Saturday, October 17, 2009
Well, well, well.
Readers! We (dis & dat, duh) have not forsaken thou'sies! DDB jus 'bin bizzy is all, spinnin dat (NOT YOU, DAT) proverbial wunderweb clear 'cross dis (NOT ME, EVERYONE) fyne roun ting kids'uh 'bin callin EARTH fur at least a Benj(/ifipsydipsy, who--you asked!--b worth the fynest WOODEN NICKEL dis [no!] side o Greenlan')amin's nummer o dollahs in yearsie-form! That's 100, 'case yer brain haz(enough, please)n' caught up w/ thu lofty bran'uh speakins dat (see above) b sum D, summore o it, and a pinch o delicious B for gud maize(mmm--NOT! LOL, corn)ure.
Srsly, dough, DDB 'bin gettin arown, and not *like that,* either, you gutterkin'. Like in thu "hop onboard dis whirlyflyin mache(DDB's nabbed awards for such, b knowin)een cuz it b tr'nsport'n u straight onta Finfifthbestofive and even ICY (fkjaodfdlafkj!! whoa der ICY!! u dun straight knocked 'dese t[h]ree [no trees in ICY! jus sum dum ol lichens, a.k.a. ROCK FUR!!!] ltrs--D,D,B--clear in'tuh dat ewrecksuxosphere [that's far, ill-advised, and smelly, and we deplore you not to send us there], son[s & dottirs!!]).
Inyways, readers, u bes b 'lievin dis & dat b spreadin the lip-smackin gud word roun'uh wurl' like tube food on cardboa--CRACKER. (LOL, same diff.) Ur, well, not zackly like dat, as (we) won (THE BLOG OFF; bfips, you sorest of losers!!) halv uv DDB b singin dat non-messy Virgo song high/loud/proud, and les face it, readers, Skinkost is a turr'ble mess jus waitin'uh happen.
So. We're back, fisties cocked n ready fur w'ev 'dose adorin wingnutz over at Sucked in Park Slope cur'tuh toss our gold-paved way. Cuz dey b carin (DDB's childhood bestie was named Carin, LOL) alright. Hellz, dey b carin such'at dey hadda up n hitch on down'uh VEGAS tuh tell a hooker bout it!! Aw, ewree--u truly do take the cake. No, really. (LOL!!!)
Always somethin, readers, always somethin.
Sorry, had to get that out. (LOL.)
Now, where were we...
Oh, yes. Friday. Friday fast-breakin.
Picture it readers: DDB--primed, pumped, shiny w/ reputation--perched conspicuously at a small rustic table, finest of laminate, forking tasty morsels of American-slathered (LOL--the cheese not the people!!) frittata and thick-cut bacon in between slurpsips of rich Colombian roast, when who should enter their (our!) costly line of vision (special one-time offer for all DDB readers: appear before our eyes at the bargain rate of one thousand dollars per minute!! LOL; really, though) but the oft-ribbed and deservedly so BFIPS AND EWRECK THEMSELVES.
Spot em? Wussat--you don't? Ahh, we think we get why that may be. Could it be that months of hatin on Park Slope babies, mamas, strollers, and life other/generalwise has aged The Dynamic Duo(denum: look it up, learn a thing) beyond all reco'nition?? It is so, readers! Bes' trust us, dis b dem!!*
And this guy is none too happy for it!!! WATCH YO BACK, BDIPS--he's with us. LOL.
At any rate, DDB, prone to dishin ("dish"--LOL) pleasantries and altogether inquizitive of/towards any-n-alls, pulled up a seat (not pictured) and made nice (not pictured). Thus was spawned an impromptu Q&A session, and you 'kin no doubt guess, loyalest readers (flattery will git us somewhere??? LOL), who was on which end.
Aaaaand, I quote:
DDB: Don’t mind if we do.
Bfips: [visibly flustered] Ur, uh, I…
DDB: Yes, Sir Benjidips?
Ewrecka: [nervous look around; slightly more ‘together’ than her flummoxed companion] What he means to say is that he is pleased to at last have the pleasure of meeting you, oh holiest of holy blogs, in person(s).
