Culinary Dispatches from the Restaurant Refugee

1 March 2011

Big Bear Cafe is kinda like a movie about something truly novel and meaningful – it doesn’t have to be that good because it’s Important. The Eckington area coffeehouse, that is part bistro and part bar, is important because the neighborhood has been vastly under-served and ignored by restaurants for the better part of four decades. It is an important amenity for her neighbors, and an important signal to the larger community that the revitalization of this neighborhood has really taken root.

But praise the lord and pass the Tanzanian Peaberry coffee, they’re not just important, they’re good. Coffee and Tea are given great attention and care here – rotating offerings of several artisinal blends that are brewed in styles that best show the bean or leaf. The limited menu doesn’t offer anything you would not expect at a small coffeehouse (pastries and panninis, soups and salads.) But they deliver culinary virtue by staying within their small kitchen lane. The food here is satisfying and comforting like Coltrane on a rainy Sunday.

To the other charms, we should add that the space itself is gorgeously understated and somehow evokes both an urban and rustic feel. This place is easily worth the walk/short drive for people in the area; it’s also worth a crosstown drive for anyone who really likes coffee, or believes that independent places really matter or are still important.

****

Restaurants like Circa* give credence to the oft repeated notion that the only things that matter for a restaurant are location, location, location. Leaving aside the fact that that mantra is offensive to people who dedicate careers to this industry, Circa makes me wonder if it has any substantively meritorious characteristics besides sitting on one of the most trafficked corners in DC.

The layout makes the place feel very crowded even if you’re the first person in the door. I’ve never been in when the lighting wasn’t sunglasses bright, or reading light dark. And they seem not to know the a difference between serving comfort food and having your guests eat like it’s 1999… and yet they’re crowded open to close. Apparently, Lauriol Plaza has some competition.

* link deliberately omitted due to obnoxious music on their website and a host of other sins of suckitude.

****

Two Quick Closing Thoughts:

Restaurant 3 has the best Adult Happy Hour in North Arlington. It runs until the commuter friendly time of 8pm, their very good selection of draft beers are $3, and signature cocktails are $5. The bar bites are tasty and just heavy handed enough to soak up the booze. I really like this place for a drink or three.

On my first visit to the Carlyle Club a couple of years ago, I was really excited about the old-school supper club with big bands and dancing. By the time my friend and I left, the choice was between talking to a manager about the awful food I really didn’t want to pay for, or paying the check as quickly as possible to make it Restaurant Eve before their kitchen closed. We made it to Eve. I recently gave Carlyle another try; the only things that changed in the intervening period: my ballroom dancing has gotten a little bit rustier, and we bolted for Eve faster.

 

3 Comments | Uncategorized | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

A Few Open Letters

23 February 2011

Dear Pretty Pretty Princess, P3 for short*,

You asked me why I lose my poker face and can’t hide my disdain when I am around your bloviating boyfriend or his name is mentioned in discussion. First, we’ve known each other for more than a couple of years, so you know that I know from bloviation. Second, it is not his useless rhetoric or constant need to insert himself and his perceived trump card into any unoccupied corner of a conversation. Third, you have to know that it has nothing to do with your unfounded suspicion that I still want to be in your bed.

No, P3 , my allergic reaction to him has everything to do with the fact that he is about as secure as a puppy that marks every part of his territory at every opportunity. It has to do with the fact that any man who has compulsive need to have a hand on his partner’s ass for the entirety of an evening is small, petty, and ungentlemanly. It has everything to do with the fact that you not only accept this unacceptably possessive, and unseemly behavior, but you seem to embrace it like a woman who thinks she can do no better. My problem with him is the P3 that you’ve become with him. You cannot expect your friends to watch you dissolve yourself into him and then want to drink the weak tea that results.

Sincerely,

A Man Missing a Friend

*****

Dear Bartender at the Ebbit,

When a guest asks you for a “Basil Hayden Manhattan, 75-25, extra-cold and skip the cherry and the bitters unless you have some Orange Bitters around” the proper response is something in the affirmative. You may also be inclined to think that the orderer might know a thing or two about cocktails, might even be Industry. The absolutely improper response would be to, wrongly, insist that Manhattan’s don’t contain bitters. You really should not belabor the point – especially because your lack of preparation is showing – thrice more.

Who did you bang to get that job?

Sincerely,

The Industry Guy Who Went to Another Bar after that Cocktail

*****

Dear Family,

Life is complicated. I get that. You know that I get that better than most. Please stop taking me for granted; I am not your foregone conclusion.

Sincerely,

The Emotionally Exhausted Son, Sibling, Uncle, and Cousin

*****

Dear Woman Who Would Prefer Not to be Named,

That suede kitchen apron might be the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me… up there with the book of Neruda Love Poems from another woman who would rather not be named. It means the world to me – you will forever be my lesbian soulmate.

Sincerely,

A Man Who Ain’t Easy to Shop for

*Charmed reference for those of you who don’t think I have ever consumed absent minded pop culture,

5 Comments | booze & boozing, dumb things I have done, finding slight is easy if you're looking for it, open letters | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Call It What You Want, But…

16 February 2011

I miss Bill Whithers’ early music

I miss mid 1990s hip hop

I miss running a restaurant

I miss the late great radio station WDCU

I miss Aaron Sorkin writing great TV

I miss traveling before a bunch of terrorists made airline travel as elegant as dinner at the Smorgasbord

I miss inspiration

I miss the best dessert place in the history of DC, Dolce Final

I miss the abundance of civility

I miss having a steady last call of the night

Even as Pitchers and Catchers have already reported, and the rest of the camps open today, I miss affordable baseball… anyone up for a minor league game?

