After Work Today...

Well, I dont need to tell you that it is the scariest night of the year tonight. Lots going on but just make sure you are costumed; preferably as a food object. Once in college Legend and I dressed as Trick or Treat. He went in a drag as a hooker, and I hot glued candy to some sweat pants and a sweat shirt.

Let's just say better ideas have sprung forth from this brain, but I had candy to eat for about a year after that and new fat clothes, which paired nicely with my steady diet of Za, Nat Light, chicken fingers, and Skol Vodka. Ohh, and a year later 45 extra pounds and 4 cavities. And at that point in my life, a few complications from eating qualified as a sexually transmitted disease

Other costume ideas are a Lucky Dog Vendor or Ignatius J. O'Reilly. You could also dress up as a baked potato by wrapping yourself in foil and putting a piece of yellow construction paper on top of your head. But please, choose one of those three.

There are a bunch of events going on tonight. Have fun and be safe, kiddos.

Krewe of Boo, uptown.

Widespread Panic Rock and Roll Show at the UNO Lakefront Arena.

A huge blockparty on Frenchmen St. In the words of a friend, its "where all the freaks go." Expect to see Peter there dressed as a side of truffled grits from MiLa.

Or you could stay home and pass out candy. And if you happen to get some candy with hot glue on it, don't worry its fresh.

Congrats

To Chef Besh and his staff at August. A truly deserved honor.

http://www.neworleanscitybusiness.com/uptotheminute.cfm?recid=21175

And special thanks to the Nun...

And more to read.

A Scrapbook

Pretty soon the blog is about to celebrate its nine month anniversary. Which if it was a high school relationship would be totally a big deal. Complete with a trip to Copeland's Cheesecake Bistro, a scrapbook filled with photos, letters, and ticket stubs, and some sort of promise ring.

Well, here at Blackened Out Media, where we are often called sophomoric, we dont have enough clout to get a reservation at the above; so instead, we are going to treat our viewers and the blog to a photographic scrapbook documenting the late part of the summer/early fall. Translation: Rene had a camera twice and just figured out how to post photos.

In this first picture we find Peter manning the raw oyster bar at the Louisiana Restaurant Association Expo. Now, we intended to report on this affair, however we forgot. Just know this, it was fun. Peter loves raw oysters and so when he found this booth he did not leave for 3 days straight. He set all kinds of records, but we are most proud of the fact that he is the only person in LRA Expo history to be escorted out by both the NOPD and the Health Department.



Why does Rene look like a bee just stung him? Well, its because of the bottle of vodka in his hand. Kalashnikov Vodka comes in a special designer bottle that mimics the distiller's other dangerous invention. Up next, an AK-47 that looks like a bottle of vodka.


The sign pictured below reads, "Eat More Pork, Be a Better Lover" We eat a lot of pork but mostly it has just made us love pork more.

"Jesus Christ, it is the guy's from Blackened Out, how the eff did you find me...No, I never read your blog. And you both smell like oysters, booze, and Mandarin Oranges," says Chef John Besh, "But seriously next time I am on Next Iron Chef I will ask that yall be the judge instead of that Ruhlman dude."

Note to self: it helps to interview people when sober, or at least not holding a mint julep.

Your bloggers with Chef Brian Landry following his second place finish at the Seafood Cook-Off. We had pictures of his dish (a cassoulet), but we ate them on the car ride home. It happens, dont judge.

With oyster season back in swing, it is time to practice your form before heading to Casamento's. Notice the technique and I just realized I forgot to rotate the picture. So just turn your head to the side. What an amateur...

If I knew anything about that Frodo Baggins of Donuts book, I would make some clever comment about rings, power, glory and 80's rock and roll to describe this circle of oysters. But I dont.

And finally, as an homage to Robert Peyton of Appetites and his drink on a bar collection of boozy photographs. Since we pretty much are a poor man's version of that blog, here is an empty Dixie at Casamentos. You are truly the wind beneath our wings.

Stay tuned for the next 9 months. Where we will hopefully unveil a Papal Wine Column, more photos, worse writing, and a special feature that is so secretive the FBI has flagrant tap my cell.

Trick or Treating with The Pope

Remember when you used to go trick-or-treating as a kid? You put on one of those ridiculous orange pumpkin costumes or your Archie Manning Saints uniform and headed off into the night with your parents close behind you - your head filled with dreams of enough Kit Kats and Snickers to last you till pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.

But sometimes you walked up to the front door of a house and came back with nothing but disappointment. Sugar free turtles? Candy canes leftover from last Christmas? Peeps so stale that you would need a hacksaw to cut through them? I used to hate when a plastic wrapped bundle of candy corn dropped in my bag. I freaking hate candy corn.

Then there are those houses that you walk back from grinning ear-to-ear. Not one, but two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. King size Butterfingers! Your parents could actually see the dental bills increasing because of all of those new cavities which would need fillings.

And then you get to The Pope's house (otherwise known as "The Vatican") and watch as he opens this box:

Watching from afar, your parents are thinking: Why is this guy wearing a camauro? Is he drinking Grand Marnier out of that snifter he is holding? Why does he keep mumbling "it's like loving in your mouth" after handing out the candy?

Moving on past these rhetorical questions, your parents are overcome with jealousy as they watch you devour one of these morsels of goodness which The Pope has just graciously offered you.

Woodford Reserve Bourbon Balls - rich chocolate filled with the mother's milk of bourbon and topped with a single pecan for a contrast in texture. As you can see in the picture, The Pope has already sampled these delicious treats in order to ensure that they are up to the standards of the papacy. Forget about whether doling out these candies on Halloween may constitute contributing to the delinquency of a minor - just think of it as a progressive version of dipping an infant's pacifier in bourbon in order to help him fall asleep.

What? Your parents never did that?

Top Chef Season 5

Top Chef Season 5 begins pretty soon, sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving.

The profiles are up for this season's contestants. Once again noticeably absent is anyone from New Orleans. I guess the two days spent down here interviewing such chefs such as Food and Wine Best New Chef, Ian Schnoebelen, and the other culinary talent of the Crescent City could not match some of the chefs chosen for this season.

Wondering in a city as well known for its food and culinary history, why we have yet to see one chef from New Orleans, when we constantly see chefs from such foodie factories as Boulder, Co. Considering some of the bums that have been on this show, would it have been so hard to have Sue Zemanick compete. But I guess Bravo only wants chefs who have yet to have been discovered.

But then again, who cares?