Bfips: [facial muscles a’twitch] So, uh, wha, I mean…
DDB: Bfips, what seems to be the problem here? Hemorrhoids? A goiter? LOL. Wurl-famous as we may be, DDB always makes thyme--and rhyme if ya jus throw us some lic’rish!!--for the little guys. The underlingers. The hopefuls. The shameless gawkers. For YOU, bfipsy!! Don’t be nervous--we like ya! You have a place! So wut it it’s beneath the lid of a garbage can!?! Shirley (who??) sum delicious scrapsies await you and dat der ewree!! Let’s hope dey from here, son!!
Bfips: [appalled] How did you… how…
Ewrecka: "How did you know of our precise whereabouts," he means to say.
DDB: Ah. Well, guys, stompers of baby hearts the wurlwide, suffice it to say we got our ways. One of them has to do wit ‘dese tings called EYES. Eyes ‘at be scopin a B an’ a E peerin out cu’spic’usly from dat grubby home turf ala Oscar the Grouch!! Fourth and Degraw, baby! Whoops. Sorry to have revealed your address to our TEN MILLION READERS. (Readers: bfips wants your moldy olives. And expired salad dressing. LOL!!!!)
Ewrecka: Hey now, let’s play fair. We know DDB has an infinitely larger readership than our lowly, piss-poor hate-geyser does, but isn’t that all the more reason to go easy on us? To shower us with pity and lovingkindness and tips for (your) unheralded success?? I mean, sure, we may eat discarded cheese shreds for dinner, but we’re people too, DDB!
DDB: [laughing maniacally] Right.
Bfips: We, we, we...
Ewrecka: “We are,” he means there.
DDB: Pssh! You’re as much ‘people’ as this guy is. Oh, wait, you can’t see that--trust us, he’s a real case.
Bfips: Uh, uh, bluh, fjldajfiodfjkdjfladjsfkdjf.
DDB: Really, bfips? Well gosh, if that isn’t the most interesting thing we’ve heard out of your mouth ever. Keep it comin, bdipsy.
Ewrecka: [sighing] Admittedly, he’s completely overwhelmed in the company of Kings. I suppose we’d best be on our way. It’s dangerously close to naptime, anyway.
DDB: We understand. We can only--ONLY--imagine what that might be like. In a different time, world, galaxy, dimension, et al.
Ewrecka: Oh, DDB. Thank you for even trying. We--I know I speak for the both of us here--recognize the incredible stretch of imagination such a thing would entail. But, say, I have a parting question to ask you.
DDB: [checking watch compulsively, a lunchtime Frank Bruni appointment drawing frighteningly close] Shoot.
Ewrecka: Hey btrip--let dis do duh talkins, eh?
DDB:: Ewreck! You’re making progress!! It appears you are inching nearer embodiment of bona fide DDB-speak!!!
Ewrecka: Oh! Oh my! Oh oh oh!!!
DDB: Yes, you heard right. Keep up the coppin, kiddo. Now if you’d only stop punching toddlers and ovaries, maybe you’d have yourself a fraction of the legacy that is D-D-B. Quick--your question?
Ewrecka: [straight GLOWING] Okay. It’s just… well… Do you like Burkee C. better than us??
DDB: Yes. Yes we do. (Heeeey, Burk!! Lunch next week? LOL!!!!)
*Scroll tuh top image for a glimpse o'dat customary bfips' surl n snarl n general grim count'nance. Owie!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
You know that DDB is not one (#1 though? y(e/i)s, you know DAT (#)2 be d(db)a troof) to pick a fight. But chickens be cluckin, the winds be whisperin', the fiery furnaces of fiesty fanatical felines flaming fantastic forays into frothin' frightful fightin flamingos!!! dat's RIGHT. we be LEFT (LOL~) (n/)o(/ne) choice. WHUP SUM FIPS BUTT (i.e.wreck(n' effect) shop on Ewreck, put down da Benji (not dat he needs DDBees help fo DAT, seemeth it! where you at?!), and give da ol' DDB kaPOW (boom bap!) to Pyropaw)
BEST DAMN SL-HOPE BLOG ON THA BLOCK:
Friday, July 17, 2009
Aiiight, kidsies/massive he(a)rd (us here? LOL--wait for it!! itsa comin faster than you can say the name of our latest/greatest/FIPS dey hatest "follower" (follower only in spirit--but dat be suuum spirit, son[s and daughters]! LOL) "Burk[l]ee Carroll"!!) of DDB loyalists. While I cert(s--yummy!)ainly don’t wish to convey the impression that DDB ~b~ startin to straight-come atcha on a weekly bas(s)is(t), which, given the date of our last post(-up jumper--take dat, GP!)’s unleashing, see(/a--in the case of FIPS, which be comin apart at dem seams since N’v’mb’r 19, 2008)ms a likely impression indeed, I gots some stuff here in me brain-memory that you, dear(/est) readers, really should be apprised of. You deserve it, kidsies. Even you, ChickenUnderwear, even you. (Say, ya found the F yet??? LOL.)