I miss smokey jazz joints with a cat older than my father working the brushes (if you’re unfamiliar with the term, that’s a damn shame.)

I miss the certainty of purpose that I’ve somehow replaced with holding life together through force of will, a roll of duct tape and good luck

I miss writing in my journal

I miss my old post-divorce loft

I miss evenings of uncomplicated truth and overly complicated women

I miss blue lights in the basement

I miss slow dancing

I miss the nights when sleep came easily

It’s been barely a week, but I already miss football

I miss drive-in movie theaters… even though I have never been to one

I miss writing with fountain pens, or more accurately, good cause to use them

I miss the days when bra straps weren’t viewed as accessories and better still just weren’t viewed

I miss easy recoveries from the times I mortgaged the morning for pursuit of the night

I miss the illusion of meritocracy but wonder if I am better for the disquieting knowledge that replaced it

I miss my mojo, if you’ve seen it, please send it back my way

I miss the days when I always knew where the goal posts were… and if you’re the bloke in charge of moving them, please go pound sand

I miss writing this blog – the acknowledged vanity, the quiet craving for affection, yes, but the community of disparate spirits most of all.

 

16 Comments | deep quiet | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Hello, is this thing still on?

19 December 2010

While dining in a well regarded Manhattan eatery last week, I was stunned by the multitude of avoidable errors that this place made. Sure the food was good, maybe even very good, but there were so many decorative and service missteps that I had a difficult time focusing on my meal and the potential employers sitting across from me (yes, there is a chance that I may be moving to NYC; and no, I cannot discuss it here though I wish I could.)

As much as I hate giving away advice that I would normally be compensated to provide, the experience at that place prompted me to share:

Ten Common and Avoidable Misteaks Restauranteurs Make

  1. Cheap toilet tissue in expensive restaurants is incongruous but surprisingly common; it personifies the phrase “penny wise, pound foolish.”
  2. No one looks good under harsh lighting, please stop using it.
  3. If your restaurant lacks a mission statement, you’re doing it wrong.
  4. Seriously? You’ve heard about this for about a decade; how can you still not have hooks under the bar?
  5. Coco Chanel once said “that in order to be irreplaceable, one must be different.” The same thing applies to restaurants.
  6. The irreplaceable Ms. Chanel also suggested that a lady should always get dressed and then remove one thing before leaving the house. With the proliferation of overly constructed cuisine, the same should be said of every dish before it leaves the kitchen.
  7. Superlative service costs the exact same as mediocre service, why must so many places countenance the latter rather than seeking the former?
  8. Brag through your food, not on the printed menu. When menus are written boastfully, they make everyone more inclined to seek flaws in equal measure to flavor.
  9. Call your own restaurants frequently and from outside lines, you would be surprised by the dearth of telephone civility.
  10. No music on the website, use a minimal amount of flash, ensure that the hours, address & phone number are on every page, and answer your email.

p.s. Yes, I really did think that “misteaks” part was funny.

11 Comments | advice I'm too qualified to give, bad clients, bars aka where we get the booze, restaurants | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Free Concerts & Costly Consequences

15 October 2010

Those of you who follow me on Twitter (if you’re not, what’s keeping you? – a list of reasons you should are the post-script to this post) know that I spent a decent amount of my Tuesday afternoon listening to a homeless man play trumpet. I was just sitting outside one of my usual coffee-haunts when out of nowhere the steady hum of the urban landscape was delightfully, amazingly pierced by the wail of a horn playing Giant Steps. My musician friends tell me that playing the lead for a saxophone driven piece on a trumpet is no easy feat.

I was transfixed from the very beginning of the familiar opening phrase. Before he had finished that musical introduction, I was so impressed that I went to the ATM so could drop a twenty spot on him. I wrote then that he was simultaneously “lifting my spirits while breaking my heart.” I don’t know if I’ve ever penned truer words. This man – who I presumed to be homeless because of his attire and the bags that carried too many possessions – infused each note with a sadness that I can only describe as haunting, yet played so beautifully that I was simply mesmerized.

My favorite versions of our National Anthem are the superlatively soulful offering from Marvin Gaye, and the unquestioned genius of Jimi Hendrix’s left-handed guitar. This homeless man followed Giant Steps with a rendition that became number three. Perhaps it is the heart-wrenching poignancy of a man who’s country may have failed him having the ability to play Our Song, or just my own patriotism being stirred, but I stood to listen because I didn’t know what else to do.

This homeless virtuoso returned to Coltrane with Niama, but he immediately and seamlessly transitioned into a playful version of Pretty Woman when a striking brunette came into view, and just as easily went back to the jazz ballad without a breath. I wanted to applaud just like I would any seemingly impossible bridge at any ordinary concert.

The Prince classic Kiss was interrupted by the vulgarity of car horns from the hands of impatient drivers. Ordinarily I glare at the offending vehicles for interrupting solitude for the sake of their self-absorption and wish the DC Police would enforce the law against non-emergent uses of the horn. That day I wanted them arrested for this crime against civility and music.

For 30 minutes, I needed to go to the wash-closet – I held it. I wasn’t going to miss a single note of Kinda Blue, Sir Duke, Girl from Impanema, or what proved to be the closing number, Fly Me to the Moon.

I was slightly miffed with the people who didn’t find something in their pockets to give this man, but in a tough economy, I gave them all the benefit of the doubt. I was out-right angry, however, with the people that didn’t pause to acknowledge the beauty of the moment; and I was plain furious at the people who hurriedly passed with cellphones against one ear and a finger to the other as if this was some sort of inconvenience rather than one of the incredible bonuses of urban life.

