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.

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.



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

La Bamba

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
Fone and fone – 0 stars
Manly ass slap – ½ star


Restaurant: La Bamba
Location: 2557 N. Halsted


I decided to do my own little version of Fat Tuesday yesterday. It comprised of eating lunch at La Bamba and ordering a “burrito as big as your head” and then having $1 burgers for dinner at Bar Louie.

So, part one of the dynamic duo took place during lunch with my friend Katy. I didn’t realize there was a La Bamba in the Loop, so it was a pleasant surprise to stumble upon it. I think it was on Madison, just east of Wells, but don’t quote me on that. Now, La Bamba brags that they make “burritos as big as your head”. I think they should change the tagline to “burritos as big as Josh’s hog”. Of course my wife would recommend the tagline “straws twice the size of Josh’s hog”. Either one works, I guess.

Anyway, I ordered the Super burrito, which is roughly the size of the Sunday edition of the Chicago Tribune. It really was much, much bigger than I thought it would be. It’s nice to know that there is a place that isn’t all hype. When they say they have big burritos, they bring it with big burritos. They have three sizes - small, regular, and super. Really, you should probably just go with the regular, which is still a huge burrito. But like I said, this was Fat Tuesday, so I went with the heart-attack-and-crap-all-afternoon size.

I opted for the pork as my meat of choice. Now, normally I’ll go steak, but I decided to mix it up. That, and I was planning on consuming about 6 lbs of red meat for dinner. Every burrito place is different about how they fill their tortilla. Some, like Chipotle, will use rice. Others will stuff it with veggies. La Bamba goes the bean route. They stuff this thing with a ton of beans. And not black beans or whatever, but the kinda smooshed beans that remind me of soft cat food. Either way, I’m not a huge bean guy, but I’ll eat the crap out of it when needed. And this was one of those times it was needed.

I didn’t love the burrito, but I also wasn’t going to look like a puss and leave a have eaten Super burrito sitting on my plate. I’m better than that. So, I slowly worked this thing over, pouring some great hot salsa on top of each bite.

Besides the cat food that filled this monster, I only had one other complaint – there wasn’t enough meat. The pork was shredded, which is fine, and it was good, but there just wasn’t enough. You had to get several bites into the thing before you hit meat, and even then it was a little sparse for my taste. I like my burrito STUFFED with meat, so it’s falling out all over the place. ‘Cause if I wanted a veggie burrito, I’d order one. When I want some meat in my burrito, I want that to be the main ingredient. In fact, it helps if that feels like the only ingredient. But La Bamba failed to deliver on that end.

Plus, my friend ordered the steak, and I like my steak to be big chunks, so you feel like you’re eating a steak. Instead, they have these tiny little pieces that might as well be ground beef. Again, not a fan.

But, the novelty of eating a giant burrito is always going to make me happy. And next time I’ll order it with extra meat or something. Either way, I’ll give it a high five. There are better burritos in the city, but it’s fun to try and consume something this big. Just ask my wife. HI-YO!




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

Carnivale

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
Fone and fone – 0 stars
Manly ass slap – ½ star



RESTAURANT: Carnivale
LOCATION: 702 W. Fulton Market


A couple of weeks ago I saw a movie called A History of Violence. As I was watching the movie I thought, “This is good. This is a good movie.” Then when the movie was over, I was talking to my friend and he said, “What’d you think?” And I said, “It was good. I liked x, y, z, and could have done without a, b, c. But, I liked it.” We stopped, ate some cheese fries, had a Mike’s Hard Lemonade (sans mini umbrella) and watched the Sox game. Soon, we shook hands and parted ways. Now I was walking over to another friends house to meet my wife, and thought about the movie a little more. I started to get the feeling that the movie was just OK. When I arrived at the party, I soon discovered that my wife’s friend’s roommate had also seen the movie, and by the time we were done talking about it, I realized I didn’t like the movie that much (except for Maria Bello, who shows her goods. And yes, I’m 13 with raging hormones.). What’s my point?

I felt the same way about Carnivale. As I ate the food, I thought it was fantastic. Really, I thought it was great. One of the people I was eating with even asked me if I’d come again, and I said, “absolutely.” But, by the time I got home and was in bed, I realized it wasn’t really that memorable. I was pretty sure it wasn’t that good. But, I’m a little torn because of how good the food was, or seemed, while I was eating it. I’m just kind of baffled.

Quick rant here. I can’t wait until bars and restaurants go to the no smoking format. When you enter Carnivale you walk right into the bar area, and it was smoky and I was in fear for my life. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but you get the point. But, only the bar area was that bad, thank god.

Anyway, the layout and design of the place is pretty cool. It’s in the old Drink space, which I went to one time for New Years about four years ago. I kept trying to get my bearings, like where was the old bar, where was the stage, and where was I standing when the DJ played Prince’s 1999 for the 12th time. You’ll never figure it out. They did a great job remodeling the place. It’s really amazing. The joint sits like 700 or something. And they do a great job of dividing everything up so it feels like a bunch of intimate restaurants. Except for the main room, which is kind of ginormous, but in a good way. Even the walk to the bathroom (which is like 30 minutes away) is pretty sweet.

And really, I don’t have any complaints about the food. (Oh, by the way, the music that is piped in is a fun mix of Latin dance music and stuff, but back to the food.) It’s a blend of Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Colombian, and all that good stuff. Guacamole was fine. Nothing special, but not disappointing either. I only had like 30 servings of it. I don’t even remember the other appetizer, so I don’t think that’s a good thing. For dinner, my wife got a strip steak. Not bad. Super garlicky, which I love. But, nothing memorable either.

I hooked myself up with the braised rib or something. And when I say “or something” I mean something special. It was really, really good. Just melted in your mouth. Your fork effortlessly peeled away the meat. And it had this flavor I didn’t expect. This sweet kind of flavor, that wasn’t sweet like barbeque sauce, but another kind of sweet. I can only describe it as unexpected, in a good way. Of course the menu offered mac ‘n’ cheese, and if you know me, then you know I will always order a side of mac ‘n’ cheese if it’s offered on the menu. And it was great. It wasn’t cheese like Kraft Cheese and Macaroni (which is the best, hands down), it was more like an alfredo sauce, but with macaroni noodles. It was sooooo good and rich. And my rib came with mashed potatoes, which were also incredible.

And rich was a good way to describe everything. After you were done chowing, you just felt like you had a brick in your stomach. The food was just that rich and heavy. It was tough to eat everything that was put in front of you. But I tried. Then I ordered dessert. The chocolate cake. Get it.

But, all that being said, all the food being good, everything pleasing to the tummy, when it was all said and done, I just have this feeling of it being simply OK.

So, not sure about my final ranking. Could easily be a chest bump, but I think I have to give it a high five. I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I would say you have to go and try it for yourself, because I’m no help here.