stuck anywhere I’d rather it be Vegas because my sister lives there. And it’s Vegas. I hurried over and she asked if anyone in line was on the flight to Vegas. I raised my hand and she let me cut the line. I explained the situation, and she was able to throw me on the plane in the last available seat (and an exit aisle seat no less), and told me that she would take care of my connection from Vegas to PHX after I took off. I would be booked on the 11 p.m. flight to PHX from there, but could get on an earlier flight going stand-by. Which is exactly what I did. I made it into PHX about an hour after the other guys. Not a huge deal, but…

By the time we got from the airport to Anthem (30 minutes away), everything was closed. And it was only 10:30. The only thing still open serving food was Denny’s. What choice did we have? Our big night out on the town turned out to be a late dinner at Denny’s and hanging out at Mike’s new house.

I hadn’t eaten since lunch (about 12 hours earlier), so I ordered just about everything on the menu. And before you read that as an exaggeration, let me tell you what I ordered:

- Meat Lovers Omelet
- Hash browns
- Two pieces of bacon
- Two pieces of sausage
- Two pieces of toast
- A stack of pancakes
- A basket of onion rings
- And a Miller Lite (that’s right, Denny’s serves beer. It’s like a dream come true.)

I hadn’t eaten at a Denny’s in years. Many years. And you know what? I forgot how reliable it was. The omelet was what you could expect. Not great, but not terrible. I was expecting an average omelet served in a heart attack portion size, and it didn’t disappoint. The bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast were all fine. I don’t even really remember what they tasted like. The pancakes were fantastic. Now, I’m not sure if they tasted as good as they did because they were sweet, and a nice balance to the protein, salt, and fried food I was eating, or if Denny’s pancakes are just better than people give them credit for. They were fluffy, cooked perfectly, and didn’t need a whole lot of syrup (which is a good sign, because when you have to load up pancakes with syrup it means you’re trying to hide the taste of the actual pancake with a diabetic attack of liquid sugar).

When you’re starving, looking for decent food that won’t disappoint you (mostly because your expectations are so low), and don’t mind risking contracting Hepatitis B from a cook, Denny’s is the place that always comes through. A surprising fist bump.



Restaurant: Copper Door
Location: San Carlos Hotel, Phoenix, AZ

Friday was a day of golf, which was highlighted by 1) a Deni meltdown that resulted in him throwing his club in someone’s backyard while they were sitting on their patio having lunch and 2) by a creepy-uncle type we met on the driving range who made this fantastic joke about the women he met at the range: “Me and those women have a lot in common. We both love [women’s genitalia].” Good one sir. Please stop talking to me.

For dinner on Friday night, we wanted to do something nice, but nothing that was too much of a scene and wouldn’t put the hurt on our wallets. We tried to get reservations at Durant’s, which is a great steakhouse that feels like it’s still living in the 1960’s and 70’s. The whole place looks like a scene out of Carlito’s Way. But, they were booked, so we went to the Copper Door instead. We were heading to the Rattlers arena football game afterwards, and Copper Door is located in the San Carlos hotel, which isn’t far from the stadium, so it made it easy to grab dinner and then walk over to catch the game.

The San Carlos is supposedly haunted. Some chick took a headfirst dive off the roof (7 floors up) about 70 years ago or something, and she’s been creeping the place out ever since. Apparently the San Carlos used to be the spot. All the Clark Gable cats from back in the day used to come here and party and spend the weekend in Phoenix. It was apparently also the last time that people hung out in downtown Phoenix, because at seven o’clock on the Friday night the whole area was dead. No one on the streets. Everything was closed. Just a bunch of tumbleweeds blowing around. So, it was no surprise that we were the only people eating at the Copper Door. Normally, I wouldn’t be surprised since we were eating at six, but since 90% of Phoenix residents are 90, I assumed that the place would be hopping during the blue hair witching hour. I was wrong.

On the plus side we got extra attention from our server. Unfortunately it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was his first night, and once he realized we were a group of friends on a bachelor party, he thought that it would be OK if he became part of the party. At one point he was sitting down at the table and watching basketball with us. Perfect.

