Ain’t Nothing but a Family Thing

8 July 2009

It was a charmed evening until I got the call.  My favorite date and I had lingered over a couple of cocktails and a cigar on one of my regular patios before cabbing a mile north for dinner at a frequent dining haunt.  It was a bit embarrassing as my out of town companion watched far too many people say hello to me before we could even get to a table (it’s just an industry thing.)

We had made our way through a couple of small plates and then I got a text message from my sister: Dad in the hospital with a blood clot behind the knee, call me, call him xxx-xxx-xxxx.

I excused myself as politely as anyone who had received that message could and went outside to call my old man.  We don’t talk often, and our conversation leaned more towards the clinical.

“What has the doctor told you?”

“How are you feeling?”

“What is the course of treatment?”

I say goodnight with the comfort that this is a “serious but routine” condition and that the drugs are the logical treatment.  I am distracted through the rest of dinner, my mind occupied with thoughts of Dad’s illness and how much it is going to cost me (you want to talk about the health care crisis in this country, bring it; because it’s draining my portfolio faster than I can make fun of Rachel Ray.)

Later the next morning, I get the call from a doctor informing me that “the clot has started to move; the pharmaceutical option is no longer feasible and we’ve scheduled emergency surgery for later today.”  I am assured that, just like the blood clot itself, the surgery is serious but routine.

I’ve woken from surgery to an empty chair next to me.  It’s more painful than the site of your incisions, and scarier than any demons I’ve faced.

As inconvenient (and unnecessary according to the docs) it was, I wasn’t going to let him wake alone.  As awkward as it was going to be sitting in a hospital room with a father with whom I have not had a good relationship in a more than a score of years, I had to make the drive.  As much as my feelings were conflicted, my choice was made.

My father was alone, and scared and wanted to be neither.  I was present and emotionally drained and didn’t have a choice about either.

16 Comments | parents, random stuff, sucks to write this, the social contract | Permalink
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The Summer Meme – Answering my own Questions

7 July 2009
  1. You’re about to get into the Cash Cab in NYC.  You can choose any two or three people (from your actual life) to be with you.  Name the people with you and why? I would want my friend Uptown J who merits inclusion as the one of the smartest people I know and the only person who routinely beats me at Trivial Pursuit.  The Professor would balance the team with incredible knowledge of history and literature.  I would also take those two people because you have to really like the people who are going to help you drink away the winnings; and they’re both excellent drinking partners.
  2. The TV gods have appeared before you in the form of a burning remote.  They instruct you to select any canceled television show to be returned to the airwaves.  You do, however, have to make your case to them.  What show, what’s your argument in favor? Sports Night had brilliant writing, nuanced acting, and intriguing plotlines that didn’t lean too heavily on romance – requited or otherwise.  It was one of those shows that was too smart for enough of the public to embrace and too clever for the suits at ABC to support.
  3. It’s not summer in DC (or your city of origin, or your favorite city if you wish) without _______________? A concert at Wolftrap, movie night at Screen on the Green, late night at the museums that stay open for the residents to enjoy after tourists have bedded down for the night, Shakespeare in the Park, Crabs on the Bay.
  4. The best summer accessory in your repertoire is? My picnic basket.
  5. It took you a while to get on board with the _______________ trend but once you did, you don’t know how you lived without it. I can’t believe that I lived so long without an MP3 player – I got my first one two months ago.  Ten years ago I was also the last guy in my company to get a Palm Pilot and have no idea how I lived without that for so long.
  6. The song to which you are embarrassed to admit that you know all of the words is? Brtiney Spears – Toxic
  7. Your favorite memory of summer is? The last summer when I did all of the things in question number three was also the summer when I grilled with friends just about every night and took six weeks vacation.  It  was far too long ago, but I recall that summer with great fondness.
  8. The memory you would love to create this summer is? I need another beach memory; it’s been far too long since I have spent some time with sand in my toes, and a Mai Tai in my hand.
  9. According to Confucius, real knowledge exists in the understanding of what one doesn’t know.  What don’t you know? I don’t know much about physics.  I know enough about certain genres of art to enjoy them (classical music, opera, impressionist art, etc.) but not always enough to explain why.  I can do all manner of things in the kitchen, but don’t know how to make a decent pot of rice to save my life.  I don’t know how to deliver truth to attraction but not interest.  I know that the universe of things I don’t know will never be smaller than that which I know, nor will I ever stop trying to shrink it.
  10. What question do you wish were included in this meme? This question is not really applicable since I wrote the meme, however, I will say that I wish that the meme had been just a bit lighter.  As I write my own answers, I realize that it is harder than I anticipated it to be.