Most of my scorn was reserved for our country – not for the predicament of this one homeless man, who knows what he’s done to arrive here.  When the wealthiest nation in the world has allowed homelessness to reach epidemic proportions, we deserve the scorn. I rarely talk politics in this space, and this will not be an exception. As much as homelessness can be a political-football, it is not a political issue. This is a question of our very humanity.

How is this not a national embarassment? How is this staggeringly large problem not a clarion call to action? How can we even consider the concept of American Exceptionalism without addressing this festering sore on the body of our compassion? Homelessness is about two heartbeats away from catastrophic proportions, yet somehow, the country that invented the internet, placed a man on the moon, and is so proud of its greatness is largely, consistently ignoring it.

 

**********

 

Post-script / A Whole New Post – Just call It a Twofer:

Reasons to Follow Me on Twitter / How I (the reluctant Twitter) Think the Medium Should Be Used

  • I will only tweet that which I consider to be truly funny, important, poignant, curious, interesting, etc. In other words, I actively avoid the banal, the vapid, the over-sharing of the aforementioned.
  • The most tweets I have ever sent during a single day is seven – not to diss the more frequent tweeters, but I will never send eight tweets on the same subject that should probably have been combined into one blog post.
  • I do not link my tweets to FourSquare (maybe a valid use for some – helpful in knowing which places to avoid) so you won’t learn through my feed that I am randomly sitting at some coffee-haunt/bar/Metro Station/Ass Waxing shop.
  • I refuse to abuse the English language through annoying (to this Luddite) abbreviations.

And a few of my favorites tweets that you’re clearly missing and you’re life would be all the richer if you saw (ok, not really, but just follow me anyway):

  • if you’re seeing this, you’re not the duplicitous harpy so incapable of decency that she’s no longer welcome to my scotch or tweets#blocked
  • Only in 2010 would a “pre-dating” agreement contain a clause agreeing to joint custody of a bar; in other news, yes, I’m seeing someone now.
  • me: howzabout we watch baseball and drink wine while I condescendingly explain the game to you? her: sounds lovely.#Shegetsmyjokes #smitten
  • With the week I’ve had, it’s fitting that I’d be out of cream for my coffee too. With the week I’ve had , it’s ok to use Baileys instead.
  • I know that she lacks both the physical and cognitive dexterity for it to have been intentional, but I think a 1yo just gave me the finger.
  • Dear Food Network, I’d rather eat Top Ramen for a week than watch a SemiHomemade marathon with that hair-twirling fraud Sandra Lee.
  • her: whatcha doing tonight; me: drinking with a woman of loose morals and questionable character; her: so clearly every pot does have a lid
  • buckets of rain have me stranded in a bar. thank you, mother nature, how’d you know I needed a beer?
  • From a Craigslist post: put the rear adapter assembly on my tranny-possibly transfer case / #accidentalhumor http://tinyurl.com/27pdekb
  • reasons morning drinking is ok: vacation, never stopped from the prior night, thanksgiving, grand slam tennis sundays. where’s my champagne?
  • bible study meeting just broke out around me at my coffee shop. i’m taking it as a sign from god that i should be at the bar.
  • Listening to Yankee Fan argue with Sawx Fan feels like witnessing a debate between Hitler and Gengis Khan. #shootmenow
  • Me; I’ve been lobbying for 10 yrs for cocktailing as olympic sport; My Friend: but Refugee, you lost your amatuer status years ago.#Truedat
  • just learned that really cute stranger at my coffeshop table & reading the SAT Prep book is a teacher. DirtyOldMan crisis averted.

 

6 Comments | anti twitter, Economic Theory, recession realities, sucks to write this, the social contract | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Recent Restaurant Recaps

14 October 2010

Just in case you were wondering if the inverse relationship between the quality of a restaurant’s view and the quality of their food still holds true, a recent (and forced visit) to the Charthouse in Old Town confirmed it. Over cooked and generally flavorless fish next to an over-priced and uninspired wine list was paired with indifferent service to leave me with the feeling that they are content to being in the league of vapid restaurants so long as the proximity to water and tourists keeps their coffers filled.

And because sometimes piling-on is entirely appropriate… their website commits two cardinal sins: music, and failing to have the address on the homepage. When will restauranteurs learn?

*******

Screwtop Wine Bar – I may be in the minority, but I’m not wowed by this place. The truffled popcorn they serve, gratis, at the bar is addictive, the ambiance is spare but charming, and the cheeses are very carefully sourced. However, if you’re a wine bar, what else should be the primary metric for evaluation? On this note, three recent visits have left me underwhelmed with both the wine list and the knowledge of the staff. Screwtop is a lovely place to spend the early part of an evening if you’re in that area, and you already know your way around a winelist, but I don’t expect to make a special trip in the near future. Not to pile on, but when a bartender flirts with my date when I go to the lieu, as the twitter kids would say #youredoingitwrong.

*******

Grand Cru Wine Bar – I adore their pricing model (retail wine shop with negligible corkage fees for wines purchased) and this is one of the more comfortable urban(ish) patios. However, their menu is in desperate need of an editor as it is fairly well stocked with items they do not execute well. This remains a lovely place to wile away an evening (especially when the weather cooperates) with a bottle of wine. When you get hungry, however, stick with the items they don’t cook (cheese and charcuterie) or the things they cook the least (salads and smoked salmon.)

