April 2005 Archives

If I could actually open a window at the office I'm working in, I could probably spit on the Shake Shack.  Not that I'd want to.  Because today, I went down at 11:45 to beat the lunchtime crowd for the first of what will probably be many artery-assaulting visits over the course of the summer.  After a five minute wait on line to order and another 7 minutes waiting at the pick up window on this gorgeous spring day, I had 18 minutes left to wolf down my lunch.  It's a shame, because I'd love to be one of those park loiterers, enjoying a slow lunch by the gurgling fountain under the budding trees of Madison Square Park. 

I went for the classics for my inaugural meal -- a junior whopper sized Shack Burger with American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and "Shack sauce", cheese fries, and a root beer float with their frozen custard (think Mister Softee, except made of real cream, tastes good and actually melts).  I was pleasantly surprised by the superiority of each item.  The burger was perfect -- savory and flavorful with excellent browning along the crisp edges, on a pillowy but not fragile bun.  I can't say the Shack sauce tasted like anything special -- in fact, it needed a little ketchup help.  The crinkle-cut fries were well-seasoned and perfectly crisp, with a melted American cheese sauce that began to congeal quickly as it cooled, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.  The crowning acheivement was the root beer float in a tall waxed paper cup, one large blob of incredibly creamy and light vanilla frozen custard floating in root beer bubbles.  Portion sizes are perfect for me, but others might find them a little meager.  When I'm eating this kind of food, it feels much better to not overdo it; that way, I don't have to feel guilty about going back very, very soon. 

Grade: A

Total: $11.50 for a Shack burger, cheese fries, and a root beer float

Will I return?  Yes.  Possibly Saturday.  Possibly sooner.  I'm intrigued by the Shack Trilogy (Shack burger topped with mushroom and...another burger?) and the concretes.  Where else are you going to get Valhrona chocolate chunks to mix in your ice cream?

Shake Shack

Madison Square Park
At 23rd St & Madison Ave

R train to 23rd St., 6 train to 23rd St., F to 23rd St.

DAY FIVE, Sunday, April 10

12:00 p.m. Short stack -- Dos Gringos

We're going ho-ome, I can sleep in my be-ed! Before we can get back, we eat a very civilized brunch at a little cafe with outdoor space. I usually don't go for the outdoor eating, but I have spring fever and the sunshine feels good on my skin, and we've got a black gate protecting us from the sidewalk rabble. Marika enjoys her cilantro scrambled eggs with havarti on whole wheat toast.

I suspect that they cook their eggs in the microwave, and I'm very picky about my egg texture, so I opt instead for the crisp Belgian waffle with whipped cream, pineapple, mango and kiwi, along with a teacup full of rather tough, turmeric heavy "scrambled tofu" and roasted tomato. I double fist with an iced coffee and a tall glass of fresh squeezed orange juice -- i love a variety of beverages at brunch. Of course, towards the end of the meal, I get a coarse reminder of why I never eat on the sidewalk -- the owner of old hatchback parked in front of the cafe warms up his engine, sending huge plumes of noxious exhaust into our food and faces until Marika asks them to move on. But it's definitely a pleasant hang otherwise, very California casual in a "There goes the neighborhood" kind of way.

Grade: B+

Total: $12 for a ton of food -- waffle with fresh fruit, whipped cream and nutella, a side of scrambled tofu, a fresh squeezed orange juice and an iced coffee.

Will I return? You definitely get bang for your buck here, but it feels like more of a locals hang than a dining destination. I don't imagine I'll need breakfast in D.C. again for a while. Let's just say that if someone suggested it, I wouldn't say no.

Dos Gringos
3116 Mount Pleasant St., NW
Washington, DC
202-462-1159

7:00 p.m.
I made it home in time for the Contender, people. Life is good.

And that concludes Tour de Farce, April 2005. Special thanks to Jewlia and Marika for many laughs, great music, and a fucking great hang. Confucius say: A good adventure is as ephemeral as the cherry blossoms, so take a picture and get on with your life!

DAY FOUR, Saturday, April 9

5:30 p.m.

We perform at Chapters Books for a small audience in folding chairs.  We sound fantastic, if I do say so myself.  Sem is in the audience and I totally mess up one of his lyrics, but he pretends not to notice.  I spy my friend Dan in the audience and am ecstatic to see a familiar face.  After the performance, we slip out to the bistro around the corner for a glass of champagne.

8:00 p.m.

I slip away from the Bosnians and the Charming Hostess ladies to meet up with Dan again.  (A lot of Dans on this tour, huh?)  "Is there anything you want to do?" he asks.

