Eastbound and Down

The new electronic automatic transmission.

Every year for the past eight years or so, I've rented a 26' box truck from Penske to haul all the gear Jay's Shave Ice needs to stage our booth at Artscape, Baltimore's annual festival of the arts. For me, it's a fun time because I get to drive a big truck around town and it's my time to reminisce the "old days" when I used to drive tour buses for Roberts Hawaii (yes, the big Greyhound type of buses).

I've driven all kinds of trucks with all kinds of transmissions from double-clutch manual buses to automatic trucks loaded down with gear. Every two years or so, Penske replaces their trucks and this year was no different. But this time, my truck came with a new electronic transmission.

As far as transmissions go, it works good enough, but I hate it. The lag between shifts is both unnerving and irritating. You're just waiting for it to shift to the next gear. I know for many of you with normal cars this is hard to fathom but imagine driving in first gear then shifting to neutral for two seconds and then shifting to second. Add in the fact that you need it to shift NOW and that should give you a basic idea of what it's like.

Not to mention the trucks' propensity to roll backwards at stop lights.

Taking iPhone Pictures While Driving: High peril on the open roadway.

And that doesn't begin to cover reverse. Shift the sucker into reverse and it's like a bronco, trying to buck you off. Shudder, shudder, shudder - and the thing barely starts to move. Then suddenly, it wants to jump backwards in fits. My Lord, this is intolerable!

Oh well, I guess I can live with the shift lag and the shaky reverse. It's only for a couple of days anyway.

Meanwhile, I'll be playing The King Of The Road...

The Stigma of Seduction

How To Spot A Dangerous Man - I was interviewed for that book.

Allie and I were wandering around the library today when she pointed out to me the dating books in the Self-Help/Psychology section. As I perused the stacks, one thing hit me: 98% of the books on dating are for women. They're written to help the woman find a man, keep a man, cuckold a man, etc, etc. Where were the books on dating for men?

In today's society, there's a stigma about men studying, reading or learning techniques on dating and picking up women. As though such knowledge will only be used for the nefarious purpose of seduction and sex. Certainly, that is a wonderful end result because everybody wants to be desired and seduced. But it's not always about the sex.

For years I've heard women bemoan the lack of good men while they run into the arms of assholes and tell the nice guys "let's just be friends." They don't understand why some really great guys can't find a nice girl. But have some guys talking about how to meet and pickup girls, or read books on such, and suddenly they're screaming about how "wrong" it is and how it's only about using girls.

Such a strange reaction when in every aspect of our lives we're expected to prepare. Want to get a good job? Go to school and get a degree. Prepare. Want to run a marathon? Workout, train and prepare. Want to be successful in life? Prepare.

All this preparation yet when it comes to one of (if not) the most important aspects of your life, you're expected to merely "wing it." As a man, you're expected to somehow know exactly what to do with a woman - yet, it's commonly accepted that men know nothing about women. Huh???

How many guys do I know in the world that are genuinely nice guys? Guys who will respect and take care of their women. The kind of guys that girls yearn for. Yet they sit at home, night after night or hang out with their friends because they just don't know how to approach women and the social stigma prohibits them from learning.

So come on now, ladies. We need more books for guys on how to meet and talk to women. Enough with the tomes on "How To Cuckold Your Man." Give us "Meeting, Chatting and Kissing Women" books for the nice guys of the world. Let them learn some techniques. Let them get a little dirty. Then you'll have these genuinely loving, caring guys with a wicked sense on how to make your toes curl...

Rub BBQ

Ranch Hand Fries - topped with melted cheeses and pulled chicken.

Fresh off a great time at the Chef & Wine Experience, I met Cecilia at Rub BBQ at the back end of Federal Hill on Light Street. I had been wanting to check out Rub for quite some time and with the heavy thunderstorms and high humidity plowing through the city, what better time to check it out?

Billing itself as "Authentic Texas Barbecue," Rub is a lot smaller than I expected. Think converted neighborhood bar rather than neighborhood restaurant and you'll start to get the idea of the size. As you drive down Light Street, past all of the commercial areas of Federal Hill and into a more residential area, you start to wonder if you've somehow missed it. That is, until you see the glow from the very large neon sign mounted to the side of the building like a beacon in the wilderness.

The interior reminds me of a Texas honkytonk: dark with a bar that's illuminated almost solely by a variety of neon beer signs. There's only about three people working the front of the house on this Sunday evening and there's maybe a total of fifteen guests, including Cecilia and myself.

As I peruse the menu, I'm thinking strategy. The fried green tomatoes look interesting but I'd like to know how their fries taste, but I don't want to order fries with my meal since there's a plethora of tasty-sounding sides that need proper exploration. Field greens and chicken wings seem as though they would be a waste of tummy space, so I decide to order the Ranch Hand Fries topped with melted cheese and pulled chicken or beef. After consulting with our server, who says the chicken is the most popular, we go with that.

It takes a good, long while for that appetizer to arrive. Meanwhile, I'm sampling the sweet tea and it's about average. Nothing to write home about but nothing to send back either. Still waiting for the appetizer. We chat. Still waiting. The rain is just starting. Still waiting.

My third child is about to graduate from college and I'm still waiting.

Finally, the appetizer arrives and it's anti-climactic. A few bites later and I'm wondering what took so darn long? Did they run to SuperFresh to buy some more potatoes? The fries are on the soft side and undercooked. They're also frozen foodservice fries lazily placed on a plate and slathered with shredded chicken and a white and yellow cheddar mix before being tossed under the broiler. Once the cheese is melted, some diced tomatoes are thrown on top (along with one tiny slice of onion) and a lame ranch dressing placed on the side.

By now, I'm starving and my eating of the dish is fueled by hunger rather than desire. It's ugly and the dish is terrible. Just lazy and thoughtless. There's a very weird pineapple taste in the dish and I can't figure out why. It's sweet and disgusting. I taste a couple of bites with the ranch dressing and it's certainly not an improvement. In fact, the dressing makes it worse.

Two Meat Platter - black angus brisket, Texas flat ribs, mac-n-cheese, home-style green beans.

Next it's time to order our main courses. Like I said, I like to sample a variety of flavors, which is why I was flabbergasted when Cecilia decided to order the same main course as I did. I chose the two meat mixed plate, and with five types of meats on the menu to choose from, you'd think that she would order two different ones that we could share.

But maybe I'm just being petty.

For my meats, I chose the Black Angus Brisket and the Texas Flat Ribs with macaroni and cheese and home-style green beans as the sides. Cecilia chose cole slaw and Texas Corn Pudding as her sides. And again we waited.

This time, my third child got married.

For a place that's relatively empty and slow on a Sunday night, the orders were taking inordinately long. And it's not as though these are meats they're cooking a la minute. The brisket is billed as the house specialty, slow-smoked for 12-14 hours. It's gotta be done by now.

Finally, the platters arrive and there's a slight problem: two Corn Puddings but no slaw. That's rectified quickly enough but the slaw is terrible too. Lots of mayo but no bite. Where's the vinegar? Where's the balance? The corn pudding is quite good though. Creamy, tasty with a definite corn flavor and a slight bite from the serrano peppers. It's second only to my macaroni and cheese, which is kinda plain in a Kraft kinda way - Kraft that's been broiled in the oven, which I actually like.

The platters are served with two slices of Texas Toast, some pickled onions and spicy sliced pickles. The pickles are tasty but I have to wonder about the toast. They look like the commercial Texas Toast you buy at the grocery store. In fact, I'd swear it was the very same bread you buy in the grocery store. Is this really how authentic bbq is eaten in Texas?