I started off with onion rings, which were fantastic. Good batter, huge size, tons of flavor, and fried. Plus, they were fried. I also got a salad to start of with. Nothing special. Not sure why I even brought it up.

For dinner I wanted to get the pork chop, but they were out of them. I was pretty upset. So much so that everyone at the table started calling me “pork chop”. Which was amusing. Until our server started calling me “pork chop”. “Hey ‘pork chop’, you need another drink?” “Hey ‘pork chop’, how’s your food?” It culminated at the end of the meal when we were leaving and he shook everyone’s hand, and when he got to mine he said, “Have a good one, ‘pork chop’.” Needless to say I wasn’t happy about this. Which I probably shouldn’t be putting in writing because everyone (and by everyone I mean all 3 people who read this) will start calling me “pork chop”. Can’t wait.

I ended up getting a strip steak, which was fine. I could have used a slightly bigger one, but that kind of thinking has gotten me tipping the scales a little heavy these days, so it’s probably good I didn’t. The mashed potatoes were really good. Nice and creamy, just how I like them.

In the end, the place was just OK. But the drinks were strong, so that was nice. Gonna have to give it a high five with a manly ass slap.

After dinner we headed out to the game, which was entertaining. And I was amazed how good looking the cheerleaders were. I wasn’t expecting much since it was an AFL team, but they were solid. About a thousand times better than the Luvabulls. And yes, I’m a scumbag. The rest of the night was spent in Scottsdale, where I somehow volunteered to be the sober driver and got to watch everyone get drunk, Tony do touchdown celebrations in the streets with perfect strangers, and Tony and Adam have a UFC competition (which Adam won by using his Butterbean build to suffocate Tony).

Restaurant: Taco Del Mar
Location: Anthem, AZ


The next morning we headed to Taco Del Mar for breakfast (since it was almost noon). Well, that’s not entirely true. First we headed to a bagel place, but nobody wanted a bagel and was ready for a heartier meal. Except for me. I had been up the longest, hadn’t eaten, and then had to wait for everyone to get ready. But the time we went to go eat I was starving, so I ran in and got a bagel with cream cheese. Then we went to Taco Del Mar and I got a burrito.

Taco Del Mar isn’t that different from a Chipotle. You have a limited menu (burritos, tacos, etc…), they make it in front of you, and your stomach gets stretched like a limo. What I loved about this place (and they have locations across the country, just none in Illinois or Wisconsin) is that it was family owned, and the whole family was there on Saturday morning. Mom and dad were walking around, talking to customers, and their kids were the ones preparing the food behind the counter. It had a great family feel. You felt at home and welcomed. Plus, the burritos don’t feel as scripted as they do at Chipotle. You really get to pick every ingredient you want in it and how much of it you want. It’s like the Burger King of burrito places. And on top of that the burrito was really, really good. Plus they served beer, which tasted great at 11:30.

Fist bump with a manly ass slap.

After lunch we headed to a family fun park for some juvenile games and gambling. This is what happens when you get married after 30. First we played mini-golf, but as a skins game, with everyone throwing $40 into the pot. Pretty fun to have 10 carry-over holes with someone putting for $100. More enjoyable than I ever could have imagined. Then we did some go-karting where the only object was to spin people out. If you did, they owed you $5. It’s a miracle no one got killed. Or kicked out. And it seemed like Tony won about $50. It’s no surprise that he’s good at hitting guys from behind and making them lose control. After that we did a little home run derby at the batting cage, where Deni finished things off by dropping the bat, turning his back, and taking a pitch. It was like Jackass. Except you didn’t want to vomit while watching it.


Restaurant: Jillian’s
Location: Scottsdale, AZ


Who cares about the food? I think I had a burger that was terrible, and a spinach dip that was passable. High five (and I’m being generous).

The real story was my domination at pop-a-shot. Well, adult pop-a-shot. They had the classic pop-a-shot, which Mike killed at, but when it came to the adult version (which involved real basketballs, and a 10-foot rim) I was like Dirk Nowitzki. It felt good. I’m not going to lie.