"Ben's Chili Bowl!"

"I go there at least twice a week.  We can walk over there."

9:00 p.m.  Short stack -- Ben's Chili Bowl

I asked some of my touring musician friends if they had any suggestions for eateries in Baltimore, Philly, or D.C.  Ben's Chili Bowl came up a couple of times.  This U Street institution has been keeping it real since 1958 -- and I don't think much has changed since then.  The decor is very '50s diner, complete with red leatherette bar stools and booths, and the grillmasters wear white uniforms with white paper caps.  Be careful if you put back a couple of drinks (which, if you've made it down to the Chili Bowl, you probably have) -- the insta-sobering white fluorescents are quite harsh on the eyes.  Just squint and focus on the perfect rows of sausages on the beautiful grill.

"What do we get?" I ask Dan.

"Half-smoked with everything."  (Apparently Bill Cosby's favorite.)

"Can we get some chili cheese fries too?"

"Great," he says.  He points at the percolating drink dispenser.  "What do you want to drink?  Red, orange..."

"How about pink?" I reply.

"Okay.  Can we get two half-smoked with everything, one order of chili cheese fries, and one small pink, one medium pink?"

We take our feast to the table and chow.  The half-smoked is quite snappy and yummus, oozing smoky fat out of every crevice, the generous slathering of chili with a little mustard and chopped onion gilding the fatty lily.  The chili cheese fries are pretty perfect -- crisp, thick fries with plenty of spicy chili and a cheez whiz kind of sauce.  The pink drink tastes faintly lemonade-y if I close my eyes and use my imagination.  After about five minutes of eager scarfing, I'm starting to feel the burn.  After ten minutes, I have come to a complete halt.  It feels like my meal isn't mixing very well in my stomach.

We go back to Dan's house to split a fizzy bottle of Korbel brut and play some scrabble.  As the burn fades away, I suddenly have a hankering for more of those chili cheese fries.  I don't know what they put in that chili, but I'd risk the burn again for just one more hit of it...

Grade:  B

Total:  $8.50 per person for a half-smoked with everything, my half of a plate of chili cheese fries, and a pink drink.

Will I return?  Honestly, I'm still fiending for those damn chili cheese fries.  How else am I going to sate a craving like that?  It's hard to get that kind of grub in this health-conscious era.  Ben, I'm under your spell.

Ben's Chili Bowl

1213 U Street, N.W.

Washington D.C. 20009

(202)667-0909

DAY FOUR, Saturday, April 9

1:00 p.m.

We get back in the car and drive out to the northeast corner of D.C. to report our car incident at the other police station.  The very friendly folks at this station tell us we can file a complaint against the other station for refusing to take the report.  We decline, we just want to be done with this business.  After about an hour, we are finally finished!  Is there somewhere we can get a little breakfast around here?  "There's a Dunkin' Donuts just down the block."  Heh heh, cops and donuts, heh heh...okay, let's get the hell out of here.

3:00 p.m.  Short stack -- Julia's Empanadas

This little storefront on U St. carries about 10 types of empanadas daily, from sweet fruit empanadas to Jamaican style-beef patties.  I order the lovely saltenas, with curried chicken, potato, peas, sliced hard-boiled egg, and lots of onion.  The filling to pastry ratio is excellent, though the plain, egg-brushed pastry is a little on the tough side.  Would have been a perfect no-mess portable snack for a picnic under the cherry blossoms, if we had made it over there.  Dun dun dun!

Grade: A-

Total: $3.18

Will I return?  Sure.  I bet they'd be great snacks for the car.

Short stack -- Cakelove

Poor D.C.  Cakelove ain't Sugar Sweet Sunshine, I'll tell you that.  The cupcakes are beautiful, but why are they getting tough and cold in the refrigerated case?  I got two cupcakes -- the chocolate with strawberry buttercream and very pretty bits of chopped strawberry, and the vanilla with amaretto icing.  I allowed the cupcakes to come to room temperature and bit in.  The satiny buttercream was lovely and didn't overpower the cake as icing sometimes can.  But the chocolate cake was deeply disappointing -- the crumb was not tender enough and it didn't have enough chocolate oomph, a problem I encounter when I use Scharffen Berger chocolate at home.  I didn't even bother with the Amaretto -- I think vanilla cakes are even harder to get right.  And Cakelove charges a whopping $3 per cupcake, TWICE AS MUCH as Sugar Sweet Sunshine charges here in uber-expensive New York City.  At that price, I should get some love with my cake.