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The Summer Meme

6 July 2009
  1. You’re about to get into the Cash Cab in NYC.  You can choose any two or three people (from your actual life) to be with you.  Name the people with you and why?
  2. The TV gods have appeared before you in the form of a burning remote.  They instruct you to select any canceled television show to be returned to the airwaves.  You do, however, have to make your case to them.  What show, what’s your argument in favor?
  3. It’s not summer in DC (or your city of origin, or your favorite city if you wish) without _______________?
  4. The best summer accessory in your repertoire is?
  5. It took you a while to get on board with the _______________ trend but once you did, you don’t know how you lived without it.
  6. The song to which you are embarrassed to admit that you know all of the words?
  7. Your favorite memory of summer is?
  8. The memory you would love to create this summer is?
  9. According to Confucius, real knowledge exists in the understanding of what one doesn’t know.  What don’t you know?
  10. What question do you wish were included in this meme?

3 Comments | meme | Permalink
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Stream of (mostly) Restaurant Consciousness

1 July 2009

I have long maintained the following truths about the brunch scene in Washington, DC:

  • It is largely unimpressive with unimaginative cooking.
  • It is generally overpriced given the aforementioned mediocrity.
  • If I must go out for brunch, I would rather go to the exceptions to the prior two truths (Cashion’s, anywhere Gillian Clarke is cooking) or someplace with inexpensive mimosas because most place’s eggs are just eggs.

So it was that I found myself in a place with inexpensive mimosas and just average eggs on not too recent Sunday afternoon.  I was in the company of a food-loving woman with whom I used to be friends and to whose good graces I wanted to return.  Inevitably, our conversation centered on restaurants and food and I soon learned that she had never been to Restaurant Eve.  With a quick invitation, I returned to good graces…

**************

Restaurant Eve has for several years been considered, by anyone who knows anything about food, among the top five restaurants in the city and among the top fifty in the country.  Dining there is an exercise in elegant simplicity with a staff that defines superlatives for the region.  I have lauded  them before; the distinction in this mentioning is that I am stating without equivocation that it is the single best bar at which to dine in the area.

Comfortably elegant with reserved décor, Eve’s bar makes it clear that its focus is trained on libation and food.  You can have all of the “bar chef’s” in the world and I’d better serious cash that none of ‘em can make a Manhattan as good as Tammy.  As always, the food was rock-ya-socks good… which was rather important because the date decidedly sucked.…

***************

The date may have sucked but I did have the asparagus dish which inspired (minor inspiration, but inspiration nonetheless) the most awesomest salad ever…

**************

That was a dish that formed in my head while I was walking through Whole Foods shopping for ingredients to be used later that evening.  It reminded me of a recent challenge on The Next Food Network Star, which got me thinking about my friend/ NFNS contestant, Teddy Folkman of Granville Moore’s.  I don’t know if it is simply the editing, a mutation induced by the presence of cameras, or an act of desperation to remain before the cameras, but I didn’t recognize the Teddy that I saw on this show.  The Teddy I know is generous, magnanimous, gregarious and a consummate gentleman.  The Teddy on the NFNS is… let’s just say, he’s not that.  This is explained in more (a lot more) detail by a blog post at the Degustation Blog written by one of Teddy’s colleagues at Granville Moore’s…

**************

Speaking of Granville Moore’s, despite the new crowds that Teddy’s television appearance hath wrought, this place remains one of my favorite restaurants in the city.  A recent date there found the Moules Fromage Blue (Mussels cooked in a white wine, blue cheese, and bacon broth) to still be the best in driving distance as were the Frites.  The horseradish crème fraîche sauce surely has crack as its secret ingredient, and I will never tire of the rustic charm of the diminutive décor.  My internet date on the other hand…

**************

Why do people insist on including some variation of “as comfortable in a dive bar as a formal occasion” in their online dating profiles?  Besides being a useless cliché, I find it false for most people.

The first sign of trouble for a date that began promisingly enough with drinks in Chinablocks* came when we left to head towards H Street.  As I was trying to hail a cab, I noticed that the bus which would deposit us at GM’s doorstep, and in only seven minutes, was a block away.  My date balked at the notion of riding the bus.