Just what is this stuff(itts is what DDB ~b~ 'liverin [ew, liver!!] nest(e)a ["Go On. Take the Plunge!" LOL] Xmas, sweetheart readers! well, dat + the ofty-promised Playa tee, o'course [18 holes after work, anyone? DDB boasts an all-time best of *59*! LOL]) we refer to, you ask?
Well, dis(s us not!!) it is. Or, wait! The DiCenso family? Isn't dat sorta like "de-censored," which, let's agree, is yet another word to d'scribe DDB's straight-up/slammin/in-yo-face/street-gritsome style?? Man, seams (oh, dat pesky "a"--why not go back to whar you belong, wit dat fallin-apart FIPSY!!) it is. Good to know Tewksbury, MA's got our backs in dese turbulent times, eh?? (Manitobans for DDB! 'member dat?)
But dey ain' it, loyalists. It's... dis(s--we dare you! be warned: sickin ChickenUnderpants on yo asses is NOT beneath us!) plass (transl.: place. LOL). Hahaha--we're kiddin around again, readers!! Cuz surely dat be not-us. Because, think about it--Stillwater, Minnesota?? Let's get serious here! Ain't nothin *still* bout D, D, or B, rightsy? Nawdude. DDB ~b~ pouncin and punchin and pullin fast ones from badass, ball-bustin Brooklyn all the way, sweet babies!
Which brings us to, ah yes, to here. To one of Carroll Gardens' sleepier ends (zzzzzz, LOL--wake up, readers!!). To Court Street's southernmost reach. To ~Luna Rossa Restaurant Pizzeria~. (Hey, owner. Hey, it's us. Say, which one are you--a restaurant or a pizzeria?? LOL. Jus' messin, you.)
Now, the mere act of entering this wet-behind-the-ears establishment (here--use our towel; no, really. LOL) ranks high on DDB's long and harrowing list of *stressful and dramatic life events* (see also: holding clamorous and persistent media attention at bay; effectively navigating Park Slope's Fifth Avenue while shrouded [read: disguised, duh] in a minimum of ten trench coats with ten collars upturned, five pairs of gloves [fingerprints be 'vealin a mighty lot, kidsies!], one of those stretchy face stockings, and a "layer cake hat" [not hatin! just unknowin! LOL] filched from a particularly unscrupulous Hasidic man; and fightin Frank Bruni (LOL--dat face!! what is up?!?) off with a baseball bat). Why, you wonder? Well, because
IT WAS LIKE STEPPING FOOT INSIDE A SHOWER.
Not because we were hit with a surge of warm spray or spit on (don't even think about it, bfipsyd[r]ipsy!), but because, well, because of this:
Does that or does that not bring to mind a curtain-encapsulated bathing stall, readers?? It’s almost like they're sayin, "Screw dat (that?) time-honored 'handwashing' tradition--we want your heads, backs, knees, and bums squeaky clean, too!"
Anyhow, once we'd cleared this initial hurdle and tricked a tired old chappy outta his house-best seat (LOL), we settled in for a nice, soothing dining experience that was sorely overdue us (again, this was only last week!), if you don’t mind th' sayin, ChickenUnderwear & co.
We placed our modest order (Waistline Watchers R Us!) with a friendly ol sucka and sat back to admire the--
Cages?? Sponge paint?!? Where are we--daycare???? LOL.
Our food, anyway, was excellente.