And that about covers it.



Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.

Chew Chew Cafe

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars


Restaurant: Chew Chew Cafe
Location: 1 Riverside Drive


This past Sunday was Easter Sunday, so my wife and I had planned on having brunch with my folks. My mom told me she made reservations at Chew Chew Café. She’s mentioned it a bunch of times in the past and claimed that the food was really good. All I knew was that it was a train place and located right next to some train tracks. My dad is a HUGE train geek (he does model trains and actually has a train that runs though the backyard) so I wasn’t surprised that my parents liked it. And when I say HUGE geek, I mean in a good way. Model trains don’t sound sexy, but that’s because they aren’t. But, they do look pretty tight when done right. My parents’ backyard is a good example. Back in the day they used to call my dad LL Cool T (Ladies Love Cool Trains). My mom never had a chance.

When I asked my mom the name of it so I could get directions online she said, “Chew Chew Café, but it’s spelled C-H-E-W.” Oh boy. I assumed it was spelled the traditional train way (as in Choo Choo). Now, as a writer I love a good pun, a sweet play on words, and all the geeky stuff. But Chew Chew? Seemed a little much (but I was also secretly amused). I could only imagine what this place was like. “Witty” name. In the ‘burbs. My parents liked it (remember, these are the same people who eat at Lalo’s every Friday night). Here’s the best way I can explain it. When I went back to St. Louis to visit after I had moved we were trying to find a place to have breakfast, and someone said First Watch. So we headed there. The wait was really, really long, like it was the best (or only) breakfast place in all of St. Louis. And when I was done I felt like I had just eaten at a cleaner Denny’s (except not as good) but paid twice as much. I realized that it was one of those places that people talk themselves into being better than they really are because if they can’t convince themselves (and other people) that it’s good, then it means they have nothing. The same way people in suburbs like Naperville try to convince you that they have all this great stuff going on out there because they don’t want to believe that they are missing out by not living in the city. So that’s what I figured Chew Chew Café would be. A place that suburbanites try to convince you is great so that you feel like you’re missing out on something. Guess what? They’re right.

Believe me, I’m as shocked as you are. The day before I went I mentioned my plans to Geoff, and he said, “Chew Chew? That place is good. For real.” Even this didn’t convince me. But you know what did convince me? The chocolate chip pancakes.

Allow me a quick aside. I was just killing time and channel surfing and I stopped to watch “Thank God You’re Here.” The show is an improv type of show featuring different comedians each week competing against each other. Here’s the part I don’t understand – Dave Foley (who has aged horribly, and that’s an understatement. New Radio was about 10 years ago, but judging by Foley it might have been closer to 30.) is the “judge”? He gets to decide what’s good and what’s bad and picks a winner at the end of the show. What qualifies him to be the one and only judge? And don’t say “Kids in the Hall” because he’s a long way from those days. I don’t get it? Was he like the all-time greatest “Thank God You’re Here” improv guy? I have no idea why this bothers me, but it does. It also doesn’t help that David Alan Grier is the host. He’s a long way from In Living Color.

OK, sorry about that. Back to the pancakes. See, a lot of places try to do the special pancake thing. Whether it’s some kind of fruit pancake (like seasonal fruit, or apple and cinnamon) or something sweet (like chocolate pancakes) or something “kooky” and “over-the-top” (like pumpkin pancakes with chocolate syrup and bananas and gummy bears). The problem is not many places do it well. Most places try too hard and end up with a mess that has no taste, or too much taste, or it’s thrown together with no thought. Rarely do you find a place that does it really well (like Bongo Room). So as I was checking the menu and deciding what to get, I really wanted to put Chew Chew to the test. Eggs are easy. Omelets are easy. Even pancakes are pretty easy. But, chocolate chip pancakes? Not easy. There are a lot of places where they can go wrong. Too much chocolate. Not enough chocolate. Too much sauce. Or syrup doesn’t go well with it. It’s just really risky. But Chew Chew did ‘em right.