*******

The three month old Chesapeake Room is a very well appointed space and an attractive addition to Barracks Row. The menu and cooking are, unfortunately, consistent with the general one-notch-above-mediocrity of the bustling lower 8th street area. Two brunches and dinner there were all culinarily flawed in some manner – over-salted or under-salted, sloppily plated, dull flavor combinations, and the like. As they’re still getting their kitchen legs beneath them, I am happy to give them additional chances… but mostly for drinking.

*******

Maddy’s is a Bar & Grille that has no illusions about being something other than that. Their food, however, is a lot better than it needs to be. With meaty and well seasoned wings, a good selection of sandwiches (all will leave some jus running down your fingers in a very satisfying and homey way,) an outstanding beer program, and a staff of pros who make you feel like a regular from your very first visit, I happily place Maddy’s on my list of favorite bars in the city.

*******

And on a final note… Dear Restaurant Owners & Managers, please teach your staff that an “I don’t know, let me check” is always preferable to weaving some nonsense from whole-cloth and unicorn tears.


5 Comments | restaurants | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Being Careful & Preventative Measures

13 October 2010

When I was seventeen, my father and I didn’t have the best relationship; but we still spent one afternoon having “the talk.” My high school best friend’s old man sat my buddy and me down to have “the talk” one night before we left for a party. I’m guessing that he wasn’t sure my dad and I had it. The two conversations were eerily similar.

Two days ago I had the talk with my nephew. Admittedly it was a couple of years past due but I suppose there was a a subconscious wish on my part that I could dodge the role of having “the talk.” When he told me about a recent experience, I knew I had no choice.

“Refugee Nephew, after what you just told me, we have to talk about something. This is extremely important and I need you to pay attention to me – it’s not an exaggeration to say that your life could depend on you remembering this. The next time you get pulled over for Driving While Black, you need to do the following…”

That was one of the saddest moments of my life, and I pray that he never has to give that speech one day.

6 Comments | advice I'm too qualified to give, really - it's 2010 | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Lessons Learned & New Rules

12 October 2010

Last weekend I was the chef for a wedding rehearsal dinner (Shrimp & Crab Bisque / Arugula & Asparagus Salad with a Honey, Lime, Rum & Bacon Jus Dressing / Surf & Turf of Maine Lobster Tails and Braised Beef Short Ribs / Cocktail of Port Poached Pears and Apples with a Brandy Demi-Glace and Hazelnut Whipped Cream was the menu… in case any of you were curious.) The following day I was the on-site Sommelier for the reception. That extremely exhausting back-to-back inspired a few New Rules and gave me some Lessons Learned (or reinforced.)

Lesson Learned: I have been in the company of a few sailors (both civilian and military) and generally found them all to be varying degrees of lovely. After being in a room filled with boat-people, however, I am ready to declare the collecting gathering of them at least equal to a barrel of monkeys for delivery of fun.

Lesson Learned: Yacht-people (defined as persons who refer to their sailing vessel as a yacht rather than a boat irrespective of the size of such vessel) are generally a collective bunch of asshats.

Lesson Learned: Some people will never out grow the common grade school mechanism of communicating attraction through hostility. Being mean to people was a shitty method of flirting then and is even worse now. Yes, I’m looking at you, Bridesmaid #1

New Rule: if you don’t have at least one bartender in your life who you would want at you’re wedding, then as the twitter kids like to say, #youredoingitwrong.

New Rule to Qualify the Prior Rule: If you have ten or more bartenders in your life who you would invite to your wedding (and you’re not industry,) #youreprobablydoingitwrong.

New Rule: If you don’t look at your bride as she walks down the aisle and think you’re “marrying-up” #youredefinitelydoingitwrong

New Rule: For every half carat past 1.5 your likelihood of being an asshat increases by 10%. Yes, Bridesmaid #3, I’m thinking of you.

Old but Rarely Followed Rule – The Best Man’s toast should always be more about the bride than the groom.

Lesson Learned (reinforced): A man’s willingness to dance at a wedding is directly related to his ability to get laid at a wedding; and a man’s ability to dance well makes the aforementioned fornication a virtual certainty.

Lesson Learned: When considering your first-dance song, one ought to limit the choices to tunes less than four minutes in duration… after that, it just gets weird.

New Rule: trying to sneak booze to underage guests does not make you “the cool uncle” it makes you a raging asshat who thinks it’s acceptable for a business to risk their livelihood over your intention to slip some wine to a college girl.

Old but Rarely Followed Rule: if there is a champagne toast, and underage guests are attending, be sure to have some flutes of ginger ale so everyone can participate.

Lesson Learned: Throwing the bouquet and tossing the garter, are traditions that need to end. Props to my clients for showing me how much classier a wedding is without the need to herd all single people into a mosh pit like being uncoupled is a pre-existing condition.

 

5 Comments | lessons learned, new rules, private chef clients | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Introductions – The Good, The Bad, and The Fraudulent

8 October 2010

When I got to one of my favorite watering holes, the only seat at the small bar was next to two guys (deliberate use of the term.) Both were more than a couple of drinks into their evening – a red flag given the fact that it was barely after 6pm on a Thursday. They were annoying but affable. Their conversation was two notches louder than polite society dictates but they were discussing the relative merits of various Sinatra songs.

I was content to try and ignore them and work on my computer until they were consternating about the meaning of “I wanna wake up in a city that never sleeps.” The line from the classic and iconic song New York, NY didn’t make sense to either – “how can one wake in a city that rejects sleep” they kept asking the other. As a bit of a Sinatra Nerd and a man that has a problem with not answering questions when I know the answer, I finally interrupted to explain that “It’s metaphorical; he wants his life to begin – to wake up – in NYC.” After a couple of added and explanatory comments I returned to my computer and they returned to the loud, the singing, the annoying but affable.