Aaaand, get this, troopers: Some chewins later, responding to our "we'd like dese here leftovers boxed up--and, say, what're the chances we'd be able to, *wink wink*, buy a tomato off ya? We're short one at home, see, and our chances of making it to Fairway for a r'plenishin pri(/y--Richard? LOL--doubly so, cuz duder was a comedian, y'know!!?)or to shutterin-time are slim to zero, kid!!" the kind and, dare we say, moderately to heavily intimidated by dat special, unmistakable, irreshakable DDB flair, not to mention our FIPS-endorsed reputation as Food Blog of the Mesosphere, Stratosphere, Troposphere, and Blogosphere (aww, FIPSY, you shouldn't have! wait, nevermind!!!), waiter said, just:
"We'll take care o' ya."
And take care o' us they did, adding two portions each of tomato and mozzarella, even a flutter o' dat nice (dd)basil, to our leftovers 'tainer.
*Sniff sniff*, readers. *Sniff sniff*.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The uproar unign(/ad)orable, the disquiet palpable, the hush audible, the calls for a signal implorable, the consternation etched in adamantine lines across the blogosphere's collective visage and upper BLOCHELONS (blogopshere + echelon o course!) of food criticizing sites issuing a community prayer (don't believe us? check smitten... FIPSYdoodle... proof positive!) so that DDB goes back online with its fine, crystalline and making-you-supine prose toes, you schmoes!1 And back we is with a vengeance!
Look at this poor sucka back on the block. Let us preface dough (hehehehe... he): DDB is not about running down the little guy - not even you chickenunderwear or you in your valiant fight against the FIPS mongrels, Burk C - or discouraging cross-cultural-cuisine forays, in fact we wants to celebrate it, party with it, put a "I
BUT. There is a line. And dis place done crossed it, and we woodn't be the marsh(mellow)als of da Park Slope food criticalizing world, if we didn't respond. Our fans - YOU - expect nothing less.
First of all, the name alone demands that we remove da glove (not GP) - da signature of journalistic superbness - and slap dis place cross the face! Yummy Taco? No No No. The same glove that done had to slap an old lady silly (you know who I'm talking to, Pizza Pus) now gots to do its bizniz again. Do dey really think that the razor-sharp (never flat!) mines of DDB are susceptible to such bleytint and cheap suggestion? We wrote DA BOOK ON SUGGESTION AND NUANCE, kids, don't try to play us at our owns game.
DDB could understand if the place was called Tummy NoNo; Crummy Barf-o; Yummy? Hell no!; Gin Rummy and Bingo Was His Name, Oh! (LOL dat don't make no cents); Mummy Dead Toes; Gummy Bears Woulda Been a Better Meal, Oh!, OH God! This Food is So Awful... O(i)!; Dummy For Eating Here-o; cause DEN da message dune sink in. and sink in HARD. But let's knock this baby out the park (not literally.. 'less that baby be wearing a Playa
We do dis '''cause when we ~first~ entered, as I said 'fo, eyes're still washed in the sweet elixirs of little-guy-aphilia and we appreciated, if predicted, the warm regards of the YTmates upon entering. After all, the place was hardly a-bustle with a-ctivity and lord(ie lordie) knows what a glowing review handed down (beglovedly and lovingly!) from *DDB* can do for a place. Just look at Al Di La(lala)... that's right. DDB. Donald Trump? DDB. But somethin' was amiss and the sleuths noses were a burnin' wit' tha cent of fowl play (gets it? fowl / foul? oh
Howevs, while DDB's sense of purpose, its popular-demand driven and sustained mission unassailable by the stings and barrels of extrageous fortune (cookies), its delicate aesthetics of decorum and visuals can suffer no such in/af-fliction. So it had to indulge its own artistic side (prints can be ordered via email@example.com!) to counteract the savage plainness and monotonous juxtapositions (belated PSAT points for DDB, Bored of Ed?!) of the (place) setting. And which is bigger the bowl of bamboo or the box of straws?! View at yer own risk, dear fan...
Does DDB exhibit such pre-post-modern(istic?) dystopian melanges, you ask? Oh, sweet flattering reader, you are too kind... but astute as well. No, DDB has not exhibited in a Chelasean (sea bass) art gallery. YET. But expect it. But back to the mission at hand. We still have food to describe LITERALLY and decry!