Grade: C-

Total: $6 (!) for two refrigerator burned cupcakes

Will I return?  No way.  There's a lot of diabetes in my family.  Every simple carb counts, so if there are vials of insulin in my future, I only want to consume kCals worth becoming ill for.

Cakelove

1506 U Street, NW, D.C.

202.588.7100

DAY THREE, Friday, April 8

7:00 p.m.

The Accident Reporting Hotline for D.C. has been down all morning long -- apparently, if you have an accident in D.C., you are shit out of luck because the hotline goes down and stays down.  Which is strange because they certainly aren't lacking in manpower -- I've never seen such a dense population of cops in my life.  We decide that the best thing to do is to fill out a report at a police station on the way to Danny's apartment.  After only one missed turn and some map deciphering, we make it to the police station at the northern edge of D.C.  Jewlia goes in by herself while Marika and I wait at the car and make phone calls.  I decide I'd like to use the bathroom and head in to find it.  I find Jewlia at the counter, laughing to herself.  "He says we can't fill out the report here.  We have to go back to the station by the scene of the crime so they can draw a diagram, even though I can draw a diagram fully well.  What the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

The surly cop at the counter says, "We don't use that kind of language here."

"Well what the heck am I supposed to do?" Jewlia says.  Jewlia's temperature is rising.  I don't think we should be testing our luck with these D.C. cops.  Luckily, another cop hands us the address for the other police station and we get out without an incident with just enough time to head over to Adams Morgan to meet our dinner dates.

7:55 p.m.

We find the restaurant with ease but spend 10 minutes circling the area for parking.  As we're driving up the hill, we see a spot on Kalorama St., and Jewlia gets out of the car to save it, just as a car full of young men driving down the hill aim for the same spot.  Marika drives up the hill so we can turn around and go back down to get the spot.  We find another space at the top of the hill and park.  Marika says, "Maybe we shouldn't have let Jewlia save the spot.  I hope those guys didn't beat her up or anything.  Let's call her." 

I call Jewlia.  "We found a spot up here."

Jewlia says, "Oh my god, we can't run into those guys.  They'll kill me.  They tried to run me over."

8:20 p.m.  Short stack -- Meze

We sit down to eat with our dinner companions, Sem Mehmedinovic, the poet whose work Charming Hostess's Sarajevo Blues is based on.  We order food.  The music is pumping and the political yuppies (puppies) are out in full force for Friday night revelry.  Much to our dismay, of all the restaurants on 18th St., the guys Jewlia fought over the parking space have also chosen Meze, so it must be a hot spot.  Luckily, they either don't recognize us or don't care. 

The speakers pump bad world trance music.  My companions smoke many cigarettes at the long dinner table.  Service is friendly and efficient.  The Bosnians order all the tapas sized place -- several baskets of oil slicked thick bread topped with sesame seeds; average hummus; cucumber tomato salad with parsley and lemon; 5 " grilled lamb kebabs; kofte kebabs; grilled chicken over some cheesy eggplant puree; I'm eating, but I'm not tasting it.  I'm so exhausted.  Bikram in the morning was DEFINITELY a bad idea.  In a lame attempt to join the conversation, I comment on the head-to-toe black garb of the women in Istanbul.  Sem's lovely wife Sanja begins a speech about religious choice and unreliable Bosnian men.  I shut my trap -- my contributions are useless.  I'm losing my shit.  I gotta get out of here or I'm going to keel over.  I know my lazy eye is drifting because I am too tired to focus.  I must leave NOW.  Jewlia and Marika sweep me up off the floor and we go home.

But not before this excellent exchange: Over dessert, Marika is sitting with Victor and Pedja.  The cheese textured honey bird's nest dessert comes with a mini pitcher of fragrant sugar water.  Victor takes the first bite.  "Mmm...it never disappoints.  Just like sex." 

Marika and Pedja both respond with an incredulous, "What?!"

Grade: Not able to rate because of peakiness

Total:  Sem generously paid, we didn't even see the bill.  Thank you Sem!  But meze share plates were $4-10, we ordered about 10-12 plates between 7 people.

Will I return?  If I weren't hallucinating from exhaustion, I'd probably say that it's not my kind of place -- it's more of a loud social scene than a food focused place.  But the food was pretty good.  I think.