Each pancake had a perfect balance of chocolate chips baked in. Then the stack was topped with the perfect portion as well. Not too much. Just enough that if I wanted to add a little extra chocolate to a bite I could. And on top of that there were sliced bananas on top. And on top of THAT there was caramel sauce drizzled over the whole thing. But again, not too much. It was the perfect balance in every bite. And you didn’t have to add any syrup. The caramel sauce and chocolate chips were just enough to keep it moist and sweet without needing sauce or anything. It was amazing. I loved them. Now, I don’t think they were as good as what the Bongo Room produces, but these were definitely worth the trip.

Luckily my wife never finishes what she orders, so I got a couple of bites of the eggs benedict. Another great order. The key was the English muffin it was served on. Just a big ol’ piece of bread, toasted and buttered perfectly. Then top it with all the good stuff. Delicious. Not too much taste, not too little taste. Special, but not too special. Good stuff. Chew Chew was two for two.

And according to Geoff, and my parents, the dinner here is really good as well. For now, I’ll have to take their word for it. But I might just have to check it out sometime.

Chew Chew Café gets a surprising chest bump.


Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.

New York, New York

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars



OK, so about a month ago I turned 30. Awesome. Turning 30 really wasn’t that big a deal. The one thing it does do is open your eyes a little bit. You notice what you’ve accomplished in your life (like bowling a 250 once), and what you haven’t accomplished (two chicks at the same time). You also start to notice little things about yourself that have probably changed over time and you never noticed it before but suddenly you’re 30 so you start to really think about it. For example, back in college, a typical day’s worth of food looked like this:

Breakfast
- Two bowls of cereal
- A ham and cheese omelette
- Four pieces of toast (with butter)
- A glass of milk
- A glass of chocolate milk
- A glass of orange juice
- An apple or banana (or both)
- And a huge waffle (with butter and syrup)
(Just for the record, this was my breakfast every day at Eva J’s. No joke. It never changed. Not in four years. Except that sometimes I might get a little of the day’s special (like biscuits and gravy or something).)

Lunch
- Two footlong Subway subs
(This varied every day. Depends what I was in the mood for – Burger King, Subway, the cafeteria, etc… - or where friends wanted to eat. The only requirement was that the place had to take student charge, so my parents would end up paying for it.)

Dinner
- Two steak soft tacos from Taco Bell
- A Whopper
- Fries
- Onion Rings
- A small pizza from Pizza Hut
(Again, this varied every night depending on things, but you get the point.)

Late Night
- Two pints of Ben and Jerry’s
(During my sophomore year Hitt St. Market was running a special – 2 pints for $5 – and since they took student charge, I got two pints every day. And each night I would eat an entire pint of Phish Food and an entire pint of Chunky Monkey. And I usually wouldn’t start the first pint until about 10 at night. Now, keep in mind each pint contains about 1,200 calories and 80 grams of fat. So that’s 2,400 calories and 160 grams of fat. Every night.)

The point is I ate a lot. More than a lot. I ate more than several countries. But the thing is I never gained any weight. I had the metabolism of a 20 year old, and could work out 2 hours a day, because what else was I going to do? Go to class? I never weighed over 185, and when I weighed that I was pretty ripped (not to brag, but I had a six pack). Now? I don’t eat nearly as much (but let’s be honest, I still eat more than most, and way more than I should) and the weight just keeps creeping on. And it’s much tougher to get rid of. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, being 30 is awesome.

So, for my 30th birthday, my wife surprised me with a trip to New York. And not only that, she had some friends come meet me, including my sister. Here’s the low-down on some of the places we ate at while visiting the Big Apple.


Restaurant: John’s
Location: 408 E 64th St.

When my wife was making plans for the NY trip, she didn’t have much in mind. She wasn’t sure what I would be up for, and since there were a bunch of people coming in at different times, it was also probably tough to coordinate a bunch of activities. So, she kept it pretty simple. Lunch plans on Thursday and dinner reservations on Friday.