La Boca

Ahh, La Boca; what would I do without you? I love restaurants that seem to transport a diner somewhere. La Boca takes me to a very happy place. A place where dark wood beamed ceilings, exposed bricks, and windows open onto bustling Fulton Street. La Boca, I want to write a sonnet about you. But I dont have any pieces of paper with only 14 lines on it.

Another trip there this past weekend with Doc, the Expert, Lindsay and I reaffirmed my belief that La Boca is the best steakhouse in New Orleans. Incredibly reliable, their beef has few equals in these parts (including some from Snake River Farms), attentive service, a small but food focused wine list, and last but not least, Carter Oosterhouse from television's Space Trading Spouses. Lindsay, on left, believes Carter to be a hunky beefcake.

Below is what I think to be a beautiful hunk of beef. The skirt steak, topped with a smattering of the classic chimichurri and the roasted red pepper chimichurri. In many circles, I am known as the "Jackson Pollack of chimichurri." You can even see the remaining bits of my pisco sour and my belly. Lucky you.

Are you getting hungry? The hangar steak medium rare makes many vegans second guess their decision. The flavor is deep, the texture silken. Look at the artful photography, as it captures the knife and fork resting in between battles. The juices of the meat awaiting their eventually ride on a bread basket to your mouth. This is some hot food porn. That last word should bring us about one million more new viewers.

A deep, rich Susana Balbo Cabernet Sauvignon, some provoleta, and some fries rounded out another meatacular meal. For good meaure I added on a Grand Marnier. Why?

Well, we heard rumors that the Pope was lurking around the Warehouse District under the guise of working. And by working I mean, His Holiness was entertaining some nationally known, and hence not us, food writers. He was very mum about who was there. Secrecy being a fallacy of the papacy.

Following work the Pope retired to the Red Eye, where our intrepid photgrapher snapped what is believed to be the only known photo of the Pope...drinking...in a bar...surrounded by women. As you can see, the Pope in his element is a very happy man indeed.

Satsuma Wrestler

In honor of the Saints game in London, I attempted to homebrew a London Ale. Mr. Murphy and his legal expertise had other plans. The keg leaked, the CO2 fitting is busted, and the beer is cloudy at best, perhaps poisonous. Luckily, the British made other important contributions to boozing, including linking up scurvy prevention and citrus fruits.

So in honor of the downfall of scurvy and in celebration of an NFL that stupidly sends teams to Europe to play, the Satsuma Wrestler was born.

First, start with some fresh satsumas. You know where to find them. Juice about 15 of these babies. Then juice 2 Meyer lemons. Add in a half cup of simple syrup and mix the juice and syrup together. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

I added this juice to two alcohols. The first try was with the Famega Vinho Branca which has a slight carbonation to make a Satsumosa(You love these clever words, don't you?). The results were mixed; the wine's acidity only punched up by the citrus created a tarty drink.

Then the Polish Vodka came out to play. And after 3 of these, Donny Boy was floating, the Saints were winning, and even the Hounds were asleep. Coincidence? No, the birth of a tradition. From here on out, every Saints game will begin with Satsuma Wrestlers. If the whole city does it, we are going to the Super Bowl.

This drink would also benefit, I assume, from a splash of lemon lime soda water. But even without it, this cocktail will have you buying satsumas by the bushel.

Dear Fr. Tom: You're Out of Your Element

This is from Fr. Tom's Dining Diary this past Thursday:

"Lola wasn't as busy as the last time I was there. They said it was LSU football. Restaurateurs hate LSU football, and must be glad to see the Tigers lose sometimes."

Whenever read something like this from Fr. Tom, I immediately think of this scene from The Big Lebowski:

Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story, Donny?
The Dude: Walter...
Donny: What?
Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story?
Donny: I was bowling.
Walter Sobchak: So you have no frame of reference here, Donny. You're like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know...

I am not doubting Fr. Tom's contention that restaurateurs "hate LSU football." I am sure that restaurants are slow on Saturday nights when people are either at the game or watching the Tigers at home. But how would the Tigers losing improve restaurant business on Saturday night? What irritates me is how Fr. Tom has no idea how a loss would affect the Tigers at that particular point in time. Newsflash: even if the Tigers had lost to Florida (which is the game which Fr. Tom was referring to), they still would have been in the hunt for a National Championship game. In fact, one could make an argument that every game after a loss is even MORE important because there is no cushion left.

It just really bugged me when I read that on Friday. And after the loss on Saturday ... well ... let's just say that I had to allow a "cool off period" before writing this post.

End of rant.

In other news: Did anyone else have a heart attack on Sunday when Brees was running toward the back of the end zone? And if that wasn't enough, we had a Hail Mary on the last play of the game. The person sitting next to me almost broke out the defibrillator. I felt like I had just eaten a Fat Kid Special.

Don't Judge Us

We are lazy today. Don't get all that up in our grillz, you barely read us on Fridays. So instead of actually writing anything, here is a link to an article about the renaissance occuring in New Orleans currently. It should brighten your day, and if it doesn't than you are a bore.

Ohh, and its not like we actually found the link ourselves. That, we stole from the blog of the St. James Cheese Shop. So thanks to them for being on the ball.

Are you calling us lazy? You are the person who should be working, jerk store.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/160099

After Work Today (So Many Choices)...

In an effort to further the cause of making Thursday the new Friday, Blackened Out has partnered with local businesses and organizations to offer more opportunities for you to make bad decisions which will lead to you showing up hungover to work tomorrow.

Harvest the Music (weather permitting)
This free fall concert series at Lafayette Square has been a welcome addition to the weekly social scene. In order to support their fight against hunger, the Second Harvest Food Bank has initiated a three-prong attack: music, food, and booze. If that's not a recipe for success, then we might as well give up now. So check out of the office at 5:00 and walk on over to the Square. Listen to The Radiators, have a few Abitas, and hopefully the rain will hold off long enough for you to enjoy a cool fall evening.

Thursdays Uncorked at Cork & Bottle
Thankfully, this event is held every Thursday, rain or shine, in conjunction with the Mid-City Green Market. This weeks FREE tasting (as they all are) features "Outstanding Wines from Argentina." I wonder if Justin Pitts will have any hanger or skirt steaks available at the market? Either one would probably pair well with the 2007 La Posta Cocina Blend which is on sale at C&B for $10.99.

Whatever There is To Do in Kenner
Because that is where the swearing-in ceremony for the newest bar candidates will be held. Three years of studying, and you end up celebrating at the Treasure Chest buffet. God sure does have a sense of humor.