Bowing to her preference, as is a gentleman’s wont, we caught a cab.  As we moved east, her expression began to change as we moved further from her Northwest DC comfort-zone.  Passing Union Station, she inquired “We’re not going to NE are we?”  I should have turned the cab (and the date) in another direction right then.

GM’s is far from a dump but this woman used her cocktail napkin to “wipe-off” her seat before in a move that made me think I was out with a “Female Niles Crane” but without the searing wit.  Sure the décor is sparingly rustic, but it has character that usually takes years to form.  And in my judgmental nature (shocking to no one,) my date’s discomfort with this place showed me that she had no character of her own…

Have a great holiday weekend everybody.  Be well, eat well, drink well, and I’ll see you all on Monday.

*Chinatown in DC is too small to be described as such, therefore, Chinablocks is more appropriate.  Further, I refuse to call it Penn Quarter.

20 Comments | Dinner Parties, advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, dating, random stuff, recipes, restaurants, women | Permalink
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Sanford and His Sons

29 June 2009

There are few universal truths in this world: Murphy’s Law, Occam’s Razor, Surliness of CVS employees, and the cruelty of children are among them.  I have been thinking about South Carolina Governor, Mark Sanford, and his indelicately handled affair in light of that last truth.

Click me for a timeline of indiscretion and malfeasance for those living under rocks for the past week.

The governor is father to four school age sons each of whom will most likely be subjected to additional cruelties at the hands and mouths of their classmates and peers.  Their father’s careless indiscretions are to be blamed for each taunt.

I was nine years old when I learned of both my parent’s infidelities.  My largely carefree existence was shattered – most fourth graders lack the ability to differentiate the shared aspects of parenthood versus the private acts of the parent.  In breaking faith with each other (and allowing me to learn of their breaches,) my mother and father broke faith with me too.  For the first time in my life, when either told me the sky was blue, I had to go outside to confirm it.  I became withdrawn, sullen, and refused to discuss the matter – not that either parent tried.  Friendships faded as I couldn’t embarrass my parents, my family with such disclosures. I picked fights to vent aggression.  It was a dark period in my life and one which still colors my parental relationships long after forgiveness came.

Now imagine trying to manage all of that on a public stage.  Imagine that all of your classmates, teammates, coaches, teachers, and playmates know your father is a philandering poseur.

Elected officials opt into a certain amount of public scrutiny, an easy choice to make for oneself.  However, they also make that choice for their children and in so doing ought to be committed to a higher standard or at least not getting caught in contradiction.  I will not comment about the damage Gov. Sanford has done to his marriage or to his wife – they are both adults and thus I consider the matter private.  Nor will I comment on the political/hypocritical elements as this has rarely been a political space*.

Governor, your meandering public apologies have been all over the news, but I hope you understand the damage you have done to your children.  I hope you understand how long of a shadow you’ve cast over their lives.  I hope you understand that your carelessness (in getting caught) has exposed your boys to trump leveling taunts from which there is no recovery.  Governor, I hope you know that all of their conversations can be ended with the question “Do you know where your daddy is?”

Where you gonna be, Governor?

P.S. Keith Olberman, you know I am generally a fan; but would you please stop appearing to enjoy this so much.

* Yes, I understand that there was a certain level of commentary inherent in the phrasing.

8 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, parents, random stuff, sucks to write this, the social contract | Permalink
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R.I.P. Mr. Jackson

26 June 2009

When I started writing this I’d been listening to Michael Jackson’s greatest hits for about two hours now – the greatest hits as determined by me and their meaning in my life.

I began with Off the Wall, the first album that was of my choosing and not the jazz of my father or the blues of my mother.  I played Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough three times.  Once for each time I restarted a party with a song that 30 years later still has that ability.

I played Can’t Help It because it was the first song that was ever an “Our Song.”

Thriller was played almost in its entirety for obvious reasons (if it ain’t obvious to you please stop reading now.)  It was the soundtrack of seventh grade for me.  I played it incessantly on my boom box.  P-Y-T was the standard dedication on the radio to any object of affection.  What person of that age didn’t know the steps to all of the videos?  I still know all of the lyrics and could karaoke them without looking at the screen.

Bad was the first album I didn’t love; but there were still some tracks that made the greatest hits cut.  I had to play Dirty Diana because it was the song that we sang to every woman with that name for too much of high school.