By the time we got in Thursday (we left on the 6 a.m. flight, got in about 8 or something, then decided to take the train, which was a mistake because it was under construction, so we didn’t end up making it to our hotel until almost 11. Maybe the most painful experience of my life. When I walked into the hotel and my sister was there waiting, I was so pissed off that I didn’t even say “hi” to her. Needless to say I don’t have a lot of patience. Luckily the DoubleTree offers free cookies, so that calmed me down.) it was about time to grab lunch. We threw our stuff in the room, relaxed for a minute, and waited for Matt and Allison to get in. Then the five of us headed out to John’s.

Well, we start walking there, and my wife knows the address, and my sister has been waiting on us long enough that she spent the morning walking around and at one point headed that direction. So as we’re walking there and getting further from touristland, my wife looks around and says, “I don’t remember this at all.” Apparently she’s been to John’s before. “I thought it was in the theater district.” About a block later we finally reached John’s. We’re relieved, but my wife is pretty confused. “This can’t be the place.” I checked the menu posted on the outside of the building, and the front of it showed three addresses for John’s, one of them being in Times Square. “That’s the one I meant to go to.” Oh well, we’re here now.

When we got inside the place was empty. I guess that’s why she wanted to go to the other location. Then again, it was almost two o’clock. So we had our choice of seats and slid into a booth. We started off with some Pete’s-A-Rolls. They’re balls of dough stuffed with stuff. We went with the fresh spinach and mozzarella. Here’s something you may not know about me. I like spinach pizza, especially when it’s stuffed pizza. It’s definitely not my first choice (the pepperoni and pepperoncini combo, also known as the Ricky Kim), but it’s up there. So, I thought the spinach Pete’s-A-Rolls were the right choice. And they were. These things were delicious. Just little balls of goodness. You know how Munchkins are great little poppable versions of donuts? Well, these things were great little poppable versions of pizza.

As we were ordering our pizza, a couple came in to eat. I didn’t really notice them when they walked in, but I noticed that they decided to sit in the booth directly behind us. So, my back was to them, but Amy, Allison, and Matt were facing them perfectly. The only reason I bring this up is because they could have sat ANYWHERE in this place. I mean it was more wide open then Briana Banks. But they sat as close to us as possible. And as you’ll find out in a minute, I’m glad they did.

Matt and I ordered a pizza with pepperoni and prosciutto. I wasn’t sure what to expect with the pizza here. I’m used to buying New York pizza by the slice, where you get a giant thin slice that you have to fold in half just to get it in your mouth. Well, you know what John’s reminded me of? Shakespeare’s in Columbia, MO. Not that it tasted the exact same or anything like that, but the pizza looked similar, similar style crust and slice size and all that stuff. John’s pizza is cooked in a coal-burning oven, and maybe that’s the same way Shakespeare’s does it. I don’t know. Anyway, the pizza was delicious. I loved it. I could see this being one of my “places” if I lived in New York. But the pizza wasn’t the highlight of the place. The couple sitting behind us was.

When they walked in I didn’t really notice them. It was a man and a woman, and that’s about as much as I saw. But as their lunch went on, it became obvious that this wasn’t a lunch but a rendezvous. They were having an affair. Allison was somehow hearing the best of it, mostly because she was the one who was listening and watching their every move. Turns out the guy was telling the woman that he wanted her to leave her husband. And if she didn’t, he wasn’t sure he could go on like this. He said something about her getting both of their life insurances or something. And throughout the whole conversation, the more heated he got, the more he swore. And this is when I took better notice of what Allison already knew – the guy looked like he was in his 70s and she looked like she was in her early 40s. I just pictured my grandpa throwing around the f-bomb to his 30-years-younger mistress. I wanted to turn around and tell this gentleman that he was my hero, but I thought that might be inappropriate. Mostly because my wife was there, and I wasn’t in the mood for a swift kick to the groin.

John’s gets a solid chest bump. Really enjoyed this place.


Restaurant: Telephone Bar and Grill
Location: 149 Second Ave.