Then there are the green beans. Order them and it's an extra dollar. With that kind of pricing and hype, I'm expecting them to be killer.

They're okay. At least their fresh. But they've been cooked past their snap point so they're slightly on the soggy side. Cooked with onion, bacon, butter and chicken stock they're kinda tasty - at least there's a lot of bacon to chew on, but I'm not pounding them down like I would expect.

Which brings us to the meat. I have to be honest. I want to like the meat. I desperately want to write great things about it. But I can't. At best, it was disappointing. At worst, it was horrible.

Twelve to fourteen hours for the brisket. Perhaps ten would be better. The brisket was dry. Maybe it was cooked too long. Maybe it was rethermalized improperly. Whatever the case, it was dry, lifeless and tasted like cardboard. It needed the bbq sauce on the table.

Unfortunately, the ribs weren't much better. Again, on the dry side with a rub that really didn't compliment the meat. In fact, the rub was just a letdown. It offered very little to the experience. Maybe there wasn't enough applied at cooking. The ribs too needed the table sauces.

Cecilia wanted to go for dessert. I just couldn't stomach anymore. She ordered the peach cobbler (or something like that). I tasted it. It wasn't bad, but I had had enough.

In the end, I'm disappointed with Rub. I expected so much from this place. I had heard positive things. I wanted to love the place. Unfortunately, the food fell flat and I went home in the rain.



Rub BBQ
1843 Light Street
Baltimore, MD 21230
410-244-5667
www.rubbbq.com

The Chef & Wine Experience

Michaele Weissman invited me to join her and Spike Gjerde and give a coffee talk at the Baltimore Chefs & Wine Experience. It's an annual event where the public comes to meet chefs, listen to them speak, sample their food and try all sorts of wines and other vestiges of Good Living.

For those of you who may not know, Michaele wrote a book on the coffee industry's Third Wave - that eclectic crew of hipster/geek coffee people who work to revolutionize the coffee industry (of course, the question is: are they really "revolutionary" or actually evolutionary?). It's called God In A Cup and available nationwide at your local booksellers.

In spite of the fact that I do coffee for a living, the enthusiasm of the general public about coffee continually surprises me. We had about fifty people pack into our little lecture room where Michaele shared her thoughts on the industry, Spike talked about bringing a New World Order of coffee to restaurants and I generally pontificated about drinking and enjoying your coffee.

In addition to merely chatting about coffee, we decided to have a coffee tasting. Nothing as stuffy or important as cupping with geeky coffee people slurping and talking about "black currants and frozen nutmeg." No, nothing as silly as that. Just some simple press potted coffee served in small cups - actually, the venue (showing their knowledge, sophistication and grasp of coffee) gave us styrofoam cups. Bastards.

For our tasting, I chose two coffees. The first, a Sumatra Mandheling Organic from Indonesia, roasted by Origins Organic Coffee of Vancouver, Canada, as well as the Finca El Puente from Honduras, roasted by Counter Culture Coffee of Durham, NC. I chose the two because of their difference. I didn't want some lame coffee, I wanted something interesting and vibrant. Coffees that would be so different than from each other that it would be easier for the uninitiated to experience the difference.

That's one thing that continually irritates me: accessibility. Whether it's wine or coffee, we tend to speak with such fancy terms that regular people have a hard time connecting. There's red wine and rose petals in coffee??? Only the truly geeky ever speak like this - and only the disconnected actually speak like this to the uninitiated.

For our tasting, I told the audience that it's okay to use those fancy terms but what's more important is to be able to describe the sensation in your own words - however that may manifest itself. For previous tastings, I've encouraged people to use everything from fancy words to colors to rock bands. Man, this tastes like AC/DC's Shoot To Thrill...

Whatever it takes to make it your own, that's what you should use.

Lots of questions followed, and one girl in the audience asked me if I like sugar and cream in my coffee. Hmmm, good question. The hardcore in the Third Wave would immediately stand up and impose their vision like the Fourth Reich and give an absolute "NO" for an answer. Truth is, she asked if I liked cream and sugar in my coffee - and if I'm not tasting the coffee critically and simply drinking it for personal enjoyment, then the answer is an emphatic "YES MA'AM" And if the Third Wave doesn't like it, they can go screw themselves because I absolutely love an 8z coffee with a half teaspoon of sugar and a touch of cream to go with a deep-fried chocolate frosted donut.

I don't know if perhaps I was talking too much, going over time or my revelation about the sugar and cream was too much for Michaele to handle because that's when she steered our discussion back to trying the coffee black to see how it tastes (of course, the girl that asked the question was also the same girl with an unabashed love for sweet frappuccinos). But the audience was great. Even more questions and some great insight into the coffees. For many of them, I'm guessing it was their first time trying some seriously great coffees and I hope they tasted a glimpse into what is possible out there. Hopefully, they'll seek out better quality or maybe come and visit The Spro.

Overall, I had a great time at the event. It was fun to be amongst the great chefs of Baltimore. Several Food Network celebrities were in attendance and earlier, we stopped in to watch one of them give a presentation. For someone with a national television show, I was disappointed in the delivery and level of engagement this person gave at the presentation. From an entertainment standpoint, it was pretty darn lame and disappointing. I went in hoping to pick up some presentation tips from a celebrity, I left after ten minutes because my mind was numbing. Gosh, I hope I'm not that bad in front of an audience.

Speaking of television and food, Jill was hanging out and came to see our presentation. It's always great seeing Jill and she's leaving this week in some sort of mystery trip where she may or may not be picked up for next season's Top Chef. She's sworn to secrecy, so details are sketchy. All we know is that she'll be gone for six weeks and we'll find out the rest next season.

I also met a really nice lady who asked for my card and said she would forward it on to the producer of Hell's Kitchen. Wow. That was a surprise. How much fun would it be to spend a television season being yelled at and berated by Gordon Ramsay? Hey you, I've had enough of that, yeah big boy? Put it in the bin, you fucking donkey....

Good fun, indeed.

Chicken Joy

The girls relating with the chickens.

My nieces have been staying at the house for the past few days and I've been teaching them a little bit about cooking. Yesterday, I showed them how to individually freeze fresh bing cherries and also how to make cherry jam.

The thing about working with me is that it's not a show-and-tell demonstration class, it's live and hands-on. They're doing the work. I'm just making sure they're doing it correctly.

But today we drove up to Springfield Farm to tour the grounds and see how the animals live. Touring the farm is always enlightening. Over time, you start to get a feel for how they do things as the pens move across the land offering the chickens, ducks and geese new, fertile ground upon which to graze.

Ready to eat those chickens.

Since my experiences last year, I've become a believer in understanding where your food comes from. Which is why I brought the girls here today and let them mingle with the chickens. They asked learned that this is where our chickens come from. That these chickens pecking around in front of us would, someday, be in front of us again - and on a plate. They seemed very comfortable going from talking with the chickens in the pens to pulling whole birds out of the refrigerator.

Back at the house, it was time for fried chicken. After butchering a chicken (okay, I did that part), the girls dried off the parts, seasoned them with salt and pepper, then shook them in flour before we laid them in the cast iron filled with 375F oil.

Fifteen minutes later, the chicken was golden, crispy and delicious. I wanted mine with rice. They wanted theirs with ketchup.

Guess I'll have to keep working on them...

Fresh Fresh Seafood

Allie and her tilapia stuffed with lump crab meat.