For Remember the Time I played the extended remix because a) it was a smoking hot track and b) I threw a “premier party” for the video.  It was a signature moment in my collegiate experience as we all gathered round a television at the appointed hour.

I concluded my nearly three hour tour through my MJ files with Butterflies, the last song of his that I considered relevant.  It was also always the fourth song that I played last on the jukebox at my favorite bar in 2001.

Thank you for all of the memories and the music, Mr. Jackson.  I do hope that you have peace now that you’ve left this earth.

5 Comments | In Memoriam | Permalink
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Potential Becomes Possible in a Moment

18 June 2009

“All potential lovers encounter a moment when the harbored crush becomes possible”

Taken from the book Service Included by Phoebe Damrosch

I know that I really like a word, a sentence, a paragraph when I can’t stop myself from reading it aloud.  I read that sentence and the rest of the paragraph at least a half dozen times this most recent Sunday.  I read twice to the woman who gave me the book and a several times more on the patio of the coffee shop where I began this missive.

With that sentence, all manner of moments – simple and complex, gestures and statements, plain old moments – bounded across my brain like a romantic kaleidoscope.

An ankle crossed against mine and left there

Feeling a charge when the big of my hand reached the small of her back

An invitation for a drink

The warm, breathy “thank you” that I felt against my neck as much as I heard it while dancing a salsa to the Latin-jazz band’s Afro-Blue

The sharing of personal space for no other reason than sharing’s sake

A last look over the shoulder to see if I was still watching

A certain long lashed ingénue saying “it’s too loud in here”

Sitting next to a blind date as she talks to another man and saying “I don’t think that’s the guy you’re here to meet”

“My mother warned me about men like you”

All of those moments were cosmic winks (which is as good as a nod to a blind man) filled with enough electricity to turn a switch in my brain if not my heart.  Now divorced more than a decade, within a five iron of age 40, I am still looking for my first last moment.

Tell me about your moments…

11 Comments | Crush with a big C, advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, blogging life, booze & boozing, dating, women | Permalink
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People and Lessons from a Perfect Afternoon in the Park

16 June 2009

Dupont Circle is iconic Washington, DC.  Woebegone tourists have driven around it countless times; every area photographer worth an F-Stop has shot images of it; and on a perfect late spring evening all manner of life in the city can and will find intersection there.

I have fallen in love there when a woman crossed her leg against mine and decided that her ankle resting atop my leg was its natural place, had spontaneous picnics there, and filled more hours than I can recall with competitive people watching there.

This particular perfect Monday I met some people there, and learned a few lessons too.  These are those stories (cue Law & Order chimes.)

Tony is short of teeth, sports immaculately polished black lace-ups, and has a well worn acoustic guitar that he plays with virtuosic skill.  Over the course of at least two hours he went from Brazilian rhythms that conjured images of caipirinhas to old Sade songs and scores of things between.  My friend Dennis and I couldn’t contain our glee at getting this free concert for which we both offered Tony money but he insisted that our gratitude was ample payment.

Amy, cherubic of face, and crimson of hair was possessed with the excitement only those who don’t yet know words can convey.  She danced and sang and waved at everyone within her sight.  I never would want to bend an elbow with some who is capable of not smiling in her presence.

Jack, Amy’s “Pa-Pa,” has grandparental pride that is palpable, and inescapable.  At least 80 years on this earth, still fit and possessing a full head of shockingly white hair, there is nothing about him that makes me think he still couldn’t kick some young guy’s ass like the old Marine that he is.  Thanks for your service Gunny.

Christian Loubutin shoes are gorgeous, elegant, expensive, wearable works of art, but aren’t worth a plug nickel if you don’t know how to walk in them.

There comes an age after which all women should retire hot pink from their wardrobe.

Ice cream cones after dinner are splendid way to end a date.

Among the best reasons to wear a brim (baseball caps are not brims) is that one cannot tip a hat without wearing a hat.

The guy from the six flags commercials has a doppelganger and apparently likes to cruise the circle for younger men.

There is no amount of hotness that can help me get over my lack of attraction for women in dress shorts.

The former also applies to women with “accessory” dogs.

Euro Hipsters in circulation-restricting black pants must smoke a minimum of one Galois cigarettes per eight minutes.

If I sit long enough in any location in the city, I will cross paths with someone I have dated.