On Thursday night, after a day of walking around, we were trying to decide where to grab dinner. No one really wanted to make a decision, and I’m the kind of guy who just likes to wander and pick a place at random. So, we jumped in a cab, told him we wanted to head to East Village (as if I had any idea what or where that was), and that we were looking for some food (nothing special, just something casual). So he drops us off and we start walking around. Well, everyone is about to pass out because they’re so hungry, so we only walked around for about 30 seconds, and there was Telephone Bar and Grill. Looked like a decent, local crowd inside, so we headed in. I loved the atmosphere of this place. Some people were eating. Some were just standing around drinking like they were making happy hour last all night long (the Dave Hart special), and the backroom was hosting an open-mic comedy night. I never got the chance to head back and check it out, but I’m sure it was hilarious. Our waiter had a British accent. I was convinced he wasn’t really British, but a struggling actor who was working on his accent for some off-off-off Broadway play. One that I would never see. Unless it was about food. For dinner I ordered the stew. Not sure how I felt about it. It smelled of something awful. You might even say pungent. But that didn’t stop me from eating the whole bowl. I think I was just really hungry and could have eaten anything at this point. The fries were another story. They were amazing. They were the kind of fries where you would put one in your mouth, and as you were chewing it, you would already have another one in your hand and shove it in your mouth right as you were done swallowing. Kind of like how chain smokers will light their next cigarette off the one they have in their mouth, because they can’t even stand to be without a cigarette long enough to light it with a match or lighter. These were like that. Without the cancer. But with the cholesterol. And Telephone had a great selection of beer. I also enjoyed that. But, overall, I can only give the food a High Five.


Restaurant: Pinnacle Deli
Location: Corner of 3rd ave and 45th st

On Friday morning, while everyone else was recovering from Thursday night (I’ll spare you the details, but they involved a lot of drinking, some 21 year old who shared my birthday trying to make out with me, and us ending up at some bar where the bartender agreed to stay open as late as we wanted), I decided to head out for a walk and was on a mission to find some little corner bagel place and get breakfast. About 6 blocks from where I was staying in Midtown I found Pinnacle. The bagel was really, really good, and the guys behind the counter couldn’t have been nicer. But who gives an F? The great thing about Pinnacle was that they spread the cream cheese onto the bagel with a spoon. That alone earns them a perfect rating. The only thing that could have topped it is if they used a shovel. Half handshake, half chest-bump hug.


Restaurant: Café Borgia
Location: 196 Spring St.


During the day on Friday we headed down to SoHo to do some shopping. We stopped for lunch at Café Borgia. I enjoyed it. Just a small little intimate setting with some great home-style food. I had the chicken soup, which tasted just like the one mom used to make. I also got a hot chocolate, which was fantastic. It tasted like they melted a Hershey’s bar into some whole milk. And I thank them for that.

Chest bump.


Restaurant: Mesa Grill
Location: 102 5th Ave.


My wife wanted to have at least one dinner as a big group at a nice restaurant, so she made reservations at Mesa Grill. Mesa Grill is Bobby Flay’s restaurant, which leads me to one question: is that his real name?

See, my theory is that Bobby Flay’s life story was kind of like an after school special. Back when Bobby Jackson was in high school, his parents started asking him where he wanted to go to college. But Bobby told them he didn’t want to go to college. He wanted to become a chef and go to The French Culinary Institute. This lead to a disapproving look from his dad, followed by his dad screaming, “No son of mine is going to become a…a…a chef! What are you, some kind of fruit?” So Bobby ran away. Shamed by his family he changed his last name from Jackson to Flay, and eventually graduated from the Institute with an Outstanding Graduate Award. After graduation he headed to New York City and worked in several restaurants, honing his skills, until one day he was ready to open his own place. And when that day came, he called his parents (of course his dad still wouldn’t talk to him) and convinced his mom (who would drag dad along, even though he wouldn’t know why) to come to New York and see him. Bobby would convince them to meet him at a new restaurant called Mesa Grill. When they arrived and sat down at the best table in the house, out comes Bobby. His dad is furious and wants to leave, but mom convinces him to sit. So, the three of them have dinner together. Eventually his dad is a little less pissed off, and as he finishes his meal, he says, “Wow, that was terrific. This place is great.” And Bobby simply says, “I’ll let the owner and chef know you think so.” And his mom asks, “You KNOW the owner?” And Bobby grins, and says, “Yeah. It’s me.” Both parents stare in amazement, and then his dad puts down his napkin, stands up and hugs his son.