Eventually the guy two stools to my left departed, and the one hard next to me asked for his tab. I was convinced that my evening was about to be free of them, until an attractive 30something blonde walked in and took the seat of the first of this duo to depart.

The next part of this story is as predictable as a sunrise – the remaining guy delayed his departure to try his best to find a reason to stay and talk with the pretty lady. He was still drunk and still annoying, but the lady was too polite to dismiss him. I kept an ear and eye on the evolution of their conversation (probably because I have a low grade savior complex when it comes to women in these kinds of situations.) When I heard the tell-tale sign of eroding civility, “we’ll have to agree to disagree,” I suspected that the interaction was nearing the tipping point. It took me another ten seconds to catch her gaze; at which point, she looked at me and gave him an eye-roll.

I took a deep pull from my beer, hoped that I correctly read the situation, and proceeded to intercede.

“Pardon me for interrupting; I saw you when you walked in but I wasn’t sure it was you from your pictures… I hope you’re here to meet me. I’m Refugee.”

She took just a beat too long (if the rouse was to fool a sober person, but fine for this moment) to recognize and respond to the play, but once she got it, she went with it.

“So nice to meet you; I kinda thought that was you too, I was just about to call you. I’m Hazel, so nice to finally meet you after all of the emails we traded… let me just wrap up this conversation and I’ll come over.”

The drunk dude left (but not before slurring gin too close to her one more time.) Hazel moved a seat over for appearances. “Thank you for helping me out there, I’m never any good at getting out of those situations… you said your name’s Refugee, right?”

“Yes, Refugee, and it’s nice to meet you.”

We chatted for a while after our introduction. I gave her some advice about avoiding the type of conversation that precipitated our meeting – little white lies are helpful. She gave me some advice about the date I had later – a woman would rather be captivating than engaging. We parted with a hug and good luck wishes all around.


1 Comment | bars aka where we get the booze, booze & boozing, crush with a little c, dating, dumb things I have done | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Finally Reading & Now Sharing Other’s Words

7 October 2010
I almost always read comments on the blog immediately – they come to my crackberry for easy access, and I suppose that I,like all most bloggers, crave the validation reader feedback provides. Something told me not to read the comments that came after my 9/11 post.

Almost a month later, I am sitting at the bar of my watering hole and killing time while I wait to meet a woman for dinner. I just read those comments and have been fighting to hold back water that keeps pooling around my eyes. I lack the vanity to think that many of you read that post or the comments so I’m going to share them here… because, well, they were amazing and moving.

 

    laloca says:

    11 September 2010 at 17:47 (Edit)

    i was at work; nearly the whole senior staff was on travel. my boss had just landed at logan. one of our lobbyists had her TV on; after the first plane hit, everyone gathered in the conference room.

    i grew up in a country with rampant terrorism; i knew in my bones there wouldn’t be just one plane. after the second hit, i told the HR director i was going home – i didn’t think it was safe to be four blocks from the white house.

    one of my colleagues – also a neighbor – was sitting in her office, frozen. she couldn’t get ahold of her husband, who had a meeting that morning in one of the trade center buildings. i got her out of her chair, grabbed her purse, and took her down to the street where we amazingly were able to hail a cab. we were in the cab when we got word of planes headed toward DC. everything was jumbled; no one really knew what was going on.

    i dropped my colleague off at her apartment where her sister was waiting, and then walked to mine; a friend who had been visiting and was scheduled to fly out that evening was in the kitchen, making breakfast. i turned on the tv, and we sat down to watch.

    Sylvia says:

    11 September 2010 at 18:39 (Edit)

    I was oblivious listening to some CD in the car on my way to the gym at my office building. As I was making the turn into the underground garage – there was Andrea Mitchell in her expensive car blocking the entrance and talking on her cell phone. I honked at her, urging her privileged ass out of my way. She was startled and turned to look at me. Her face seemed very apologetic, almost sad as she moved her car out of the way. She knew something I didn’t. Nine years later I still feel bad about that honk.

    Minutes later I was sitting alone in the TV lounge in the women’s locker room watching the plume of smoke on TV as Katie Couric’s voice told me some small plane accidentally crashed into the North Tower. I saw the second plane hit, and knew instantly it wasn’t an accident. For minutes I was unable to speak or yell as I tried to alert the showering, blow drying and dressing women. I stomped my feet and clapped my hands until I was joined by the women of Tenley Sport and Health.

    The rest of the day urging my team to go home to be with their families and offering refuge to those who thought they would be sitting ducks on the beltway is a total blur. We watched Andrea Mitchell on MSNBC in the command center. And waited for the big one to hit Washington.

    Reply

    magnolia says:

    11 September 2010 at 20:59 (Edit)

    god, it was beautiful that day. i talked to my best friend in DC as the plane hit the pentagon. i heard it through the phone. we drove across virginia in a panic, trying to get away from hampton roads where we were in college, thinking that the atlantic fleet was the next to go. there were NO cops, obviously. when we finally got to the mountains, to my boyfriend’s school, we were greeted with the news that one of our friends had been sitting at his desk at cantor fitzgerald when the plane hit.

    the rest of that unbelievably beautiful day was a total blur. we were just numb. and i will never forget the color of that sky…

    Reply

    Vie says:

    13 September 2010 at 08:08 (Edit)

    It was one week before my fifteenth birthday; I was in English class in Charlottesville, VA when a message came over the intercom that the Twin Towers had been struck by two planes. We kind of all looked around at each other, entirely unsure what to make of it. Someone knew they were in New York, but frankly, most of had no idea what was in those buildings, and no conception of what that could possibly mean. We were sophomores in high school, and though some of our parents worked in universities or even for the government in DC, we were not in a town that was saturated with constant news coverage, and none of us really had cell phones. We continued with class as normal.