After another long day at The Spro, I took Allie over to one of my favorite local restaurants: Fresh Fresh Seafood on York Road, immediately south of the Towson Circle. It's a true Mom and Pop shop run by a real mom and pop. I've been coming here for the past two years and it's always been good.

Fresh Fresh's entrance is kinda small, nondescript and so easy to miss that I'm surprised anyone actually finds this place. The decor is minimal to non-existent. There are some mural-type paintings on the wall, formica tables and those same steel chairs you find in all the cheap eateries. Simply put: if you're coming for the decor, you're going to be extremely disappointed.

What you do come here for is the seafood. The owners make no claims as to the provenance of the ingredients - just that it's always fresh and always prepared to order. Service is sorta odd and fruity - there's really no way to describe it otherwise. It's not bad, it's just odd and fruity - almost off-kilter. But no matter how odd it may seem from time to time, they're just so nice and so welcoming and so earnest in their service that nothing else matters and you quickly overlook all the quirkiness.

I don't eat at Fresh Fresh all the time. It's usually saved for when baristas come to town to visit The Spro. After a day of talking/making coffee, a meal at Fresh Fresh caps off the day.

Scallops in lemon butter.

Today they're offering freshly squeezed lemonade and it's hot outside. Thankfully, their cups are bottomless and we're making good use of their generosity. It's sweet and lightly tarty. Actually, I would have preferred a bit more tartiness but it will do.

First round are scallops in lemon butter. Sometime I just get in the mood for scallops and must have them. This was one of those times. They were just right: seared with butter. Can you ask for more?

For our main courses, Allie had the broiled tilapia stuffed with lump crab meat and I had the Chilean sea bass. My bass was thick, meaty and tender but could have used a more liberal seasoning of salt and pepper. It was good but such a large cut of sea bass tends to get monotonous over time and I think a smaller portion would have been more enjoyable. Allie's tilapia was done the way I like it - with crispy edges for texture. It too needed more seasoning but was still quite good.

It's fresh food prepared with simple ingredients and techniques. Just what the doctor ordered.

Chilean Sea Bass.

One thing you'll notice from the images is that it's very simple food. Nothing extraneous or elaborate. Just food. The sides were also simple: macaroni and cheese, french fries and broccoli. I'm always a fan of macaroni and cheese but the fries need to be blanched before being finished fried because they lose that crisp and the broccoli would have been better had they been steamed just a little less - I prefer more of a "snap" in my veggies.

But otherwise, it was another good meal at Fresh Fresh. But one thing to remember about Fresh Fresh, it may look simple but it's not necessarily cheap. This is quality seafood in large portions at an appropriate price. Our meal cost eighty dollars with tip. But like I said, it's fresh and made to order - which also means that it takes a bit longer since it's only pop in the kitchen while mom works the floor.


Fresh Fresh Seafood
507 York Rd
Towson, MD 21204
(410) 821-3474

Chef Boyardee?

A Bit Too Salty Pasta

Sometimes you wonder if you're really having a disconnect with kids.

My nieces are here and they're hungry. They want pasta and I'm thinking about whipping up an incredible concoction that they're going to love. What kind of pasta do you want?, I ask them while nurturing visions of fresh Marvesta shrimp sauteed in oil, butter, garlic, onion and capers.

But they want a tomato based sauce, like spaghetti. The problem is that I don't have anything like that lying around the house at the moment. Undaunted, I decide that if a tomato-based sauce is what they want, that's what they're gonna get.

Into the saute pan goes some olive oil, some macerated garlic, Springfield Farm ground pork, locally grown tomatoes, tomato sauce, oregano, fresh basil, pepper and perhaps a bit too much salt. Saute the pork, onions and garlic, add the rest and simmer. It's simple and classic. Not to mention relatively easy to whip up.

For a brief moment, I think about adding some sugar to sweeten the pot and dumping it all in the blender to puree - since that's kinda how Chef Boyaree looks like: pureed. I decide against it thinking that the girls will love it. They are, afterall, my nieces.

They hate it. After a combination of overly salted pasta water and a bit of a heavy hand, the sauce is a bit on the salty side. Even for me. Damn, I should have used the sugar and blender.

For a brief moment, I consider stocking a can of Chef Boyardee for the next time they come to visit. But I can't...

It's A Paella Party!

Smoked French Fries doing their thing.

It's the Fourth of July and everyone has gathered at my house for another year of food, drink, fireworks and... rain.

Damn rain. For days before, it's beautifully sunny, but on the day it counts: rain. Puta y Madre.

Last year I hosted a Lechon Party where we roasted a whole pig over an open fire in the method of our Philippine grandfathers. It was a splendid day - except for the rain, and I had planned on doing a BBQ Party until Gordon Ramsay got into my head.

It must have been his episode of Kitchen Nightmares where he goes to Spain and ends up cooking a large paella on the beach. It looked amazing and I decided then that the paella was what we had to do for this years' party.

Gathering 'round the Paella.

As quick search on the Internet turns up all sorts of possibilities for paella. From pans to burners to recipes and ingredients. I'm flummoxed but decide that a proper party just isn't a paella party without a proper paella pan. Most commoners would max out at at the 18" pan, but that's just not a proper size for a proper party. I decide that the 31" pan is the right size for our efforts.

At nearly three feet in diameter, this pan is quite serious. The largest is 52" and sells for a whopping six hundred dollars. Okay, I'm serious, but not that serious. The 31" pan is designed to serve up to 40 people. That should be plenty.

The biggest hindrance to the party is my trip to Europe. I'm scheduled to return on July 1st, which gives me just enough time to procure and prep everything. Of course, I'm delayed in Frankfurt and arrive a day later, which leaves me with one day to get everything together for the party. It's an absolute mad scramble.

In one day, I'll hit the farmer's market, the farms, the market, another supermarket, two liquor stores and have a proper breakfast - not to mention setting up my outdoor kitchen featuring full refrigeration, heating cabinets, prep tables, sinks, grills, smoker and the piece de resistance: my forty pound deep fryer.

Around 2pm on the 4th, friends start trickling in. CapitolSwell, Athos and SonSo1 make their way, as does Matt S. visiting from Florida. Everyone gets to work on the deep prep for the paella.

For weeks, the paella perplexed me. Until I met Elisabeth from Barcelona in Copenhagen. All these recipes and Elisabeth boiled them down to the most salient point: screw the recipes, just use whatever is fresh at the market that day. Evidently, it's what Spaniards like Elisabeth does when they're making paella: whatever is fresh.

With those words, the weight of Espana was lifted off my shoulders. Shopping for exotic Spanish ingredients is stressful. Shopping for whatever is fresh and local is, well, normal.

My trips to the market yielded the following bounty:
Tomatoes, sweet onions, garlic, cilantro, basil, rosemary, sage, cebollas, corn, cherries, blueberries, raspberries, watermelons, honeydew melons, lemons, limes, oranges, apples, russet potatoes, Alaskan salmon, Marvesta shrimp, Old Salte Clams, Springfield chicken, ancho sausage, medium grain rice, string beans, mushrooms - all of which would go either into the paella or the sangria.

From there, the paella is relatively simple. Sweat the onions and garlic in olive oil, saute the chicken and sausage, add the veggies, add the rice, add the saffron, add the chicken stock and simmer. About fifteen minutes later, stir in the rest of the seafood and let the whole thing cook down until ready.