And then I probably cry.

Seriously, with a name like Bobby Flay, it has to be made up, right?

Speaking of changing names, I have one more quick sidetrack. A couple of years ago I happened to watch a special on HBO called “Katie Morgan: A Porn Star Revealed”. It featured Katie Morgan talking about her life, how she got into porn, why she does it, why she likes it, how she got her porn name, etc… Of course she is sitting on a stool naked the entire show. Well, at one point she talks about growing up with conservative parents: "I might as well have been raised in the 40s," Katie sighs, adding that her mother and father still don't know what she does for a living. Excuse me? Your parents don’t know what you do for a living? And you still talk to them? And you don’t want them to find out that you’re a porn star? Um, guess what, there’s a good chance they just found out. Why would you go on HBO if you didn’t want them to find out? I mean, there’s already a chance that some pervert from your home town is going to see you in a porn, recognize you, do the math, and maybe leak the news, which will eventually make it’s way through the gossip-mill of small town USA. But now that you had your own special on HBO? I mean everyone has HBO these days. Now I’m sure half the town has seen it, and your dirty little secret isn’t really a secret anymore. And why do I bring this up? I have no idea.

By the way, the food at Mesa Grill is really good. The blue corn pancake, which includes barbecued duck, is terrific. The corn tamale is also really tasty, but it has garlic, so it should be tasty. Seriously, is there anything made with garlic that isn’t tasty? I can’t think of anything. I don’t even remember what I ordered for dinner. I think some kind of steak or something, and I’m sure it was great, but the New Mexican Spice Rubbed Pork Tenderloin stole my attention. I’ve said it before – pork falls into three categories. Terrible (very few fall into this category, and the restaurant has to almost try to make it terrible), good/great (probably 90% of pork dishes fall into this category. You can’t screw up pork (unless you try), and in the end they all end up tasting pretty similar, which is why it’s always a safe order), and unbelievably perfect HJ-worthy pork. Guess what, the pork tenderloin fell into this category. It was…indescribable. Just one of the best dishes I’ve even eaten. I might have finished in my pants. It was $29, and I would have paid $1,000. That’s how good I thought it was.

For dessert by buddy Tony had called ahead and had them prepare a special chocolate cake just for me (well, it was actually for everyone at the table, but in my honor). So, Mesa Grill had their pastry chef prepare something special and from scratch. The cake was awesome. And for $90, it should have been. But you know what they did? They brought the cake out and presented it, then took it back to the kitchen to cut it, then brought out 9 equal pieces (one for everyone at the table). But where was the rest of the cake? No way those 9 pieces added up to that whole cake. I think they charged us $90 (which Tony paid for) for half a cake, then used the other half to feed other tables probably later in the night. Kinda shady.

But, that being said, I still think the place was terrific. I’m gonna give them a chest bump with a manly ass slap. They would have gotten a perfect score, but something about Bobby Flay bothers me, so I had to knock them a half point.

After dinner we headed out for the night again, drank a lot (I drank less than most, but I also ate more than most, so it was a wash), went to a great dive bar, and eventually ended up at the same late-night bar from the night before, except this time Matt went on a McDonald’s run and brought about 20 cheeseburgers and fries into the bar. Good times. And the bartender was getting high, so he appreciated the food.

I just want to wrap this up by thanking my wife for surprising me and organizing the trip. And I want to thank Yvette, Matt, Allison, Katy, Nick, Tony, Jamie, and Dave for coming out to help me celebrate.

I give the whole trip a half handshake, half chest-bump hug.



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