As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent,” similarly, no one can give you a compliment without your assistance.

People who drive convertibles but leave the top prone on days like this ought to have their vehicles repossessed by the Fun Police.

Very few joys are the equal of the simple ones.

19 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, parents, random stuff, the social contract, women | Permalink
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Because I Love All Six of You Who Read

15 June 2009

As a man who prefers food that has grazed rather than a plate of things on which they might have grazed, I have rarely invested much energy in making or consuming salads.  That changed this weekend.  I was making dinner for a dear friend and a couple of her friends and had been obsessing over my menu for days.  I am not sure that the picture for this dish was even completed until I arrived at Whole Foods to get provisions.  And then it hit me and I made what  I am humbling calling “The Bestest Salad Ever Made with Awesomesauce Dressing.”

Since I haven’t been writing enough about food lately, I am happy to share the recipe with you.

The Bestest Salad Ever Made with Awesomesauce Dressing aka Shaved Asparagus and Arugula Salad with Black Forest Bacon and Poached Quail Egg

One Bunch of Asparagus

One bunch of Arugula

Three Pieces of Thick-cut Black Forest Bacon

Four Quail Eggs

Two Cipollini Onions

Olive Oil

Butter

Kosher Salt

Freshly Cracked Pepper

Preheat an oven to 375 degrees

Bend one spear of asparagus to determine its breaking point and cut the rest of the bunch at that line.  Using a thin peeler, peel or shave the skin from the bottom inch or so of each spear.  Place all of the spears on a non-stick backing sheet and brush with a thin layer of Extra Virgin Olive Oil (by the by, I would rather have Rachel Ray give me a hand job while wearing a sandpaper glove than use the term Eee-Voo.)  On the same sheet, you should have room to put the three strips of bacon which is a good thing because a little of the grease from the bacon with help to season the asparagus.  Place the sheet in a 375 degree oven and roast for 8-10 minutes depending on thickness of the spears.

While the bacon and asparagus are cooking, tear the Arugula and place it into a large salad bowl; slice the Cipollini onions into thin ribbons and sauté in butter but do not caramelize them.  Your goal is for the ribbons to be tender to the tooth but still have some bite.  Start the water to poach the Quail eggs.

Once the spears are removed they need to be “Shocked” to stop the cooking process.  Place them in a bath of ice water for ten seconds, remove them and pat dry.  Cut the asparagus into 2-3 inch pieces and add to the bowl.

The bacon will need another 5-7 minutes to cook to the point of crispy.  Once the bacon is ready, remove it from the pan and cut into ¼ to ½ inch strips and add to the bowl.  Add a reasonable drizzle of salt (use less than you think you need because of the salt of the bacon and the basic principle of not being able to remove salt or any seasoning) and cracked pepper.  Add about a tablespoon of Olive Oil and toss until well coated.

Divide the salad onto four salad plates forming mounds that have slight indentations at the top to hold the poached eggs.

If you’ve never poached an egg before, read Lemmonex’s excellent tutorial on the subject first. Quail eggs, because of their diminutive size, will cook in about 90 seconds.  Place an egg atop each salad plate and serve immediately.

Disclaimers, Caveats, and Mea Cupla’s

While I consider this dish to be an RR original, I am sure that somewhere some chef has written a similar recipe.

While I consider this dish to be an RR original, it was inspired in small part by a terrific Asparagus dish I had recently at Restaurant Eve.

I do not think that this recipe is terribly difficult, but if you are unnerved by the lack of precise measurements, then it may not be the dish for you to try.

The recipe calls for four quail eggs, but you should get six as you are likely to ruin at least one.

I made dinner on Friday and Saturday nights this weekend.  This was the only new dish that I did on either night.  Amongst the nine courses over two nights, this was the star by country mile.  It was even better than my lobster bisque.

I know that I stole Awesomesauce from LiLu, but since it’s in Urban Dictionary, I am pretty certain that she lifted it from somewhere else and is just the one peron I know who uses it.

That last admission may make me considerably less hip but I am fine with that.

I know that I am pretty lame for not having taken pictures of this salad or any of the dishes from the weekend – sorry I suck.

11 Comments | Dinner Parties, random stuff, recipes | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Missing You

13 June 2009

It was a year ago today that we lost you.  I have missed you every Sunday and many other days since.  You were a giant, and the world is poorer for not hearing your voice.  Tim Russert, I hope you are resting in peace.

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