To be honest, I had never made paella before. In my entire life. I was flying completely blind. Completely on instinct. I didn't know what I was doing but I was plowing ahead come hell or high water. Imminent disaster was at every turn. There's easily five hundred dollars worth of ingredients in the pan and I could fuck it up at any moment.

This was cooking not for the feint of heart.

Meanwhile, the deep fryer was doing it's thing with our smoked french fries. It's a technique we pioneered at the Woodberry Kitchen/Ideas In Food dinner where you smoke the potatoes and then finish fry. It adds a deep character to the fries that's complex and delicious. Ours were smoked in Mesquite for twenty minutes.

To tide the prep crew over, we whipped up some steak frites and passed them around. Not to mention the beer and sangria to keep everyone company.

Almost ready.

After a brief technical problem with our heat source, the paella was running at full speed ahead. It took longer than expected (about two hours) but the paella came out pretty well I think. Chock full of veggies and proteins, what could one ask for?

The rain chased some of the fireworks and revelers away this year but the ladies came, allowing me to show off my prowess in handling a big stick (the stirring paddle).

Next year I'm looking for something to top this one. Maybe Lechon Baka - baby cow roasted over an open fire.

Grace Garden

Tripe, Tendon and Tongue in spicy chili served cold. Stellar.

The quest for great Chinese in Baltimore has never really existed. I've just accepted the fact that the Chinese food here will always be relegated to the sugary sweet stuff that America thinks is "Chinese", dishes like General Tso's Chicken, or Orange Beef or Egg Foo Young - all of which can be enjoyable in their own right but are hardly classic Chinese dishes.

For great Chinese food, I would usually save my stomach for visits to the Chinatowns in New York or San Francisco, or for KJ Kitchen in Las Vegas, but Baltimore? Never.

So when Jeff called me to say that he's found an excellent Chinese joint across the street from Fort Meade in Odenton, I couldn't believe him. I had to check it out for myself.

Now, Odenton isn't close to my home. In fact, it's way the hell outta my way and the Chinese better be damn good to make sure a journey. And for weeks, it just wasn't possible for me to get over there.

Finally, on the way back from Dulles, after my trip to Europe, we decided to make a pit stop and give it a try. In fact, I've been there twice now - just to be sure.

Fish Noodles - fish and shrimp minced into noodles and sauteed with vegetables in Chef's special sauce.

Quite simply, Grace Garden, with it's low brow, typical Chinese carry out decor, puts out some of the best Chinese food I've had anywhere in the United States. It's hellaciously good. Walk in and it looks like any other crappy Chinese joint. The tables look wobbly, the walls are just cream colored and plain, the wainscoting looks haphazard - to be honest, the decor of the joint fits the area surrounding Fort Meade: crappy.

But take a closer look at the photos of the dishes on the wall and Grace Garden's secret starts to reveal itself. While familiar looking, you realize that these aren't photos of carry out classics like Kung Pao Chicken or wonton soup, there's something different and special about what you're seeing.

There are many Chinese restaurants in the United States that offers two menus: one for the American clients and the other for the Chinese clients - do you need to guess which menu is the interesting one? Grace Garden does the same but the difference is that the Chinese menu is in English, encouraging gaijin, like myself, to order from the real menu.

Sure, you could order from the regular menu and choose Hunan Beef, but why would you? Actually, there's a part of me that's now considering trying one of the old standbys here just to compare.

Szechwan Pork - sliced pork belly stir fried with leeks, bell peppers and Szechwan bean paste.

Quite simply, the food is stellar. We started out with the spicy tendon, tripe and tongue served cold. Amazing. The flavors were pronounced and bold. The heat builds on you but it's a good sweat. From there, we moved onto the Fish Noodles, a delicate concoction of fish and shrimp that actually makes the noodle with some cilantro stems and sliced Chinese sweet sausage. Delicate and delicious.

Next up was one of my favorites, Fried Pork Belly. Just delicious fatty pork goodness. It's not smoked but if you like bacon, you'll absolutely flip over this dish. With hot steamed rise, it's just too wonderful for words.

Which brings up another thought: the rice. When I was young, I thought all rices were relatively the same. And then I was introduced to Uncle Ben's. Then I knew something was wrong in the world. But it wasn't until I traveled the Philippines that I really discovered the myriad varieties of rice available on the open market. Some of great quality. Others of a rather low quality.

It's a double-edged experience for me to say that Grace Garden features rice on the lower end of the scale. Sad because the rice doesn't highlight the flavors in the same way a quality rice would, but nice because it reminds me of fond memories visiting the provincial towns of the Philippines and eating some of the most rustic but delicious foods imaginable. It's an affront to my senses and a throwback to my memories, all at the same time. Such is the power of food.

Szechwan Braised Fish - sliced fish braised in hot & spicy chili pepper broth.

Our final course was the fish braised in a spicy broth. Delicate with spice. I wish I hadn't eaten so much so that I could give this dish greater attention. It was good, but we had already reached our boiling point and I was not able to continue.

In the end, I will be going back to Grace Garden to explore more of their menu. The husband and wife team that owns and runs the place are very welcoming and very nice. It's fun to sit back and allow them to choose our courses for us, but I will make one recommendation: have the tripe, tendon and tongue as a later course. It's such a powerfully flavorful dish that it outshines everything that comes after. The fish noodles were great but I bet they would have been so much better had they not had to shine in the dark shadows cast by the tripe.

Order everything else first and then get the tripe. It will be well worth it.



Grace Garden Chinese Restaurant
1690 Annapolis Road
Odenton, MD 21113
410-672-3581
www.gracegardenchinese.com

Frankfurt Döner

The Döner

In life, you meet many wonderful and amazing people. Some of them touch you deeply and others pass quietly in the morning. Regardless of the outcome, all of them together weave the tapestry that is your life experience.

I must have known something was coming deep down inside when I wasn't bothered that they cancelled our flight from Frankfurt to Dulles. While two hundred people were on the verge of panic, I sat around sipping a Coke in the Red Carpet Club while the staff dutifully took care of new flight arrangements and hotel accommodations.

I wasn't even that stressed when I boarded the "wrong" bus that took us to the hotel in Frankfurt's center city instead of the location by the airport.

Something was coming. I just wasn't conscious of its' impending arrival.

L. is the sort of girl that seems ultra-rare in my world. Multi-cultured, multi-lingual, intelligent, traveled, quick-witted with a razor-sharp tongue and wickedly dark and sensual mind. Imagine all that wrapped in a Hapa-Haole (half-Japanese, half-white, totally sexy), five-foot-two dynamo with long, flowing black hair, piercing eyes and knowing smirk that's ready to crush you at any given moment and you have some sense of what L. is all about.

From the moment we sat down and met each other, the game was on. Earn respect or be crushed. Kill or be killed.

Well-traveled, she had just come from Barcelona where they had partied all night long celebrating Spain's victory over Germany in the European Cup. Truth be told, she was a charlatan in the land of Franco - deep in the land of red and gold while her true loyalty remained to Germany.

Fluent in German (and God know what other languages), she barked out orders to our server between sessions schooling us on the finer points of German beers, their regional origins, favorites and other salient points of beer production in Deutschland.

From there, everything else flowed. Conversation, laughter, making fun of each other, the weird, off-beat and dark humor. Before you knew it, we were the center of the party. Everything and everyone flowed around us. The beers flowed freely and time flowed without care. Closer to midnight, most of our drinking companions decided to make their way back to the hotel to see if United had booked them onto new flights. Like me, L had called the airline earlier and booked a reservation on the same flight I was taking the next morning at 11am.