Meze

2437 18th St. NW, Washington, DC 20009
Phone: 202-797-0017
Metro: Woodley Park-Zoo/ Adams Morgan (Red Line)

Confession time -- roe foods kind of freak me out.  I never liked the tobiko or ikura, and bottarga I could probably live without.  I only recently had my first caviar which I adored, but I've only had caviar one other time since.  It's weird to me, the thousands of potential babies.  I know, I know, I eat chicken eggs.  And I'll chow foie gras and veal without batting an ethical eyelash.  Some spring I will get around to trying the shad roe.  And when I do, maybe I'll try this recipe from New York Magazine for Bacon-wrapped Shad Roe.  Anything wrapped in bacon has to be good.

What does it taste like?  Can anyone tell me?

Happy Thai New Year!  The Thai temple in Queens will have Songkran festivities all day Sunday, including lots of yummy food (and if I recall correctly, it's free).  So come take advantage of my people's generosity or, at the very least, douse someone you love with copious amounts of water.  Thai people know, nothing says I love you like a water hose up the nose.

Oops.  My bad.  I sent my roommate to Ocean Palace instead of Ocean Port.  Ocean Port is apparently still there.  I refuse to take all the blame though -- those Chinese restaurants need to come up with more distinctive names. 

DAY THREE, Friday, April 8

6:30 a.m.

It is weird sleeping in someone else's house. I mean, our host was splendid and generous, but it still feels kind of invasive to me to sleep in some random person's house. I decide, well, I'm up, why don't I try and find a yoga class to take near the apartment in downtown Philly.

7:45 a.m.

I am one tough bird, I am taking Bikram yoga in some random city at 8 in the morning because I am TOUGH. The instructor asks if I've ever taken Bikram and I say, I've taken it in New York. I sense the clenching of the instructor's sphincter and I spend the next hour and a half paying for the fact that I am from New York in an uncompassionate, 105 degree room with zero ventilation. I remember why I don't like Bikram. But I am TOUGH and ready to conquer the world.

10:00 a.m.

After a pleasant, anonymous shower at the yoga studio, I make it back in time to meet Jewlia and Marika as planned at 10:00.

11:00 a.m. Short short short stack -- Rachael's Nosherei

No word from J & M so I hit Rachael's Nosherei and order a foam bowl of matzo ball soup which I carry to the table on a red cafeteria tray. Total sinkers.

1:00 p.m. After a raised voice fight with the parking attendant, whose colleague had miscommunicated the parking prices to us the night before, we take the car down to South St. again to do a little gawking. Philly has lots of pretty murals and public art, which we love. Also, many many salons to do braids. Okay, let's eat.

2:30 p.m. Short stack -- Tommy Gunn's Barbecue

I ask the guy behind the counter, "What is the entree you are most proud of?" He says, without hesitation, "The Kansas City baby back ribs." I order three teeny ribs with a side of Tennessee mustard slaw and baked beans.

The dry rubbed ribs are okay, but not moist, and don't hold a candle to the baby backs I had at the 1st BBQ Festival here in NYC featuring that 17th St. Bar & Grill or whatever. There's only about 2 tablespoons of meat on the three ribs, which is just fine for me, as I'm more of a sides girl anyway. If you're a carnivore, you're probably better off ordering the whole rack or going for the larger, meatier saucy spare ribs.

The Tennessee mustard slaw is a little disconcerting -- the mustard used is the French's kind, rendering the slaw a crayola yellow -- but it tastes pretty good, fairly mild mustard flavor but punchier than the classic slaw.

I think the beans are excellent, with plenty of pulled pork bits and a nice buttery texture, but Jewlia thinks they're too sweet.

Jewlia's spicy collard greens are excellent -- lots of heat, lots of green flavor. The Tommy Gunn sauce supposedly has some peach flavoring in it -- I don't know, it just tastes like sweet, tangy ketchup to me. I've never been much of a BBQ sauce person. (Do I hear gasps from the 'cue lovers? Come on then, show me a sauce that's worth something. I want to be proven wrong.) They also feature locally microbrewed sodas, but my root beer has too much caramel and not enough rooty bite for my taste. But it's a nice tuck in before we hit the road again, and the staff is extremely friendly. Extra points for the rolls of paper towels at every table.

Grade: B

Total: About $12 for 3 baby back ribs, two sides, and a tap soda.

Will I return? Feh, I don't think so. It wasn't so special. I'd like to have another cheesesteak instead, you know, when in Rome and all.

Tommy Gunn's American BBQ
630 South St.
215-627-6160

DAY TWO, Thursday April 7

2:30 p.m.

We drop Danny and Daniel off at their school and head back onto the road, with Jewlia once again behind the wheel.  We proceed to get completely lost in the Mall area, enjoying the cartoon pink of the peak bloom cherry blossoms.  (Totally stunning and worth a visit, by the way.)  We circle D.C. for an hour and a half.  I swear, you miss one turn in this town and you have to find a g-d tesseract to get out.