Patois, Part Two

The Social Chairman's fiancee moved to New Orleans recently and has graciously agreed to become the PR Director for the blog. Which brings our staff to 4; only one person less than the total number of readers we get on a daily basis. To celebrate, the Social Chair, the PR Director, Lindsay and I all went to Patois.

We arrived to a packed house at 7:45; luckily we had a reservation. We sat down and ordered some drinks. The Pau Boy Pierre is a slightly Vietnamese-influenced version of the Pimm's Cup. A Pinot Noir for the PR Director and a Lillet Rouge for I and we set about the task of ordering.

Lindsay and PR Director played it light on the first course, a wise decision. A plate of tuna carpaccio arrived. Interesting, a more fashionable and welcome take on Tuna Tartare, but a good, clean flavored dish; maybe a little bland. But fresh bright pink tuna needs little more than a splash of olive oil and a squeeze of citrus. A market salad with sunflower seeds and hearts of palm, which was running as a special, displayed the bounty of late summer/early fall.

Social Chair got the gnocchi with bacon, cream, black pepper, and crabmeat. This dish really displays the classical roots of this restaurant. Tender, soft gnocchi are married to sweet, succulent gems of crabmeat with the creamy, salty sauce acting as the minister. Great dish, always on the menu with slight variations.

I got the pork belly salad which showcases the kitchen's creative takes on classical preparations. This salad is nothing more than a Lyon Salad; but here it is slightly retooled. Pork belly, a fried egg, frisee, a light sherry vinagrette, and some charred bread in a really beautiful plating. Simple, yet more elegant without becoming stuffy. The dish succeeds not only on the flavors, but also the contrast of hot and cold elements. The execution of this choid-froid dish gives a diner slight feelings of schadenfreude towards other diners who ordered something else.

Lindsay got the mussels in a smoky tomato broth with pommes frites as an entree. The mussels were a little sandy and the fries a little soggy. Which reminded me of being on the beach in a rain storm. PR Director got the cumin-scented seared tuna; sliced on the plate the tuna had a perfect ring of cooked tuna encapsulating a rare interior. Social Chair, ecstatic about living near the sea again, went for a wild caught speckled trout over haricots verts. His temptation to pass around his dish lost to his desire to eat every last bite.

I went with the braised short ribs, despite Lindsay's helpful reminder that I had previously said I would not order braised things in restaurants because they are not as good as the same dish cooked at home. She was, as usual, right. I was offered a steak knife from our very helpful waiter, but told "You wont need it."

Well, I kind of did. The fat of the meat had not sufficiently melted away, which resulted in a tougher finished product. The pasta rags and purple peas served were very bland and needed more salt. But perhaps the biggest problem was the different textures and shapes of items on the plate-the round peas, long, flat strands of pasta, and chunky meat-made it almost impossible to get a complete bite on the fork.

Desserts were wonderful and playful: a banana cream pie and some amaretti zeppolis with a Grand Marnier dipping sauce. The zeppolis arrive in a paper cone taking the diner out of the restaurant and putting them back at a county fair.

Service is truly top notch. Always willing to lend a hand with a menu suggestion or wine pairing, the wait staff is extremely knowledgeable not only about the offerings. But they also seem to be keyed into a similar philosophy, which to me appears to be, "together we can make this a great place." Its getting there if it is not already.

Birdie-Par.

Jumping the Shark Fin Soup

Well it was bound to happen. And I guess in a way it signals that Bourdain has truly arrived, but his new show "At the Table with Anthony Bourdain" reminds me more of the Food Network and less of his genius at crafting such shows as "A Cook's Tour."

The entire show felt almost like a tease. We watch as Mr. Bourdain and a select group of New York based Food and Culture behemoths sit around a table to sample great food, drink amazing wines, and talk shop. Holy crap that sounds awesome! It is not. You, dear viewer do not get to eat the food, sample the wines, or add your own story; but even if you could, I doubt this show could be saved by inebriation. The conversation is borderline vapid and mostly re-runs of the same recurring theme: the food world is crazier than your office. Yes, we know that by now.

Mr. Bourdain makes it abundantly clear that he had serious reservations about doing this, I wish his judgment or editing acumen would have had a stronger vote. The format is supposed to be No Reservations meets The Jerry Springer Show. What it really succeeds at being is an elitist, snobbish and less well-done version of After Hours.

In the first segment, Bourdain poses the question to the group that he recently spent $1900 at Masa on sushi for two, and "should he feel guilty about this?" Wow, that was disingenuous. Imagine Hugh Heffner asking "Should I feel guilty about sleeping with hundreds of the world's most attractive women."

You are an American Mr. Bourdain, you work hard, made a lot of money; you earned that meal. Enjoy it and tell us about it, what you ate, why it was worth $1900, and how you would do it again. We get enough guilt from our mothers.

At another point in the show, Ted Allen throws his three cents short of a nickel in on why he feels bad getting into New York hotspots over the throngs of commoners. Do you see a theme here? It was an hour of "Hey we are privileged, but don't worry we really feel bad about it." Am I jealous of them, absolutely. But is inciting jealous rage in viewers a good thing?

There were a few bright spots, when Mr. Bourdain and his guests played the Last Meal game. But it seems like even this is cliche at this point. Mr. Bourdain is at his absolute best when he sits down with a chef or writer and over a satisfying meal and a few cold beers, they become friends. They talk shop, carouse, crack jokes, and we the viewing public are left thinking, "God I wish I was there." In At the Table, the viewer is left saying, "If I wanted scripted TV, I would have watched the Hills."

At another segment the panelists all agree that Popeyes is the best fried chicken. That is real, that is the kind of organic conversation people crave. Talk more about being stoned and making late night runs to Popeye's to destroy an 8 piece, 5 biscuit, mashed potatoes with gravy, and dirty rice and less about how kids should be beat up for not knowing how to truss a chicken.

In this episode the panel, Bill Buford, the former Page 6 columnist, the aforementioned Ted Allen, and the owner of Bungalow 8* all dined at Wylie Dufresne's WD-50. The food looked very interesting, but if it wasn't for the waiter's explanation of each dish the viewer would not have known anything about the food other than a few snippets from the guests.

Perhaps future versions of this show won't be so self-indulgent and scripted. Perhaps the booze will flow quicker, the food will be heartier, and the conversation more interesting. Until then, I suggest you change the channel.