The night was still too young and we headed off to Sachsenhausen to seek out more beer and perhaps some apfelwein, encamping ourselves in front of a local pub discussing more inane and ridiculous subjects to pass the time.

That's when the Döner came up. A sort of schawarma of pork, cheese and more stuffed into a pita type bread. It's wildly popular in Germany and L insisted that I try one. Across the street was a hopeful looking place that worked me up an order.

It's good but I'm not well-versed in either schawarma or Döner so it's hard to me to tell whether this one was a great example or not. I loved the crispy toasted texture of the bread and it's juxtaposition with the feta type cheese and crisp cold veggies.

Maybe it was my inability to connect successfully with the Döner, or maybe it was just the wrong time in our lives, but we knew that this one night would be the only night and that tomorrow it would all be over and we would return to our normal lives. So many commonalities. So many things that "clicked". But still so many things in our lives that would get in the way. Ironic that we're only separated by sixty miles and yet the distance between us would be insurmountable.

In the end, I got to share some time with an amazing woman and learned a little bit about the Döner. Not a bad way to spend a night in Frankfurt.

Eating Beef at Charles de Gaulle

A fashionable steak sandwich for the intrepid traveler.

Some of you may have been wondering exactly what happened to the leftover meat that I took home from Robert et Louise the other night. Well, it sat in my fridge the whole day since and I tossed in my bag to bring with me on my flight to Frankfurt - in case I got hungry.

Those hunger pangs hit me around noon at Charles de Gaulle. So, I settled into a chair outside of the Terminal 1 security checkpoint (because they'd confiscate my Coke) and made myself at home with the beef, a chilled can of Coke, some leftover pieces of roasted potato and that emergency croissant I picked up at Stephane Secco.

How was it? Well, it could have used a little salt and maybe a microwave but it hit the spot. Sure, some people gave me odd looks, but their loss. I had steak, they had Twix. Muwahahahahaha!

One Day In Paris

Eating Bobi on the train from Charles deGaulle.

While passing through passport control in Frankfurt, the German Polizei officer joked: "one night in Paris?" Don't know if his computer relayed to him my itinerary and I don't know if he was referencing the 2002 Depeche Mode video or the infamous Paris Hilton video (and my cameo appearance), but I kinda played along with it hoping that he wouldn't flag me.

The problem with this visit to Paris was that it was too short. One day is simply not enough. Especially when that day is a Monday - a day when most businesses are typically closed.

I got up rather early and hit the streets by 9am. Had a chocolatine croissant in my hand from what is rapidly becoming my favorite croissant baker: Colas Patrick, as I sauntered through the opening market on Rue Cler to the post office.

The French post office is a curious place. Part post office, part bank - I really don't understand what goes on in there, but there's always people waiting for something. Maybe they're waiting for their money. Luckily, the line for a stamp was short and I got out of there quickly.

I forgot to hit the money exchange at the airport and was forced to head over to Tuileries to get me some Euros. While there, I checked out a bookstore and bought a copy of Michel Bras' new book, a delightful tome chronicling his culinary genius. From there, it was a quick trip through the Tuileries Garden to spy on some fine French babes and then back to the Metro for the long ride to lunch.

Lunch was out by the Palais d'Congress and while I'll save those details for another post, I'll just say that a bottle of wine on a light stomach is not the way to keep a sober day. But touring Paris in an inebriated state is certainly worth trying at least once. At least I know how happy those Spaniards were the night before.

My dream spot for a cafe on Ile de St. Louis

Next stop, the famous patissier Pierre Herme for an assortment of macarons to take home for my parents and a couple of the chaps at Woodberry Kitchen. As always, it's a wonderful place to spent a ridiculous amount of money on some very fine pastries. Though a new development was rather irritating: they've stopped printing their seasonal brochure of collectible pastries and only offer the catalog online through their website. That's just cheap and lame. But at least I have a copy of the last one printed from my visit this past February.

After a pitstop back at the hotel to drop off the book and pastries, it's back on the metro to the Marais to visit my friends at Soluna Cafes on the Rue de l'Hotel de Ville. Of course, it being a Monday and they're closed, so no good coffee on this Parisian holiday - at all.

Disappointed, I make my way across the Seine to the Ile de Saint Louis for a bit of coconut Berthillon ice cream from one of the local parlors (since the actual Berthillon shop is closed too), and to spy on the space I've picked out for my Paris outpost of The Spro at the corner of Rue Saint-Louis en l'Ile and Pont Marie. Happily, no one has yet leased the space out from under me.

From there it's back to the Marais and since I've run out of things to do (I called the olive oil shop and they too were closed), I decide to play Pathetic Food Tourist by visiting the site of the former Piccolo Teatro - the failed vegetarian restaurant featured in Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares television show. It's a cheesy thing to do but I'm giddy as a schoolgirl to be there.

L'as du Falafel!!!

Luckily, Piccolo Teatro is a half block from L'as du Falafel in the city's Jewish section. I didn't know this. I just happened to wander in the right direction and found L'as du Falafel by accident. The corner that it's located is one of those interesting places in many cities where that areas institutions are surrounded by imitators. Surrounding L'as du Falafel are several other falafel/schwarma shops, but only L'as du had the line. I dutifully took my spot for the sake of food science.

The falafel was good. It was tasty. It was eaten with a fork. Maybe I'm just not well-versed in falafel because while it was delicious, I couldn't tell what made this falafel better than the rest. The fried texture was light and delicate, unlike the hard and crunchy texture favored at home. But what made this falafel the favored choice over all others in Paris? Perhaps another science field trip to Paris is on order...

An evening cigar respite on the solarium.

Days seem to last longer in Europe than in America, and I'm not complaining. I got back to the hotel and decided to set up an early evening camp on the rooftop solarium with two cokes, a bucket of ice, Croatian Paprika-flavored Pringles and Paul Garmirian cigar in tow. The last time I sat in the solarium was in February freezing my butt off trying to make the most of it. This time, I was in shorts, t-shirt and slippers. Lovely. Took my refuge at a table, lit up my cigar, poured myself a stiff Coke and relaxed to a nice book. Beautiful. All men should have a couple hours of quiet reflection to cap their day.

Sitting there with a fine cigar in one hand and an ice cold Coke in the other leaves one to reflect upon the days' (and weeks') achievements: the successful excursion to Pierre Herme, the attractive French-Algerian girl from the night before, the stunning Croatian barista from last week, and most importantly, a time to plan for the evenings' dinner.

Even though it was a Monday night, plenty of options exist in the City of Lights for the daring and intrepid traveler. But tonight that would not be. Even with two more Metro tickets in my wallet, I was too darn tired to venture away from my neighborhood in the 7th. I decided that I would enjoy another meal at my local restaurant: Chez Pierrot.



Baguette Mecca - Stephane Secco.

The next morning, I trucked over to Stephane Secco to pickup some baguettes and caneles for the trip home. In fact, I had shifted my flights and paid an extra $200 to fly out of Paris later so that I would have enough time just to pick up these baguettes. They're that good. In fact, they're the best I've ever had. I also grabbed a croissant for good measure.

The honest truth is that this trip to Paris was predicated on two places: Robert et Louise and Stephane Secco. If we just take into consideration the price differential for the later flight, those four bagels worked out to costing fifty bucks each. If we consider that they're half the reason I went to Paris to begin with, well, I'm too scared to try to figure out how much each of those baguettes cost. Perhaps I should have bought six...