4:00ish p.m.

Finally, we reach the end of the 395 at the edge of town.  As we're getting off the off-ramp to find the entrance to the 295, we here a "krick-kerCHUNK!"  I look to my left and see a silver mid-size car between us and the ramp barrier, the beyotch driver having tried to pass us illegally, sideswiping us and saving TWO WHOLE SECONDS of time.  As we reach the end of the off-ramp, shaken, the silver car slips into the stream of exiting cars and we lose sight of her.  And thusly our Impala is impaled.  Becoming an Impale-a. 

4:15 p.m.

But we got a gig to get to in Philly, so Jewlia drives on until we get back on the 95 North, where we take the first exit so Marika can drive while the understandably shaken Jewlia can get in the back.  Except--

JEWLIA:  Uh-oh. 

MARIKA:  (Standing next to the driver's side door)  Wait a minute.

JEWLIA:  The door won't open.

MARIKA:  This part got smashed in.  Don't try to open it anymore.  I'll get in from the other side.

We all break into hysterical laughter.  Jewlia eats her half po' boy in the back.  I eat mine in shotgun.  We peel out and back onto the 95.

5:30 p.m.

Somewhere in Maryland, we stop for a pee break at a Citgo.  We pull into the Citgo parking lot when a green Jeep with flashing blue lights pulls up next to us. 

MARIKA:  Is he pulling us over?

GANDA:  He can't be pulling us over.

MARYLAND STATE TROOPER:  Stay where you are!

JEWLIA:  What did we do?

(I roll the window down.)

MARYLAND STATE TROOPER:  (voice straining with anger) Did you know you almost hit me back there?!  This is property of the state!  Do you know how much it would have cost you if you hit me?!!

MARIKA:  I'm sorry, sir, we didn't see you.

Somewhat mollified after punishing us for NOT hitting his state property jeep, he lets us go.  And we are left wondering, What is UP with the mid-Atlantic, yo?

8:00 p.m.

We make it to Philly and do the gig in a bar on Philly's South St.  It's part of a Jewish festival, though it feels closer to a J-Date meet and greet rather than a rebbe conference.  The gig goes pretty well, though Jewlia must convince the crowd to shut up a couple of times with entreatments like, "Okay guys, the next song is pretty quiet, and it's about genocide, so we'd really appreciate it if you could just keep it down over on that side, that'd be great." 

9:30 p.m.

I get the keys to the rental because I've left my cell phone in there.  I go around to the shotgun door because I know I can't get the driver's side open.  But when I get to the door, I can't find the keyhole.  I look under the handle, no keyhole.  But how did we get the doors open at the Citgo?  Marika's window was rolled down.  Shit.  I try to get my arm through the three inch opening on the driver's side.  Damn these short arms.  I try to use my yogic power to reach around to the back door lock.  I am still a yoga grasshopper and cannot reach.  Shit.  Shit shit shit.

9:45 p.m.

I come back to the car with a wooden cooking spoon, one of the instruments we use for a song called "Spoonful."  I hit the electronic unlock.  Success!  I am now Holder of the Wooden Spoon, Keeper of the Car Key. 

10:15 p.m.  Short Stack -- Pico de Gallo

With its bright Christmas light decorations and roomy wooden tables, Pico de Gallo has the comfortable feel of a college town joint.  One slim Japanese girl with big perm curls had to wait on all the tables at this kitschy cozy eatery.  We had to wait for 30 minutes for a table, but it was the best option we could find close to the club.  The spicy table salsa and colored chips held us over as we browsed the gringo friendly menu.  Nachos came with proper white Mexican cheese and little dollops of guac.  My fish tacos came with somewhat overcooked steamed white chunks of fish, maybe tilapia or snapper -- not deep fried as I had hoped.  Large, incongruous chunks of ripe papaya were strewn over the plate.  The shrimp rancheros Jewlia ordered had some butane-like flavor which couldn't be masked by the salsa it was cooked in.  The chicken fajitas were white meat -- Marika preferred the peppers to the pollo.  Now that I found the Sunset Park taquerias, I can say that we have better Mexican food in New York.  Can you believe it?

Grade: B-

Total: $17 per person for one app shared between three, one entree each, and a soda.

Will I return?  Probably not.  We should have held out for Pat's and Gino's.  But we were tired and needed a place to park it while waiting for our hosts to take us to our resting place for the evening.

1501 South St.
Philadelphia, PA 19147
Phone: (215) 772-1119