Or at least that's what THEY call it ("food" dat is)! LOL!!! Be not mesmerized (or memorized?) though by the translucent colors dancing on the flesh of the meat, or the casual yet meticulously lain strands of cheese perched atop, or even the golden-green splashes of guacamole splayed lavishly in the background... DIS (undelicious d)ISH WAS AWFUL(no "ly
And then when a now be-olive-greened hued visual field caught THIS gem:
"Drinking Alcoholic Beverages During Pregnancy Can Cause Birth Defects", DDB could only sway in perplexed apoplexy (whut!) at tha fact dat dere WAS no alcoholic beverlies in sight & at the terrified realish of what Consuming Yummy Taco Commestibles Can Cause... perhaps some horrible combination of tha two (reenactment: yar, gimme two coronas and a beef burrito platter! (9 months later...) EWRECKA!!! TE HE HE!!!. We kid, FIPS. You know we gots nothing but (da g)love for ya (face)).
So, what did DDB did? Retire to more sophisticated environs for a postprandial, holistic remedy, you pray? Well (ar)rest your fears... We not only 'kin, but we 'did!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Man. Man oh man. Man oh man oh man. Man(itobans for DDB!!), man(ifold genius, a.k.a. DDB!!), man(atee out to get any/all DDB detractors!!), man(uscript regarding the palatability of a range of citrus fruits, which, halfway down page 44, makes a watertight case for a DDB-Meyer lemon parallel--and a FIPSy-moldy grapefruit one!!), man(ifest destiny of DDB to colonize/colorize/collect-tithes-from the far reaches of the blogosphere!!!)
Srsly, though: Luncheonette, squatting humbly beneath the F line on West Ninth Street in Carroll Gardens (wait a second--squatting? oh, no! it's just now occurring to us: given the general decrepitude of the area, could something unsavory be issuing from its commercial bowels?? LOL!), is worth a great man(y) "man"s.
Das right: It's just that good. Don't believe us? Go ahead, ask the guy out front. (Though you may want to wait for him to, erm, tend to his own bowels first. I mean, get a load of the look on his face: Is it just us, or does duder appear a bit stopped up?? LOL.)
Just kidding, no need to ask ol’ Poopsy; DDB’s gotcha covered like butter on enriched-white, like processed cheese on egg scramble, like… DDB on (top of and straight-crushing) FIPSy. Coming your way: a song--literate, lovely, lilting--exalting the forward-thinking, humanity-linking, Pizza Plus (etc.)-sinking ~Luncheonette~.
For starters, when DDB first eased glass-slippered foot inside this venerable establishment (post-fact, we found nary a single review of the place online, confirming its glossy untouchableness), we were greeted with low bows and shielded eyes. Readers: Pause and consider the significance! (No, Frank Bruni, we are not currently entertaining freelance offers, though trust we’ve made note of your interest.)
Stepping up to the “plate” (LOL), we put in an order for a dish that instantly caught our attention, featured prominently on the wall-posted menu as it was.
“Egg on a roll.”
I mean, heck, we can/do roll, and FIPS has got plenty o’ egg on its face as of late, thus I dare you, Delicious readers (we won’t eat you, LOL), to argue against said breakfast selection. (Breakfast--ha! More like Breakfastette, eh? Wait, “eh?” What are we, Canadian? Too much time spent w/ those crazy Manitobans, clearly!!)
So there we were, readers, poised regally at a slim and understated plastic perch, 'specting, by now, all manner of assault though hoping the sentiment behind our initially warm and appreciative reception would hold out at least long enough for us to eat halfway into the DDB-FIPS conglomerate of a specimen you see above, when, straight-slamming the brakes on our car-wash-inspired reverie (LOL), we hear from the counterkeep at our back--
"Whadaya wanna pay for that?"
Huh? Pausing between bites, we swivel to find a scruffy, thrown-together type standing opposite our new friend, his (thrown-together's) right arm angling awkwardly in attempt to relieve an itch on his back, far as we're able to gather. What we're not at all able to gather is an intelligible response, the only thing to greet our inquisitive ears a series of rapid coin clinks.
Well, okaaay. (LOL.)
Srsly, though--how cool, how classy, how straight-cutting edge (ouch! LOL), is that?? I mean, here you have a righteous, merit-pay-based operation masquerading as a breakfast nook! (Clearly Luncheonette digs the Barack Obama, y'know? LOL.)