Bouffant Foam in the 7th.

In what's fast becoming my routine in the 7th, I made a stop into Colas Patrick for my morning chocolatine. Delicious as usual. Light, delicate, refined and way better than Stephane Secco's chocolate croissant. But such a good chocolatine deserves a coffee. Unfortunately, there's really no good coffee in most of Paris but I did know of a place down the street that makes cappuccinos with incredibly gravity-defying foam. Plus, I thought it would make great footage for a future episode of Barista del Mundo.

I've been working with coffee for five years and I still can't make foam like these guys. It's just amazing - in a gross kind of way. I would never serve a cappuccino like this, but strangely, I would like to know how to achieve this foam. Unfortunately, my camera battery died so there's no footage for the show but the guy steams and steams and steams, generating bigger and bigger foam - and then he puts the whole thing in the refrigerator and tells me it will be a few minutes. Good Lord, is that the secret? Refrigerate the foam?

When he comes back, he pulls a very long and watery shot and spoons the foam on top. I'm horrified. Actually, I'm pissed because I don't have video of this. I taste it and surprisingly, it's not really offensive. It's mild and with sugar it's actually consumable. I wouldn't go out of my way for this coffee but I'll drink it for awhile.

As I sit, I realize the magic of this place. It's not the coffee. It's the camaraderie. I sit there for about fifteen minutes watching the regulars coming in to say hello, drink a coffee and interact with each other before heading off to work. It's a nice atmosphere and one that tempers my expectations of the coffee. This is what it's about: community and experience. I'm happy to be there.


WMD - Weapons of Mass Degustation: baguettes from Stephane Secco and macarons from Pierre Herme.


Before I know it, I'm off on the Air France Bus to Charles deGaulle and my flight to Frankfurt where I'll end up stuck overnight in the arms of young women.


Colas Patrick
178 Rue Grenelle
Paris 75007
01 45 51 06 35

Pierre Herme
72 Rue Bonaparte
Paris 75006
01 43 25 28 17

Galignani Books
224 Rue de Rivoli
Paris 75001
01 42 60 76 07

Soluna Cafes
52, rue de l'Hotel de Ville
75004 Paris
33(1) 53 01 83 84
www.worlds-bestcoffees.com

Piccolo Teatro
9 Rue de Ecouffes
Paris 75004
01 41 72 17 79
www.piccolo-teatro.fr

Stephane Secco
20 rue Jean Nicot
75007 Paris
01 43 17 35 20

Choosing Poorly at Chez Pierrot

After my lovely cigar on the Solarium, I decided that it was time for some grub. I had spent the entire day running around the city and just wasn't up for another excursion - especially when there's a restaurant down the street that makes great meals.

Actually, I thought for a few moments about trying the Korean BBQ joint across the street but then realized what tomfoolery that would have been. When in France, eat French.

Since I had been to Chez Pierrot before, I knew what to expect: wonderfully home style cooked food without pretense. I arrived around 10pm and was the only person in the house. It wasn't necessarily an off night since half the tables were full about an hour ago when I passed by while walking around the neighborhood.


Mushroom Soup amuse bouche

My last dinner in Paris and the pressure was on to choose the right items for a most memorable meal. The last time I was here the Blanquette du Veau and onion soup were most so delicious. As the lady came I asked her for a recommendation. Straight away she recommended the duck confit but for some reason, I asked for a second recommendation. The second recommendation was the filet of beef. I stalled again which led her to believe that I didn't want the duck.

The truth is, I wasn't sure what I wanted. I just wanted to make the right choice. But after non-stop meals of steak, perhaps the filet would be overkill.


Soupe a l'oignon gratinee et ses croutons. 9.70€

Things started out with an amuse bouche of mushroom soup. Light, flavorful, delicate and a nice way to start off the meal.

The onion soup arrived next and was blazing hot. The biggest problem with onion soup is the temperature. It needs to be served blazing hot but then you have to wait awhile or risk burning the roof of your mouth. I choose to risk the burns - and lost.

The soup was good. Carmelized onions, red wine, baguettes and cheese. It was good but different than the last time. In February, Chez Pierrot made the best onion soup I had ever tasted, with just the perfect amount of cheese. It was robust in flavor and delicious. This time is was good, just not as good as the last time.


Tres tendre filet de boeuf et son foie gras sur toast, accompagne de pommes sautees et haricots verts.24.90€

Finally, the main course arrived: the filet of beef. It was beautifully done. Cooked au point, it could have used a little more salt but it looked wonderful - and the slice of foie gras on toasted baguette: sexy. Potatoes were expertly done and the beans still had a nice snap to them. The plate was executed beautifully.

My problem was that I was indeed suffering from beef overload.

Meal after meal of beef, and this last one was just too much. I was craving variety. Yet I gave my body more of the same. I should have ordered the duck.


L'addition.

In the end, the meal was good. Perhaps not as revelatory as my last visit, but still very solid and delicious cooking. I just made the wrong choices for my palate that night. Reviewing the menu later, there's a couple of items I wish I could have tried, like: Beef Bourguignon or the Mixed Grill, or the Fricasee de St. Jacques - that would have been nice.

Oh well, c'est la vie. Until next time!



Chez Pierrot
9 rue Amelie
75007 Paris
01 45 51 50 08

Le Relais de Venise

During my last (and first) visit to Paris in February, I was unable to eat a proper Steak Frites. Sure, I went to Le Recrutement (terrible) and Brasserie d'Ile Saint Louis (not bad) but neither were truly memorable in a positive way, leaving me wanting for the definitive Steak Frites Experience.

Since I'm handicapped on my knowledge of Paris, I turned to more knowledgeable resources, namely Mark Bittman's article in the New York Times naming the Top Five Steak Frites in the city, for guidance. After researching the locations, I chose the one most readily accessible.

Across from the Palais d'Congress and up the stairs from the Porte Maillot Metro station is Le Relais de Venise. The weather was cool but sunny enough to enjoy an outdoor table.

First things first, where's the bathroom? Inside and up a very narrow staircase to the second level dining room and into the back across from the staff locker room are the two customer rest rooms. Typical European with individual stall/rooms.


Romaine Salad with chopped walnuts and horseradish vinaigrette.

Returning from my sojourn, I sat at my table and was queried as to my beverage preference. A red wine would be nice and off my waitress went to do something or other. A menu perhaps? Truth be told, I would never see a menu that day.

Evidently, menus are not necessary here as the choice is simple: steak and frites. Le Menu starting with a simple romaine salad with chopped walnuts and horseradish vinaigrette, along with some water and a bottle of Chateau Le Videau Cotes de Bourg. Perhaps not the Chateau La Tour, but not bad either.


Chateau Le Videau Cotes de Bourg

Not long after my drinking began did the steak arrive. A relatively small serving of perfectly au point meat slices covered in an herb butter sauce and a half plate of fries. The steak was beautifully cooked and had decent flavor and while the fries were freshly made, I found them to be a bit thin and slightly soft - as though it just wasn't cooked long enough to crisp.

To be honest, they were pretty good but my preference for thicker and crisper fries makes it tough on any frites.


Le Steak - Round One

When my steak first arrived, I thought the portion was a bit meager. That changed as I consumed the contents of my plate. When nearly done, I realized that the portion was pretty decent and probably just right with dessert. I wasn't expecting another helping of steak frites.

Making her rounds with silver platter in hand was our waitress. With platter in one hand and tongs in the other, she was ready to stamp out any remnants of hunger that her patrons may harbor. In a flash, a complete second serving of steak and frites appeared on my plate. Voila!