    As I was walking in between classes, I noticed the front office was flooding with people, and I became nervous. In my next class, the teacher had a television turned to some news channel (MSNBC?). As soon as I saw what happened, I started crying. I knew that, like Pearl Harbor or Kennedy’s Assassination, this was an event that would change the course of the country and my generation, that it would haunt our memories. And I knew we would be going to war, and that it would be different than the ones we had been involved with over the 90s. At lunch, my friends and I held each other crying and discussing what had happened, scared and unsure of what was to come.

    The rest of the day was a blur; half of my teachers kept news coverage on, half kept calm and carried on. When I got home, the lights were off, the television was on, and my parents were glued to the news (something they never did, and rarely do now), with expressions of shock and horror on their faces. I joined them. We didn’t speak.

    Christina says:

    13 September 2010 at 09:54 (Edit)

    I was on 168th street on the east side at a doctor’s appointment in NYC. I heard the news form my doctor but did not understand the magnitude until I got to my office on 34th and 5th and saw tower one implode. the horror that I witness, the woman who feel to her knees will and the traffic that was at a standstill on 5th Avenue will always remain in my brain.

    then when I made it across the street to my office. I saw how it unfolded on the television.

    I was grateful that my father was at a family funeral that day…he worked in tower two.

    k8 says:

    13 September 2010 at 13:02 (Edit)

    I was in bed. And my best friend at the time, called and told me to wake up but not to turn on the TV until she got there. She knew my sister was in NYC and she knew I would have a catastrophic melt down. Thank God for friends.

    Grace says:

    14 September 2010 at 02:49 (Edit)

    I was on my way to school. My dad had just yelled at us to hurry up as he left to start the car. Then he came running back inside. “Turn on the tv.” The tone implied that I not ask questions. We watched as the second plane hit. There we stood for five minutes in silence. Then we got in the car and went on with our day.


3 Comments | Uncategorized | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

A Few Open Letters

6 October 2010

Dear Woman-I-Won’t Name,

I know that you were just being a good bartender, and a little bit of flirting is part of the job. I also know that in the hierarchy of the “most difficult women to pick-up” hot-bartender falls just one notch behind lesbian-stripper. But not for nothing, if I had your address, I would have sent you a hand written card of thanks for the other evening… I would probably have busted out my red wax stamp to seal it for good measure. And that stamp doesn’t come out often.

Sincerely,

A Man with a New Crush

______________________
Dear Four Seasons & Bourbon Steak,

I’ve been to your joint a half-a-dozen times now and each time the service has not been to the standards of a place I’ve revered for so long and a place that purports to strive for the superlative. To place a really fine point on it,your service isn’t allowed to suck when you charge twenty bucks for a glass of wine. That glass isn’t allowed to sit empty for double digit stretches of minutes before someone inquires about it. The-bad-suit-wearing manager is not allowed to finally offer to get me another glass and then forget about it. And this largely forgetful experience ought not be the best of the six I’ve had.

Sincerely,

A Man Whose Trust and Patience You’ve Exhausted

______________________

Dear David & Lucinda from NYC,

Meeting and conversing with you two are reason enough for people to be more willing to share space with strangers. Our conversation was the best part of sitting at the Four Seasons. Even though I don’t wish to be fixed up with your niece (but I’m sure she’s lovely,) I look forward to having drinks with you during my next trip to Gotham.

Sincerely,

A Thoroughly Charmed Man

______________________
Dear Forces That Control the Weather,

I just want you to know that to my liking last Saturday was the perfect fall day around these parts – cool enough for cashmere, warm enough not to need a coat on top of that. This is my favorite time of year, and you all should feel free not to rush through it.

With Sincere Gratitude & Thanks,

A Really Big Fan of Fall

______________________
Dear Women SEC Football Fans,

There are many things about the SEC that drive me nuts – your intellectually hallow and insular belief in the superiority of football in your southern conference is atop the list. However, I will never complain about going to your games because only in the south do girls wear pearls to watch football.

Sincerely,

A Man with a Weakness for Certain Things

p.s. When it comes to fashion, it is a myth that diamonds are a girl’s best friend; that role always belonged to pearls.

______________________
Dear Westboro Baptist Church Members,

You all are the most vile humans on the planet – twisting logic & hating gays enough that you will protests a soldier’s funeral will earn you that label. What makes you even worse – besides all the hate and vomit inducing behavior – is that your Supreme Court case forces me to defend your right to spew this evil.