* I purposefully did not put their names down. Sure, I could have, but then you would have just had to google their names most likely. And the internet has to be more efficient. I needed their titles to know who they were; and I suspect other viewers shared my ignorance as well. That is more though, a reflection on us. And I know the Pope has no idea what Page 6 is.

EDIT
Even Mr. Bourdain is admitting that his shit does in fact smell.

Ryals Goat Dairy, Voodough Bakery, and Citrus

The last few weeks the Crescent City Farmer's Market, the Thursday Afternoon market at the American Can Company, and others have exploded with the bounty of the Gulf Coast's farmers, fisherman, food artisans, and cattlemen. I have a huge love for all foods that come with a face and a name, rather than a cryovaced container. And it really only comes down to one thing: things taste better when they come straight from the producer. Now whether this is a scientific fact or psychological reaction, I am not certain and I dont care.

But perhaps no new vendor has brought as much amplitude as Ryals Goat Dairy. Their fresh made chevre and feta makes supermarket cheeses jealous. They have two varieties of feta. One is plain and the other is marinated in olive oil, herbs, and spices. The latter feta added to some diced Creole's (which are quickly exiting the scene) and placed on top of some charred bread made for a perfect light dinner.

The chevre comes in a myriad of tasty combinations. The Cajun spiced chevre is best enjoyed slathered on a baguette from Voodough Bakery with a drizzle of good olive oil. The plain chevre, mixed with ricotta and parsley, added a delightful tang to a lasagna. There is also an herbed chevre, a pecan chevre, etc...

The first week Ryals was at the market they ran out of most things rather quickly. Last Saturday they brought more supply, but demand was still high. If you like cheese, you will love their products.

The Voodough Bakery offers a selection of homemade breads. So far our favorite is the Olive Salad Foccacia. Rich, thick bread topped with a great olive salad results in an almost buttery treat. One of these weekends, we will slice the loaf in half, pile it high with Italian meats and cheeses and call it a de-constructed, reconstituted muff. Or something equally trendy. The problem is the bread barely survivies the car ride home. Also, the Apricot Coffee Cake goes perfectly with coffee and WWOZ.

Also, bought this last weekend were some season heralding satsumas and some plump Meyer Lemons. Both citruses will have their skins peeled and the pith removed. They will then relax for about 2 months in a soothing botanical treatment of high octane booze (maybe that moonshine, likely vodka) for some homemade Lemoncello to be dolled out to fans of the blog come Christmastime. If you have been nice, time to start being naughty.*

I'd have photos but I don't. Soon enough this blog will have the type of photography reserved for truly important journalistic endeavors. We will get on that as soon as we learn how to write good.



* Well that kind of sounds like the tagline for a holiday porno starring Brandi C. from Rock of Love. Sorry, wont happen again.

Monday, Monday

"Every other day, every other day,

Every other day of the week is fine, yeah

But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes

You can find me cryin' all of the time."

I always find this song playing in my head on a Monday after a Saints loss.  I have a strong belief in the truth of the rumor that productivity in New Orleans on the Monday after a Saints loss is markedly decreased.  Some people might say that we have misplaced priorities.  We call it passion for our city and for our team.

But thankfully, Monday always calls for one of my favorite meals (no matter if the Saints win or lose): red beans and rice.  It's a dish so delicious yet so simple to make that it seems ludicrous to order them when dining out.  Still, some places cook them better than others, and it's usually the neighborhood joints that do them best.  Here are a few of my favorite spots to get a plate of these delicious legumes:

1. Dunbar's - Now comes complete with a JD from Loyola.
2. Mandina's - The only day that they serve them is Monday.
3. Acme Oyster House - Sure, they don't make them in house (I am pretty sure they get them from this guy), but that doesn't make them any less savory.
   
4. Ignatius Grocery - I just wish that they would put ice in their drinks.
5. Liuzza's - And a Fat Kid Special?

Note: I hear that EAT also has great red beans; but they ain't open on Mondays, and I refuse to order red beans at a restaurant on any other day except Monday.

After Work Today...

Well, another week has passed. Now, some politicians have been debating pesky things lately. I recall something about taxing health care to pay for education and bailing out someone from prison. As we say in South Louisiana, irregardless, the weekend has arrived with a vengance and a chip on its shoulder.

Lindsay is out of town at a Balloon Festival in Natchez. Which has caused me to say "Those aren't hot air balloons, they're balloons for a paaaaaaaarrrrrrrty" all week. To take advantage of this manly night, I need to go somewhere for a good cocktail, a steak, and a cigar; all of which will hopefully lead to some belching.

I think La Boca would do the trick this evening. (Don't worry, Lindsay, I will let the dogs out first.) A frothy, strong Pisco Sour and some provoleta should get the kinks out. I like the flank, but the skirt with the skin would not suck either. Some fries, chimichurri, and a deep, rich malbec round out what will be the most one sided bachelor night in history. I may even go home and watch a football game on the History Channel while cutting my lawn.

As for the cigar that was all talk. No way I could hide that from Lindsay before she got home. And I won't do laundry on Bachelor Night. I'm not Robert Peyton.

Who wants to join?

After Work Today...

Its that magical Thursday again. Thanks to the YLC of New Orleans, this article is a no-brainer.

Go to Lafayette Square, buy some coupons, sample some food, drink a beer or a cocktail, listen to music by Bonerama. Listen, this thing sells itself, like the Sham-Wow.

If you are still hungry afterwards, perambulate on down to Rambla. Liquor license in place now. Try the Serrano ham and a bone dry, cold white wine or a spicy Spanish rioja. Really, I can't make all the decisions for you.

A New Technique

Its no secret, I like braised things. Especially when cooking at home. Braising affords a person with limited cooking skills a huge margin of error and the ability to turn a secondary cut of meat into something monumental. Brown meat (preferably something bone-in) and remove, add trinity or mire poix, seasonings, and a about a bottle of red wine, return meat, lower heat, cover and walk away for 1-5 hours. There thats your basic braise recipe.

Now recently, Justin Pitts enlightened me further about braising. I almost always remove the meat at the end of cooking and strain and reduce the pot juices to make a sauce. But a few weeks ago, Mr. Pitts told me to remove the meat and then add rice to the pot (measurements are for building). In the words of Archimedes, "Eureka!"

What results is a rice not unlike jambalaya rice. With bits and pieces of carrot and a wayward onion, the rice is hearty and savory, juicy and perfectly cooked. The result works very well with the braised meat. And I found if you reserve a cup or so of the broth, you can have your rice and eat your gravy, too.