Le Steak - Round Two

If round one left me slightly wanting, round two was too much. However, by this point, I had drank so much wine on an empty stomach that it really didn't matter: I was inebriated. My judgment was hindered. The world was a funny place. I ended up calling The Bob in Hawaii to see what was going on and compare notes on recent females, as well as make plans for my visit to Honolulu next month. Good thing I was sitting because I probably couldn't walk very straight.

By time dessert came, I couldn't remember much about it much less eat any of it. But I think I had a profiterole.

After a few minutes recuperation and paying my bill, I headed back onto the wild streets of Paris with a skip in my step and slight blurriness in my vision.


Le Profiterole.


Le Relais de Venise
271 Bd. Pereire
75017 Paris
01 45 74 27 97
www.relaisdevenise.com

Confessions du Boeuf

The wood burning fireplace.

Robert et Louise is the reason I'm in Paris.

The steak has been on my mind since February when I made two trips here eating the duck confit and entrecote when I should have eaten the cote du boeuf. Don't get me wrong, they were both great but the true piece de resistance is the cote du boeuf. And this time, I won't miss.

Some of you might be thinking that I'm joking, or just being dramatic when I say that I cam to Paris just for Robert et Louise.

I'm not.

Originally, I had no plan of visiting Paris this trip, but the memory of the beef keep nagging me in the back of my mind to the point where it seemed absurd that I would be in Europe and not made the side trip to Paris. I mean, considering the cost of a separate trip to Paris, a side trip to the City of Lights seemed downright sensible.

And since I hadn't yet visited the Eiffel Tower, now would be my chance.


Boudin Noir

It's a good thing I checked the Internet for hours of operation because I was originally going to stay in Zagreb until Monday and then fly back to the United States on Tuesday to get home in time to host my annual Fourth of July Party. The problem is: Robert et Louise is closed on Mondays. Merde.

So, if I trim a day off of Croatia and fly to Paris on Sunday afternoon, I could make it to Robert et Louise before their 11pm closing time. It was risky. The timing of flights would have to be perfect. One mistake and the whole Paris trip will have been for nought.

In spite of the God-awful crowds at Zagreb Airport, I just barely made it onto my flight to Frankfurt. The connection to Paris was smooth and by 8pm, I was rushing towards the Gare Est on the B Train from Charles du Gaulle. After checking into my hotel, a quick rinse in the shower and a change of clothes, I was on my way and made it to the restaurant by 10pm. Whew.


Cote du Boeuf for two

The bar area was packed - which meant half the restaurant was jam-packed. Everyone was watching the Euro Cup Finals between Germany and Spain. Luckily, there was a small two top available in the back next to a table of eight. I massaged myself into the chair with a split view of the kitchen, the fireplace and occasional glimpses of the game whenever someone moved their head.

Ordering was simple: I'd been dreaming of the sausage so give me that. No can do, mon cheri. They were out of the sausage, but I should try the boudin noir because it's excellent.

Now, I wasn't too pleased. I really wanted the sausage. I had been dreaming about it. I needed it. And I typically hate boudin noir, or blood sausage. It's too mealy for me. Can't stand it. But these guys were raving about it. Maybe I just have never had real boudin noir.

But it was excellent. Creamy without being mealy with a definite taste of vinegar. Roasted on the fire, it was delicious. Not firm but just right. I really liked it. I didn't want more. But I would order it again.


Salad, sel gris and freshly ground black pepper.

Finally, the beef came and it was huge. And rare. And mean looking. This was beef that was about business. It wasn't fooling around. The large ripples of fat stared menacingly at me, as if taunting me to tear into them.

My only wish for this beef: I wish they used a heavier hand in seasoning. More salt would have worked to pronounce the beef flavor. As such, it was a bit muted resulting in a heaver use of sel gris. But the results aren't the same.

Otherwise, the meat was good. For France.

I hate to say it, but the meat is simply better at home where I can buy incredible quality beef direct from the farmer who raised the cows. American beef is more flavorful than French, but this was still great steak. I'm now just able to discern a difference.

You may be wondering why I decided to order the Cote du Boeuf for two instead of the entrecote for one - am I a glutton or something? Well, maybe.

But seriously, I've had the entrecote. I wanted to see what the Real Deal was all about. There's no way I expected to finish it. In fact, I took the center cut of the ribeye home and tossed it into the fridge for a later meal. Whatever the case, I was done.


Dessert

I've been learning over the past year that I'm really not a dessert person. Sure, I love a good ice cream, but it's not necessary after a good meal. In fact, I'm starting to prefer skipping the dessert course entirely. Maybe a small order of salty french fries to cleanse the palate, please.

As I was sitting there: digesting, one of the staff came up to me to tell me that they were now closed and would I mind terribly if people started smoking. While I'm against cigarettes personally, I'm even more against draconian laws designed to prohibit adults from making personal choices - smoking being one of them.

Of course, let them smoke. In fact, bring me a cold beer so I can smoke my cigarillos too! I sat there for at least another hour enjoying several Montecristo Havana cigarillos and ice cold Heinekens.

It was a beautiful way to end an evening. Go fuck yourself, California.

Stranger 7th

Back in February, I joked that staying in the 7th was like being at home. Turns out it's getting serious this time.

I'm back in Paris for a couple of days and decided to stay once again at my home away from home at the Best Western Eiffel Park Hotel. It's part of the Paris Rive Gauche chain and I really liked it last time and the rates were good this time. There's a new French-Algerian girl working the reception desk and I'm even back in the same room again: 206.

It's nice to return to familiar surroundings but I was hoping to try out a different room. This time, it's really like returning to your flat after months away on holiday. Just wish the bedding was more than foam core.

With the severe heat and dips into cold air conditioning, I contracted a cold in Croatia that I'm trying to stay ahead of. I also was bitten by a spider on my inner left thigh. At first I thought it was a simple mosquito bite, but after two days of constant itching and that tell-tale hardening of the skin - not to mention tonights' new twist that makes it stiff to walk, it's got to be a spider bite. Damn spiders.

I'm a bit low on the antibiotic side. If we were still in Copenhagen, I could have borrowed some Avapena from the girls. Since I'm too stubborn to treat it and am determined to "tough it out", I'll probably end up dead in a day or two from poisoning. Well, if one MUST die, might as well be in Paris.

I've come to Paris for one reason: to eat at Robert et Louise again. This time to try the Cote du Boeuf. Originally, I was planning on staying in Zagreb until Monday. Then I found out that Robert et Louise is closed on Mondays, and since I want to be home on July 1st, I needed to come in a day early.

The next problem is that I wanted to bring some baguettes from Stephane Secco home with me. Secco is closed on both Sundays and Mondays. That means I had to get a later flight through Frankfurt instead of the non-stop from Paris - just so I could buy baguettes in the morning.

In the meantime, I've got my goals set up:

1 - Visit Pierre Herme for macaroons
2 - Visit the olive oil shop in Bastile
3 - Visit our friends at Soluna Cafes
4 - Hunt down tasty steak and frites
5 - Find Absinthe
6 - Look at books
7 - Visit Leticia

Okay, perhaps I'm not too serious about Number Seven, but the rest I've got to jam in for tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll work on meeting more girls on this trip. I've already got one number...

Moving To Zagreb

Cappu-Sara: a most compelling reason to move to Zagreb.