Sincerely,

A Man Who Wants to Renounce His ACLU Membership

9 Comments | open letters | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

things that should be harder – things that should be easier

29 September 2010

Things that Should Be More Difficult to Do

  • misplace the smartphone upon which we have become so dependent… in your own house
  • have your soul sucked out (through every pore) with reality television marathons
  • experience seemingly justifiable road rage
  • find a glass of exceedingly average and spectacularly overpriced wine in an otherwise decent place to drink it
  • making movies or television shows… if your name is Tyler Perry
  • getting acting gigs… if your name is David Caruso
  • writing books… if your name is Terry McMillian
  • make an argument about the sanctity of marriage in the age of Brittany Spears
  • getting parking tickets in DC
  • conflate being famous with being infamous
  • stop chasing dreams, believing in magic, hearing the bells
  • move through an entire day without appreciating art
  • allow the arbitrary, the random, or the capricious keep one away from something or someone we love
  • listen to our lesser demons instead of our better angels

Things that should be easier

  • defending DC from all of the haters
  • getting a great education without mortgaging the first two decades of adulthood & your soul to an evil-corporate-overlord
  • understanding the customs and morays of social media
  • finding good and relatively inexpensive Italian food in DC (yes, that is one giant, gaping hole in the DC culinary landscape… if any of you mention Pasta Mia, you’re no longer welcome to my Scotch)
  • finding good contemporary music
  • aging gracefully
  • reducing our carbon footprint
  • getting more disciplined as we get older
  • make a decent living as an artist
  • fully appreciating the Thomas Payne quote: That which we obtain too easily, we esteem too lightly”

Hat Tip to Sarah and the Goon Squad for the idea for this post

10 Comments | random stuff | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Happy Friday

17 September 2010

I don’t know if your week has been as bad as mine – mine included being in the hospital… on my birthday, so I’m pretty sure when it comes to suckitude, I’ll trump most of you – but finding this video was a gigantic bright spot.

Happy Friday!

p.s. if this didn’t make you smile, well, let’s just say that you’re probably not welcome to my scotch.

p.p.s. hat tip to Law & Order for one of my favorite quotes: “Do what you gotta do, you’ll always be welcome to my scotch” Adam Schiff, from which I cribbed the aforementioned post script and have long used as declaration of friendship.

p.p.p.s. here are a few bloggers who are always welcome to my scotch (literal or metaphorical) that you should be reading: Awkward Sex in the City, Anonymiss in DC, Attention Span of a Fly, that’s just the A-List, haha, I crack me up.

15 Comments | happy friday, welcome to my scotch | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The Best of the #WhereWereYou Hashtag

13 September 2010

The following Tweet was the impetus for this project:@anamariecox #wherewereyou tag making me thankful for Twitter for the first time in a long while. #human #American #community

So I reviewed thousands of tweets with the #WhereWereYou hashtag and culled this list of messages I found most interesting, touching, and sometimes funny too.


@jamietarabay: #wherewereyou on a boat in the middle of the Aegean sea. Turkish shortwave radio so scratchy we thought 45000 had been killed.

@lovebaby111: I was in second grade confused…wondering why my teacher was crying and why we were sitting outside for a “code green” 9/11 #wherewereyou

@duranaca:Flying from Boston to Toronto, leaving same time flight to LA. Then I spent a week sleepless, against the TV #wherewereyou

@MikeTRose Walking Lily to preschool on State. Saw smoke, heard sirens, figured big fire downtown; I’d see it on the pm news. #wherewereyou

@DovSFriedman: …I thought a dumb drunk pilot flew a Cesna too low over Manhattan. Then reality hit. First day I heard name Osama Bin Laden. #wherewereyou

@bkyle55: #wherewereyou My grandparent’s house, home sick, watching the news through the innocent eyes of a 6 year old. September 11, 2001.

@A_Swagz: #wherewereyou 6th grade math class and my science teacher didn’t know what the twin towers were..

@gilvillegasjr: I was in Band…never knew until I entered History and people were stabbing a hanger into the TV in order to watch the news. #wherewereyou

@benblueonline: Public speaking class for plane #1. Teacher actually turned the TV off and taught. Ass. 2nd plane didn’t hit till next class. #wherewereyou

@wednesdaychef: At work at Rock Center while my colleague, whose wife worked on the 94th floor, punched a wall as we watched the towers fall. #wherewereyou

@ellenmaguirenyc: UWS. Couldn’t reach bf who worked by WTC. Cooked his favorite meal & waited with a friend. Five hours later, he walks in. #wherewereyou

@ellenmaguirenyc: I remember how quiet the streets became that evening. People walked in silence. I remember hearing shoes scuffing the pavement.

@A_Swagz: #wherewereyou 6th grade math class and my science teacher didn’t know what the #twintowers were..

@dancer2989: #WhereWereYou I think I was in 8th grade. I did not want to leave my parents side that day. I was scared to leave them.

@maytreelane: #wherewereyou lying on the sofa in early labour with my first baby – flicking channels and saw the first plane hit the tower – goosebumps

@bcl400: half awake,listening to mike and mike in the morning. heard about plane crashing into WTC, woke up and turned on TV#latetweet #wherewereyou

@loopylisa93 I was at school. I remember the teachers whispering in the corridors and kids crying because of relatives in America#wherewereyou

@stuckinchair Where everyone else in the UK was – chin on floor in front of the telly. #wherewereyou

@CloudSpeaker On way to work at a casino in KC. Saw aftermath of 1st on TV. Was in rush hour when 2nd hit. Astonished to find some gambling. #wherewereyou

@lisacle #WHEREWEREYOU Had just sent @dgfeeney off to work, then sat down to nurse my 1-month-old son. Turned TV on for company. Wished I hadn’t.

@valstulman @Wondermasons #wherewereyou in the car, on Ventura Blvd. Thought they were making a really bad joke on the radio.

@SPNfreak #wherewereyou weirdly I was in Florida swimming with dolphins in discovery cove

@juliedebbie #wherewereyou stranded in Vancouver since US border closed. All I wanted to do was get back to the USA and home.