Braising, try it on your friends!

Ok fine, take a more respected food writer's opinion of braising.

Late Night Eats

After midnight. You just walked out of a concert, are in between bars, or headed home. But you're starving. Whether it be for a late night pick-me-up or sobering sustenance, you need food and not just some beef jerky and a bag of combos from the Circle K. Here are a few places you may want to head to:

1. Que Crawl - This purple truck parked outside Tip's has been a heaven-sent for concert goers since it's arrival shortly after Katrina. You can't go wrong with the pulled pork sandwich and an order of grit fries, but branch out and try the taquitos or papusas if you are feeling adventurous (i.e., "not sober").
2. Camellia Grill - Burger or omelette? Can't decide? Have both. Don't forget the chocolate freeze.
3. Mimi's in the Marigny - It's where you go if you wish you were eating tapas on La Rambla in Barcelona.
4. Yuki Izakaya - Located on Frenchman in the Marigny, this is a great place to order Japanese small plates if you are with a large group.
5. Hoshun - Someone told me that they serve late, but I can't attest to that. But if you have an after midnight craving for raw fish, apparently this is the place to go.
6. Clover Grill - This French Quarter landmark has been serving up solid diner food 24/7.
7. Bud's Broiler - The one on Clearview that is open 24hrs is, of course, where The Pope likes to hold midnight mass. Nothing like a #4 and an order of cheese fries to end the night.
8. Fat Harry's - Or as Legend calls it, "Uncle Larry's." Everyone talks about the cheese fries, but I prefer ordering the quesadillas and then going to...
9. Fump & Manny's - For some reason, cheese fries just taste better at 5am.

I like Fr. Tom, but...

Sometimes it is just hard to take him serious. Take this snippet from his website today in which he notes today is Thomas Keller's birthday.

Thomas Keller, the owner of The French Laundry in the Napa Valley, was born today in 1955. During the past decade, no other American restaurant has garnered the acclaim that the Laundry has. It routinely appears at or near the top of all Best Restaurants/Chefs In The Country/World lists. Lately, Keller's New York eatery, per se (they spell it in lowercase like that) has also been up there. Both the French Laundry and per se have three stars from Michelin; Keller is one of only two chefs in the world who have two such constellations. Dinner in either place involves committing an entire evening to a set tasting menu, and spending in excess of $200 per person (at least). I haven't been to either; I figure they're getting plenty enough coverage from other media. I'll go after they're no longer the hottest restaurant on earth, at which time Keller will still be at least as good, and probably better. I can't seem to detect the flavor of fame.

Using the classification "hottest" makes it seem like per se and The French Laundry opened last month. Unfortunately, I think the French Laundry can no longer be classified as the hottest restaurant on Earth. The French Laundry has been open since the mid 90's. It may still be a restaurant people are dying to get into but not because it is faddish. Christ, it can't be that exclusive, they let the Pope and Peter get a reservation. As someone so committed to good food and great wine would it have behooved Tom to make a "Tomment" about how the French Laundry is committed to his goals as well? Or maybe just dig a little deeper next time.

Sometimes the stubbornness and blinder driven persona of Tom really comes through.

Casamento's

Well numerous articles, plus some crazy, serial commenter/ranter who hates raw oysters sent Lindsay and I to Casamento's last Saturday. We had hoped to polish off some oysters and then watch the Tigers beat the Gators. Unfortunately only one of those things happened; luckily the more pleasurable of the two occurred.

We get to Casamento's around 12:45. The line has just barely disappeared behind the large white door when we arrive. No worries, waiting offers the ability of the mind to anticipate; a most welcome emotion when dining out. A few Dixie's and half an hour later and there we stand in front of Michael, the oyster shucker extraordinaire, as he expertly plies open three touchdowns with mixed extra points worth of our local delicacy. Topped with self-made cocktail sauce, they proved to be a wonderful reward for our patience. As I slurped down oyster after oyster noticing the liquor draining past the perforated stopper, I asked Michael, "Where does all that oyster liquor drain to?"

His response, classic New Orleans, "Not sure, never thought about it, been working that way since I started here, never gave it no thought."

My belief, now shattered, of a magical stream of oyster liquor somewhere down in Plaquemines relegated to the land of Santa Claus, threesomes, and honest politicians, we continued to enjoy the oysters.

A visit to Casamento's requires a certain amount of patience. Now, the lady behind us displayed no such virtue. From the time she walked in the restaurant till after she sat down (unfortunately near us) it was complaint and pester hour. "We have a party of 7, we should be seated immediately", "I am just going to stand right here and wait until you seat us, so you don't forget our party of 7", "How much longer for the party of 7?" Did that aggravate you, dear reader? Imagine how awful it was in person, especially while watching Peter's Longhorns beat the Sooners.

Sometimes watching people is all the reason you need to go out to eat. And this lady (Ms. Halloween, bedecked in orange and black) provided much enjoyment to us. "Mam, we are a party of 7, do you have a table big enough?"

"I heard you the first time...A party of 7, you will be seated as soon as I can get you in," replied Ms. Gerdes.

Then after sitting down, she remarked to everyone who would pay attention, "this is the rudest staff I have ever encountered."

Not really sure how egalitarianism is rude, but I guess those Parisian revolutionaries did introduce many necks to guillotines. Some people just don't belong.

We sit down in the back, near the fryers which is probably the best seat in the house. Up first a cup of seafood gumbo for me and a bowl of oyster stew for Lindsay. My gumbo was just on the gumbo side from turtle soup. The soup had chunks of okra, briny curls of shrimp, chewy bits of crab meat, and a wayward oyster or two all smothered in a delicate, but slightly tart, brick colored broth. A far cry away from the stock heavy, roux dominated behemoths, this gumbo had a very defined refinement. The oyster stew was milky; thickened and flavored with some of that oyster liquor and chock full of plump, just scared oysters. As if the oysters had to be coaxed into the hot liquid, their edges had just barely curled; their texture remained that of their unheated cousins.

Another dozen of raw for Lindsay. She had been waiting all summer for this moment and nothing, not even a fried soft shell crab, could change her focus. Some pictures were taken, but mostly they sucked.

A half oyster loaf for me would prove a willing opponent. Pan fried, thick bread slathered in mayonnaise with some lettuce and tomato hugged lard-fried cornmeal battered oysters. My first thought, that the addition of bacon would be welcome, slowly went away as I realized the benefit of lard frying obviates the need for bacon.