Happily, the heat has abated here in Zagreb, making much more enjoyable to go out, walk around the city and tour its' sights. It's a pretty city. Small, compact, but quite pretty. Take the funicular to Upper Town and see the city spread out at your feet. Lovely.

Too lovely are the women here. Every few steps, it's "dobra dan" (meaning: "hello" in Croatian). I've said it a lot in this city. Gobin keeps asking me when I'm moving here. I might be crazy, but I'm not that crazy - this isn't Mexico City, afterall...

But it certainly is tempting.

Whatever the desire may be, I still have more Empire Building to do at home in Maryland before I can start setting up worldwide outposts just to sarge women.

My time here is coming to an end. I will be heading to Paris this afternoon and while I am enjoying life on the road, I'm starting to long for the comforts of home. My bed sucks so i really don't miss that. I've got friends wherever I go, so I'm not missing that either. I don't have a steady woman at home either, so I'm not missing anything there. The food has been excellent on the road, so I don't miss that. Gee, maybe I really don't miss anything and am just feigning that longing for home because everyone else feels that longing for home.

Okay, so the real reason I "need" to get home is because I'm running out of money. If that were constant and never-ending perhaps I would never return to the United States.

The main market here is amazing. The produce is beautiful. The meats look stunning. The seafood immaculate. I saw a piece of tuna that just looked stellar. I wanted to buy it. So many ingredients that I wish I could try.

Instead, Eva cooked lunch for us. Croatians are interesting. Unlike America (and perhaps the rest of the world), there's no set time for meals. Lunch easily means three or four o'clock in the afternoon and nothing else the rest of the night. Perhaps this is a better way to eat. Whatever it is, it certainly is a lot to eat. Lunch spreads are not simple salads and light sandwiches, it's full-blown, multi-course meals. Meals so large, they're best capped with an afternoon nap. Perhaps this is how Spaniards live too?

Lunch started with a simple salad of spinach and arugula with a light vinaigrette, sliced fresh tomatoes with basil in olive oil and balsamic, and some roasted scallops on the half shell. Amazing. Next up, a bowl of langoustines stewed in tomatoes and pasta. Delicious. Little, tiny langoustines that you peel off the tail shell and suck the heads. Fantastic. But that's not all, next up was a meat course. Roasted pork wrapped in pancetta in a tomato cream sauce with gnocci.

Dios Mio, this is some serious eating. Hearty meals here seem commonplace. These are American-sized meals and after a week in Copenhagen eating very little for way too much, it's a shock. American-sized they may be but industrially processed they are not. Advantage: Croatia.

So much food I've taken to multiple laps around the town square each evening.

Some of you have been wondering where the images are? While on the road, it's a bit harder to upload images to the blog, as well as keep up with the adventures. I've got more images as well as reports coming after I return to the United States.

Eating Croatia

Scallops

I read somewhere that Croatian chefs and restauranteurs are rather exasperated by their peoples' eating habits. Unlike the United States where we eat Three Squares a day - all within specific timeframes, it seems that the average Croatian eats whenever they damn well please. Which means if he's hungry at 2pm then that's when he eats. Damn what the Americans do.

It's like the French. Try eating dinner at a restaurant in Paris before 7pm and you'll know what I mean.

In Croatia, there's breakfast and then lunch just kinda happens somewhere in the middle of the day - and never around noon as it would in the United States.

On a typical day in Zagreb, we would depart Eli's Caffe around 3pm and make our way to the Casa de Orosi where Eva was busy preparing us what I've come to believe is the typical "Croatian Lunch".

And it's not for the feint of heart.

Fried Fish

Croatian cuisine is a mish-mash of Balkan, Mediterranean and Italian influences. Seafood, tomatoes, pastas, meats, olives, veggies and cheeses all come together on the Croatian table. If you're like me and enjoy a variety of flavors and textures during your meal, Croatian food is absolutely sublime.

Throughout my stay, we talked of visiting classic Croatian restaurants like Balthazar. But with Eva cooking such wonderful food at home, why bother?

Since I spent my mornings availing myself of the runny yogurt, granola and octopus salad at the complimentary hotel buffet, I don't know what normal Croatians ate for breakfast, but by the 4pm lunch, I was hungry. It seems that Croatians wait this long because they know they're not going to be disappointed.

Tomatoes, Basil & Balsamic

Our meal started off innocently enough. Some fresh baked baguettes served with premium olive oil, tomatoes in balsamic and basil, some delicious fried white fish and a zesty arugula salad. Vegetables so fresh that you just cannot get enough. More oil on the bread, more tomatoes, more salad.

Then there's the scallops roasted on the half-shell with butter, lemon and parmesan cheese. Immaculate. So divine you've given up propriety to slurp the remaining juices from the shell (thank God they're close friends).

Toss in some salty olives and you're just in heaven. It's beautiful. You're in the middle of the Capital City, it's hot and barely breezy with a bottle of Ozujusko beer in your hand and you couldn't want for more. In fact, you're so lulled into submission that gorging on the rest of the tomatoes is a luxury worth killing for.

Arugula Salad

But it doesn't stop there. Suddenly, you're jerked from your submission with the arrival of the langoustines. Bathed in a succulent tomato sauce, you can't believe your eyes. There's more. You're already full. You've eaten too much bread, tomatoes and olives with scallop juices. Deep in your heart, you know you shouldn't go on, but you can't say no. The lure of the langoustines are too much for one man to resist.

It's a messy operation as you tear apart the langoustine and suck the juices out of its' head. The zing of the tomatoes paired with the creaminess of the tomalley: Oh God - it's too luscious for words.

The mixture of tomatoes and langoustine juices trail down your forearms and you want to just lick them off with your tongue. It's what Jesus wants you to do. But then you remember that you may be close friends, but that would still seem weird as you reluctantly slow your pace by reaching for the napkin.

Langoustines

Getting the slightly mealy meat out of the shell is tricky business. It's not as easy as shrimp and not as simple as lobster. It's tricky, but in desperation, you make it work.

Moments later, a bowl of freshly boiled fettuccine lands on the table. It's meant to be mixed with the sauce and eaten. The combination of langoustine and pasta is perfection. The only problem is that you're reaching your breaking point. This sustained level of eating frenzy cannot continue unabated without serious repercussions. It's time to slow down, say "thank you for the meal" and be done with it. Sensible minds will prevail!!! - at least until you're handed your next bottle of Ozujusko.

Pasta

In the world of high-end, fine dining, you become accustomed to a certain pace between courses. Here in Croatia, it's a rapid-fire staccato and suddenly: BOOM! Another course lands in front of you. Your full stomach wants to reel back in horror, begging you to say "no." That is, until your eyes are enflamed with images of succulently roasted pork being served with gnocchi and pancetta - and who wants to say "no" to pancetta?

Smashing. The pork is decadently tender, the sauce delicate with the pancetta adding a delightful saltiness offset by the gnocchi. The meal is too much for this hapless traveler, but it would be wrong to say "no" and not experience this taste of Croatia in all it's glory. After all, this is the food that led a nation to victory.

Roast Pork & Gnocchi

Later, as we lounge in the parlor, nearly comatose, with music videos from Italy's GAY.tv lulling us into an afternoon nap, I ask Nik if this is the typical Croatian meal. Evidently, it is. For this American, it seems excessive. But when you realize that breakfasts are small and they won't eat a meal later (what we call "dinner"), this kind of meal seems perfectly reasonable.

Afterall, we'll be up and about in an hour and heading out on the town until late. Not a bad way to live in the Capital City.