Yeah, so you know what we d(db)id? Just to see? We put 'em to the test. Held 'em up to the light would that all variety of imperfections, malflexions, witch-b'stowin hexions, ill-servin contra(ce)ptions (no babies! LOL), be exposed for what they are.
"Sir? Hi. So, listen, several bites in, we've determined that breakfast over there [pointing] to be unworthy of the $2.50 asking price. That said, we're wondering how you'd feel about comping us three cents. A hill o' beans to you high-falutin egg wizards, we're sure, but it'd really mean something to us. LOL."
"'LOL'?? Not familiar, really??? Well, tell ya what, new friend, we'll do ya one better. We won't just tell you; we'll show you. You got a wallet? We just had these platinum-edged (careful!!) business cards done up, and once you've spent some time perusing..."
"Well, gotta run--late for a photo shoot, we're afraid. KIT, NFODDB!"
Friday, April 24, 2009
Heya! Heyo! Heyu?
Yes--hey you! Been missing us? Aw, yeah, that's what we thought, kids. Well, miss no more, 'cause DDB B BAC, k? (LOL.)
Srsly, though: Make no bones, blood, cartilage, muscles, hormones, lymph, enzymes, nerves, no major systemic organs about it--DDB is primed for action, reaction, malfaction, and redaction, baby. Especially that last one. I mean, "to put into suitable literary form"??? Quite frankly, I was more than half-spectin' a reference to yours truly on that page. Psst, hey. Hey Random House, think you forgot something. Yeah, that's right--#3. Here, allow me--
Ahaha!! Ahem, wanna hear another funny? But not like a "it's funny because it's true" as in the aformentioned, but rather, a "this is so far from reality it's got me ROFLing to the point of ralphing! (LOL.) Ready? Okay--
Ahahahaha!! (Get it? Don't worry--you will soon 'nuff.)
Srsly, though, back to bones. Bones of the stripped-down, stark-white variety, that is--no cartiligenous hangers-on here! (LOL.) What gobbeldygook DDB be spewin' now, you ask? Gather 'round, my sweet pups--you're about to find out.
You see, once upon a time, there was a stale and hardened crust of a man known by those of supreme acumen and spit-polished character--there being, to my modest knowledge, two individuals accordingly endowed--as Benjifips. Old Benjifips lived in a cold, cold world, a world so insular and so dank that he couldn't help but turn out the same, vomiting refracted bits of his depraved existence onto those in the generally and sadly underperforming business of soft-blue kindness and blushing warmth. Now, of all the fine weaponry at his ready disposal--the loaded Sparks cans, blunted syringes, polluted canal waters--Benjifips vastly preferred the subtle springload of the written word. And whip it out often and showily he did, my friends.* What's that, Bobby? You'd like an example? Well, that's funny--I was but a second away from supplying one. Eyes on the screen, lovies--here 'tis:
Now, be not fooled by the flat and unimaginative moniker, "ngv1975," for this is he, my dears! Benj-incognifips! And the above-referenced comment in the wake of an utterly delightful "my home is your home" electronic message squeezed from the juiciest and lovingest of hearts (ahem, ours). I mean, really!
Oh, and did I mention this gleaming nugget of niceness? Granted, it followed this here,** but who be DDB to sit back and allow its freshly laundered (in holy water, LOL!), just pressed (between angel wings, LOL!!) image to get beat down, punched in, shit-smirched, and dragged Bfips-style through the foulest and muckiest of muds?!?
Because he started it! Oh, uh, kids? Don't expect that argument to fly, generally speaking and probably ever, really, in your case. But trust us, this is one instance, perhaps the only instance--the singular, el primo episode, if you will (will you? LOL)--requiring said recourse.
After all, we were only trying to help. Only trying to extend ourselves in peace and lovingkindness and blogospheric camaraderie.
And you know what? We'll keep on stendin'. Hecka, we'll go so far as to take it one step further (which isn't all that far I guess! although, come to think, DDB be striding long per indivij, LOL). Howso, you ask? By payin' homage. And in a FIPScentric universe, this involves a single predominant trait: brevity.
In such manner, I bring you the following: a shipshape, minimalist account cleaner than a CPO's dress whites (LOL!) of a recent dining experience I had at Fourth Avenue's Tomato & Basil.
*To Be Continued?? Why, only Sir Benjifips has the answer to that.