Service reminds you of eating at a friend's house. The friend's house that you spent enough time at that you are essentially family, and no longer fussed over like a guest. That kind of service does not work everywhere, but it works at Casamento's.

Birdie.

Que Pasa Hamburguesa

Last Friday's weather and the atmosphere surrounding a Fall weekend provides ample reasons for living in New Orleans. Those 3-4 weeks twice a year when the sun shines and the breeze blows makes even a curmudgeon smile. So on such a day, I found myself heading over to Rambla in the International House Hotel for a lunch.

The Gambler and Donny Boy Rodriguez joined me. The space is modern and slightly off-putting at first. In the center of the restaurant, raised tables dominate the space. While along the sides banquettes and standard tables and chairs provide aisles so to speak. The music and service is more causal than you may expect, but in a surprising and fun way.

And the food, or at least what we sampled, has enough merit to make this place great. WARNING: As of this posting, Rambla does not have its liquor license; so whether or not my perception of the food was affected by the absence of a cold Estrella is debatable. But let's get to eating.

First, an order of croquetas. A smoky andouille, a savory and hearty mushroom, and a fresh licorice burst of shrimp. I have a huge crush on the andouille one.

If brabant potatoes were a gateway drug, then patatas bravas would be heroin. Fried cubes of potatoes give way to an interior that is more mashed potato than french fry. Drizzled with allioli (there spelling not mine) and powdered with smoked paprika, these treats will go fast.

Cheese and almond stuffed and bacon wrapped deep fried dates. Sweet, tart, crunchy, soft, salty; all that is needed is a dry Spanish white to make this dish truly remarkable.

Empanadas. One filled with bitter greens, the other with pulled pork. I loved the crust of these pockets of bliss. The crust was flaky and exceedingly tender. Cutting the pastry resulted in shards of dough breaking off and scattering across the plate. It reminded of finishing an order of damn fine onion rings and using your finger to pick up the wayward shards of fried batter. What you don't do that?

But the highlight was the burger that both the Gambler and Donny Boy ordered. Now until Friday, my mind had decided the burger at Luke was the best of the gourmet burgers in town. However, it seems the Spanish-French War, Part Dos will soon occur. This burger is mixed in house and uses a little bit of pork and heavy dose of smoked paprika to create a flavor similar to chorizo. A roasted red pepper and your choice of blue or swiss cheese completes the babe. Finally a restaurant burger that tastes like one you would make in your backyard after a few drinks. Dynamite.

Even better the burger came with pmmes frites, that were so light, crisp, and delicious ordering another round was contemplated. Accompanying the burger and fries was more of that decadent allioli. That burger and all the gear it comes with, $10. Pretty good steal there.

All around, a very good start for this delightful Spanish Tapas spot. I think once the liquor license arrives those interior raised tables will be a great place to sit with some friends, order some tapas, some verdejo, and just let loose. Can't wait. I believe it was Gen. MacArthur who first said "I'll be back."

EDIT:
The Liquor License has arrived...

After Work Today...

Who are we kidding? Today is the day that the Louisiana Supreme Court releases the July Bar Exam results. No lawyer works today and even if you do, you will probably knock off around 9:30 for lunch. And non-lawyers can do things like long lunches all the time. So, this post should really be entitled: "Where to Celebrate or Drown Your Sorrows Today."*

First, a few tips for you:

1. A little known fact is that the LASC mails out the individual results to candidates on the day before publicly releasing them via the web and posting them on the door of the LASC building on Royal Street. If you don't pass, then next time around you can intercept the letter from the post office and know your fate before everyone else does.**
2. If you have an inside connection at the LASC, you may be able to call them before the results are posted at 9:00am. You have waited 11 weeks already, but we all know that finding out an hour earlier will make a world of a difference. Or just wait, patience es un virtue.
3. If you choose to go "old school" and check the list posted at the Supreme Court, please be respectful of your fellow candidates.
4. If you email this article to everyone you know, your results will come faster. Its like bells ringing and angel winging.

Now, to the more important question: Where should I go to lunch? If you are one who likes to see and be seen, then, much like The Highlander, there can only be one: Galatoire's. In the future, you will probably be holding court there on many a Friday afternoon, so you may as well start now.

Or more accurately, you took that Big Law job because you thought "all lawyers do is go to long lunches at Galatoire's on Fridays." Ohhh, how wrong you were. But at least you passed. So this is probably your last time to go there for Friday lunch for at least 10-12 years. By the time you can go, wife, kids, clients, and general b.s. will keep you away; please remove your rose colored Vuarnets. So go while you can and don't ever leave. However, if you are reading this post and have not yet dispatched a secretary to wait in line or the kid who did not pass, then you will likely be relegated to lunching in Siberia.

But perhaps you are one of the many young attorneys who finds him/herself working at one of the many firms struggling to generate enough work for the partners (much less the newly minted associates), and thus a four hour lunch is not in the cards (i.e., budget). Or no one gives a flying hoot that you passed the bar. No problem. Hit up one of the prix fix menus at MiLa or Cuvée - where the atmosphere may not be such a raucous as at Galatoire's but the food will indeed be much more exciting.

But no matter whether you feast upon Oysters Rockefeller or a Lucky Dog during your celebratory lunch, there is only one place to go when you finish:

For one of these:

Congrats.

* If you conditioned or worse , do not go downtown and even attempt to have a good time. Turn off your cell phone, load up your car with booze, drive at least to Orange Beach (or further), do not check Facebook updates, and just generally try to get away from it all. Remember: JFK, Jr. took the New York Bar three times before he passed, and I would say that he had a pretty successful life. If only a pilot's license was harder to obtain. What? Too soon?

** We have no evidence to either dispute or verify this information, thus hereby indemnifying ourselves from all liability which may result from advocating such an action. In fact, it is the oldest lie told in Louisiana.

The Past is Half Empty

A few months ago, we chronicled our experience at the Tales of the Cocktail Spirited Dinner at Stella!. What we alluded to was the utter prevalence of the grandiose, self-importance of the cocktail experts and aficionados and how this in a way soured the night. The New York Times has run a more interesting and better crafted piece exploring the same. Shocking, we know, but we might as well get upstaged by a dying newspaper.

This is my favorite part:

"Just when Manhattan’s most ambitious bartenders had started to resemble a troupe of historical re-enactors, sporting antique patterns of facial hair as they concoct 19th-century julep recipes, along comes Apotheke, with a host of drinks that Diamond Jim Brady wouldn’t recognize."