@juliedebbie headed to Vancouver BC, Canada airport to catch a flight to San Fran…never left. Watched planes fly into Canada all day

@stephwillerton In bed sick with the flu in a Paris hotel room, watching CNN live. #wherewereyou

@sokorra #wherewereyou Spanish Class, 10th grade. I was complaining about my teacher w/ another student. The principal called it a minor catastrophe.

@pacificIT Opening my car for work and someone ran up and said “We’re all under attack!” I rolled my eyes and flipped on the car radio. #wherewereyou

@TamaraMedia at Police HQ in 911 operator training (my side job). Went into lockdown, prep mode in case the sh*t was going to hit the fan. #wherewereyou

@zipyrich #wherewereyou 53rd floor 1 Penn Plaza, south windows for impact; Manhattan Bridge walkway for collapse. Lived in dust-coated streets…

@HealthyTeachCA 10th grade Orthodontist stopped tightening my braces when he heard from lobby tv. Kept working with radio on; I found out then #wherewereyou

@UltraLuxe On my way to the Outer Banks w/ parents. Found out at Wendy’s at lunchtime from a stranger in their restroom.#wherewereyou #neverforget

@karenlevine #wherewereyou waiting for people to arrive at hospitals that were ready & waiting – but nobody came. Posters of missing people everywhere.

@karenlevine #wherewereyou watching tv in tears for the hundreds of people who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, an investment bank I had never heard of.

@karenlevine #wherewereyou using a pay phone outside cafe Europa to track down a friend who worked at Windows on the World – remember that? She was late

@gf_adventuregrl Sitting in the library in my middle school. English class. They put the radio over the PA & I couldn’t understand anything. #wherewereyou

@sarahcgarvey First day of high school. Arrogant history teacher was telling us to stop overreacting. We were dismissed not 5 minutes later #wherewereyou

@Cidmonster On 9-11, I was in my sophomore year of high school. I hope I’ve just succeeded in making you feel old. #wherewereyou

@ThatGuy562 I had morning wood #wherewereyou

@pj_thompson @raecarson In bed, alarm went off 6 am PST, heard plane crashed into one of the Towers & actually hit the snooze.#stillashamed #wherewereyou

@fiddler42 #wherewereyou Had just dropped my eldest off for his first day of preschool. Brought him home & hugged him tightly the rest of the day

@DianaGriffith in 1st wk @mtholyoke, brand new, just left reporter job, torn between stunned horror and instinct to drive to NYC to cover it #wherewereyou

@prayingmantis 7th Grade History; sub-teacher wouldn’t turn on the TV because she didn’t think it was important. #wherewereyou#9/11/01

@plutoniumpage Tempted to make up a dramatic story for the#wherewereyou tag: “I was driving across the 520 bridge to Seattle when I saw a burst of light.”

@maryvale I went straight to the Gamecock student newspaper offices after classes (sociology of suicide!) and started assigning stories #wherewereyou

@soypan Working a DFW flight. CA called me into cockpit. Ground stop. One of ours had hit WTC. 1st thought was low-visibility.#wherewereyou

@Janet_Elaine I was sitting in McCarville’s 6th grade class when I learned about 9/11. Young enough to be naïve, old enough to understand. #wherewereyou

@aka_jim_allen 9/11 in tech support received a call from a man in New Jersey – he wanted to talk to someone about what he saw he was crying #wherewereyou

@gmyers421 Home watching the Today Show, 6wks pregnant, wondering what kind of world I was bringing my baby into, praying, calling family #wherewereyou

@tyfn Listening to morning radio. DJ announced plane had just hit the twin towers. Waited for a punchline that never came. Felt numb#wherewereyou

@Penenberg Watched firemen + police stagger uptown passed Canal Street, covered in dust, sobbing. Everyone afraid more planes wud come. #wherewereyou

@alexatimeaus Went back to dorm. I was an RA. Stayed with all my NYC residents while they called parents. #wherewereyou

@Dr_Mom #wherewereyou in our hospital ER waiting for the casualties to arrive. Worst moment when they said “Go home, there are no survivors”

@carolinadancer My dad just went into the OR for heart surgery in Sevierville TN. I had quit smoking for 8 weeks. That day I started again. #wherewereyou

@GenesisJones #wherewereyou I was in Mrs. Rayfield’s 2nd grade class when they announced for all teachers to turn the tv’s on and to lock their doors

@moberhoffner My very first poli sci class, ironically International Politics. My prof actually tore up the syllabus in front of us.#wherewereyou

@restrntrefugee: dear assholes who keep using the #wherewereyou tag to make bad jokes, when it comes to being a human being #youredoingitwrong

1 Comment | anti twitter | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

I was Oblivious, Where Were You?

11 September 2010

Nine years ago I woke up early – way before tragedy altered everyone’s life – so I could go for a top-down drive. Surely you remember how gorgeous the weather was on the east coast that morning. About five hours after I left my place that morning, I had burned almost a whole tank of gas, and traced most of my favorite country roads.

For every day rides, the radio is pegged to NPR; when I go driving, however, the road gets a soundtrack. Lenny Kravitz, Ray Charles, Sinatra, Chuck Brown, & Jill Scott all kept me company that morning. A little after 11am, I pulled into a parking space right in front of my coffeeshop. Mack the Knife was still blaring from my speakers while I was singing at a volume way too high for my terrible voice.

It may read as too easy, too convenient, even revisionist, but when I looked at people crying, and the saw the faces of everyone in the room, my heart sank in a way that told me the world had changed forever.

8 Comments | Uncategorized | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

« Previous Entries
Next Entries »
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 204 other followers