Following the Spirited Dinner, I had a discussion with a noted New Orleans food bloggist/lawyer/raconteur/seal clubber who dined at Iris. His response to the night can be summed up thusly, "I needed a fedora and some tight jeans to fit in."

Thankfully for all he does not own either, but perhaps he will grow a pencil thin mustache, the Boston Blackie kind.

A good cocktail has a certain magic and transporting quality, but let's not pretend it can replace the Flux Capacitor. And costume parties, especially those with some clever theme along the lines of "Ghosts Travel to Outer Space and Encounter the Elizabethan Period" or "Dirty Old Nuns and Catholic School Boys", provide hours of fun and endless opportunities for inappropriate statements. But there is no need to combine the two.

Drinks desire to be enjoyed and savoured. When you discuss and meticulously recreate a classic cocktail (down to using lake harvested ice), one crosses a dangerous line. The line between enjoyment and obsession. The only thing a well made drink should make you do is order another one.

In The Soul of a Chef and The Making of a Chef, Michael Ruhlman discusses the idea that one of the hallmarks of cooking is that a dish is a dish the world around. What he means by this is Sole Veronique, Kung Pao Chicken, or a hamburger have a defined and exact standard. There is but one true version of each dish. However, no two restaurants serve the same dishes; well, outside of McChain's Tapas Grill and Singles Bar. A Plato's Cave of dishes, if you will. In many ways there is a similar desire for an exact recipe for cocktails.

When bartenders begin messing with a Brandy Alexander they have done two fundamental things. First, they have created something new. Secondly, they have worn away at the protective enamel of what defines and distinguishes a Brandy Alexander. If the resulting drink is called a Champagne Alexander no harm done. However, usually the menu writers guild mandates that the drink be called a Brandy Alexander, with cute parenthesis.

Many restaurant menus have turned into paragraph long entries that require a thesaurus, atlas, and a lawyer. You know the types: "Holstein Farm's raised porcine shoulder over a caraway consomme wilted spinach fricassee, Mackinaw Island peach sorbetto, a reduction of 'mushroom juice', and artisan salami". Great now what the hell did I order.

The day may be fast approaching when cocktail menus exhibit similar phraseology. If so the tendency of people to explore cocktails and other handcrafted, expertly prepared goods may weaken. Sometimes its just easier to say "Budweiser". After all Bud is an import now.

Recognition of historical drinks must not become anchored by the constraints of the past. New products, flavors, and techniques can coexist with recognition that a Manhattan is a damn fine drink. But if you subsitute Rum for Rye and replace the cherry with guava, what do you get and so on and so forth...

So I guess the point of this rambling is, how do you enjoy and honor a virtue without it turning into a vice?

After Work Today...

Well for a second there, things appeared to be coming up Aces. Cool weather, Saints had a .500 record, and it looked like Dollar Bill had an exit strategy. Then bam, malaise runs in and infects the joint.

So, we need a drink to get ready for a possible let down against the Crypt Keepers of Oakland this Sunday. You know it may be a good idea for the Saints to hire Lane Kiffin solely to gain an upper hand against Oakland. But such talk is beyond the nonpertise of this blogosphere enabled journal.

Things need to turn around, and they will. Here is how. Leave work, home, or prison (or perhaps you work from home which could be all three). Go to the Columns. Sit outside on that beautiful, wide portico. Listen to the rhythmic pulsating tremble of the streetcar as it glides on down the rails. Invite some friends. Order round after round of Pimm's Cups and Mount Gay and tonics. Finish the day with a Jack Daniels, 8 ice cubes, and a splash of water. Consider it a jazz funeral of booze for the end of summer.

And let's move on. Al Davis is coming to town. We can beat a dead guy, right?

In the Interests of Judicial Economy

Here is a press release from Cork & Bottle. You should go pick up some wines.

Theeyyyyrrreee Heeerrrreee!

The Kacher Truck pulled up today and we unloaded nearly 300 cases of wine from it. Now the fun begins, don't miss out!

Come and Drink the Store Today!Our fall shipment from Robert Kacher is here and we're pulling corks all day long

Nearly 300 cases of amazing wines from France from one of the best French import companies in the business has just arrived (and we mean JUST arrived) and if you come today you can join Jon, Jenny and Craig Baker (Kacher's National Sales Manager) in uncorking come amazing French wines. . . for Free!

We're so excited about our new wines that its time to pull some corks. Starting at 5:00 today we'll have over a dozen wines open for you to try and if you mill about and see another Kacher wine you want to try just bring it to us and we'll let you try it right there (and we get to have a taste too!). This is a very exciting load of wine, don't miss out!

Cork & Bottle's long-time customers know Robert Kacher Selections quite well. Our new ones may not know that Bobby Kacher is an importer of French wine who Robert Parker named "one of the world's most influential wine personalities of the last twenty years" primarily because of "his single-minded obsession with quality."

Why are we all hopped up about these wines, you ask? Well, Jon has been over there, to France, and has had a chance to join these growers in their cellars, view their facilities, walk their vineyards, taste their wine with them. The independent growers that make up this portfolio of wines are real people who love what they do, they grow their own grapes and make their own wines. They have passion for their wines and to them wine is an extension of their own lives, not a commodity with a Kangaroo on the label. Think this is all a bit too much drama over wine? Maybe just a bit, but we definitely invite you to try these wines and see for yourself - you'll become a believer.

Corks start popping at 5:00 today, Tuesday October 7th. No reservations are needed, just show on up. See you here.

Down in the Dumps?

One of these usually makes me feel better. A juicy 3lb porterhouse cooked medium rare is exactly what I need to help me forget that we should be 5-0.

After Work Today...

Do you even have to ask? Though we each have our own pregame rituals, a Monday night home game should be classified as a special occasion. Here are a few options which run the gamut:

1. Beers and music on the catwalk between the New Orleans Centre and the Dome.
2. Cocktails and burgers outside Allegro Bistro in the bottom of the Energy Centre.
3. Nachos and longnecks at Lucy's.
4. Raw oysters and Ojen at Lüke.
5. Shrimp & grits and Sazeracs at Herbsaint.

Eat and drink wherever you please, as long as you are wearing black and gold.

Justin Time for Dinner

You know the shakes? When it seems like your body is physically rebelling against your decision to stay up way past your bedtime drinking booze to good to pass up, when the next morning your breath is hot, your palms clammy, and your head pounding? Don't you secretly love that feeling? If you come to that realization one morning chances are you had the distinct pleasure of getting drunk the night before. If feeling like a hungover bum, twittering and shaking as you try to walk down the hall is all the penance for the other night, consider me ready to do it again. Which I guess makes me a recidivist.

Wednesday night, Lindsay and I went to the Justin Vineyards Wine Dinner at Cochon. Now, I like Cochon and think it is great; so it is saying a lot that I found the food to be the third most interesting thing. The company and wines took center stage.

Justin Vineyards is located in Paso Robles. Despite the name, that is in America; in a place called Cal Uh For Knee Uh. In one of the informational brochures we were given, it was revealed to us that the winery has a basset hound named Churchill. That got Lindsay jazzed and caused our two slugs to ask when we got home, "Why don't we get to live on a vineyard in California?"

Master Sommelier (there arent many of them), Joseph Spellman, dined with us. What a treat it was to listen to Joe and Jon Smith, owner of Cork and Bottle, discuss wines, wineries, and the people behind them. Sure at times it was like eavesdropping on the Ruskies, but I have never not had fun doing that.

Sauvignon Blanc-bright, crisp, tart with a lingering, but clean finish. Lindsay's favorite, one of mine as well

Chardonnay- Ok. Little heavy.

Syrah-Was expecting a bigger hit of fruit, but instead flavors were just a tad muddled. However, I could be wrong. Certainly spicy.

Cabernet- This puppy howled. I loved this wine, nice assertive fruit up front, almost chewy. Everything you expect from a Cabernet but with such a smooth finish the polished wood was jealous. I will order some of this jazz.

Port- Ohhh, Ohhhh, Ohhhhh Ohhhh Sweet Child of Wine. Sole purpose of that awfully lame line was to get you ready for the release of Chinese Democracy, and that song stuck in your head. Yes, I am an adult.

Food: Boudin Balls-I have many beliefs but one of them is this: there is no heavenly reward, no weight loss promise nor health benefit, no ethical concern, no reversal of global climates that could make me give up pig, or really meat.

Andouille, sweet potatoes, and marinated mushrooms-this was pretty good, lots of garlic in the andouille. Wood Fired Oysters, small but that sauce is pretty killer, intense red pepper and butter. Reminds me of shucking down an oyster while licking a bowl chicken wings were tossed in; now that is a mental image. Might it be time to put them next to Drago's Chargrilled Ersters?

Fried beef jerky, lemon, and mint salad. Kerplunk. Very salty, hard jerky, and the mint did not refresh the palate as one had hoped. Parsley would work better and the lemon took a leave of absence. Need to retool this dish. Hen and andouille gumboo brought forth a delicious, thick roux, nice pepper level, garlic notes, gelatinous stock. This coupled with cool weather announced the arrival of gumbo season.

Wood fired redfish, Lindsay got this and thought it lacked seasoning and was a "little fishy." When I told her, "well it is fish," she responded with "well you are an ass." I went with the brisket and grits. Good once again. Fatty, tender brisket paired really well with the cabernet.

Dessert was a chocolate gateau with cream cheese frosting and honey. Overall not bad but palate fatigued at this point.

Stayed around drinking and chatting way to late. Finished the night off with 4 Pappy Van Winkle's, because five would have been too much, some Catdaddy Moonshine, and some funny stories. I love this town, don't you?

Well I guess it's official

Our second article in Offbeat has run. Check it out. And if you are looking for a hard copy might I suggest Stein's Deli. Just got back from eating there more on the matzo ball soup later but for now just know this Catholic considered converting to Judaism. Also, ran into a Manning brother. I will let you figure out which one.

La Divina Gelateria and Cafe

The other night someone mistook our work for that of a serious food news outlet. It happens. As such they invited us to the Official Opening of La Divina Gelateria and Cafe in the French Quarter. Peter was busy being busy in his third year of law school, so I went. And if lived in the Quarter or visited as often as I liked, I would be double amped, triple stoked, and entirely pumped for the opening of this treat filled goody box.

La Divina began when the owners, Carmelo and Katrina Turillo, returned from a stint in Florence. The story goes thusly. They noticed the Italians spent evenings walking around and stopping in the gelaterias, scooping creamy gelato, catching up, and spying on one another. The owners thought this will work in New Orleans; and they were right.

Their first foray into gelato is on Magazine. Now, along with partner David Marinello, the couple opened La Divina Gelateria and Cafe on St. Peter's in the French Quarter. The location should provide plenty of foot traffic from nearby Jackson Square, however on a nice day I would walk over there from the CBD for a delightful journey and even more delicious treat.

The shop will offer ice cream, paninis, coffees, and other Italian treats. Last night I sampled a few of the gelatos and here are some thoughts. I generally dont like sweet potatoes as cooks tend to over sweeten them. The Sweet Potato Gelato however was subtle and reminscent of Pumpkin Pie, Thanksgiving, and Fall, so right there they had me. The Creme Brulee had those familiar flavors and textures the name implies but with a greater creaminess. The Stracciatella is the Italian question for chocolate chip ice cream and showcases the 70% cocoa perfectly. Finally, I had the Peach Prosecco sorbetto to accompany the glass of prosecco I could not refuse. All very good with a decadent mouthfeel and a burst of flavors.

"You like the peach...thats the last batch. We only use fresh, seasonal ingredients. All our gelatos are made from scratch and without using pastes, powders, or bases. We are the only business that can say that," Marinello said.

Also, had a panini with portabella mushrooms. That was really good with a nice balsalmic note.

Anyone up for a field trip one day for lunch? I am.

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

EDIT: Because I was unable to attend the grand opening, I feel that I need to proove that my absence from the event does not overshadow my love for gelato. A picture is worth a thousand words. - Peter

After Work Today...

How about the Swizzle Stick Bar at Cafe Adelaide? A nice way to celebrate Hump Day or if you were born on October 1st, your birthday. They make a fiery Woodford Reserve Mint Julep. But why not dial it back to simpler, classic days of yore and order a Side Car. Rum, brandy, Cointreau, sour and lime poured into a sugared rim. Not to far removed from the beloved, but largely poorly done, Margarita. Plus you can watch the bartenders as they chip ice for your cocktail.

And if the mood strikes you, have dinner or sample the bar food. Cafe Adelaide gave birth to this blog, the least you can do is visit the dear old blog's mamma n dem. Ask them for a Legend: In a rocks glass mix 3 ounces of Grey Goose, 1 shot of Olive Juice, 3 Olives (for luck), a pack of Marlboro Lights, and a prayer. Shake and strain into a half full glass. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.