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.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Of course, as soon as you sit down you find yourself either remembering the sign "your aim is greatly appreciated" from the bathroom OR that you once were tricked in college into eating a meal cooked by your co-op living friend OR looking squarely at the adverts / services-rendered board which boasts such appetite-challenging items as soul ecology, jamsberry will teach you guitar, herbal alchemy apothecary, naked yoga for men, revitalizing superfoods for superenergy, naturopathic doctor, BodyLoveTM by Maat: "love is action, it works if you work it!" (DDB couldn't have said it better itself, Maat!), and perhaps the one which still causes something on the order of seeing yer conversation partner's eyes dart nervously right above your head, "holistic dentistry."
Friday, March 20, 2009
Psst. Psst. Hey you. Here, over here. No, not there--here. See me? With the baseball accoutrement and an aura of almost-celebrity??? Yes, that’s right, now stay with me--I’ve got a small piece to ask you. Ready? Ready??! [Cue drum roll, horns, dancing ladies, the Queen of England, pending knighthood. LOL.] Okay, the question:
Are you forgetting something? Or, wait, allow me to rephrase that: Are you forgetting a little something? [Cue knowing wink, snickering.]
I’m sorry--what did you just say? You pointed to my right hand, that much I recognized. Oh, wait, are you… But no. You couldn’t possibly be implying the thing that just occurred to me: a vile gesture, a lowdown and dirty showing, an egregious affront to DDB’s regal nature and earnest pursuit of culinary accountability.
(Human extension of) jPAN, come clean: Do you truly and actually wish to strip DDB of its singular form of defense as it moves to scratch its name on the proverbial bathroom stall wall, as it proudly and perhaps a tad egoistically (mention of recent media attention reserved for a future post) carves another well-deserved notch on the proverbial bedpost that guards the most coveted corner of DDB’s glorious and still proverbial “pillow top with memory foam and built-in back saver” mattress aka burgeoning franchise?!? LOL.
No, jPAN, you may not have the batting glove. Quite frankly, that last exchange of ours has me straining to tighten its Velcro-hold around my wrist. That’s no joke, either.
In other words, a suspicion that previously held steady at a low, sneaking simmer has officially caught fire, and it’s a full-on blazing, five-alarm spectacle with some serious “N-melting” potential!!! (Anyone for some delicious jPA takeout tonight? LOL!)
Oh, god, you can’t afford to lose any more letters. (Or should I say “l*t*ers?)
It’s clear by now, right? Clear that, channeling a little Sue Grafton, “A Is for Absent”?
Now, I’ve never read Ms. Grafton, jPAN, same as I’ve never read ~you~, at least not in any sort of “sound and proper” sense of that word.
Backing up a bit, it was with grammatical malfeasance dead-square in mind that I hit up this relative newcomer to the Slope’s Fifth Avenue sushi lineup one temperate evening last week, with friend in tow.
An initial sweep of the room revealed an aesthetic sensibility that wasn’t too far off the mark--austere and modern, yet with a few calculated flourishes that serve to adequately “soften” and “warm” the atmosphere. (Who says polka dots and bamboo don’t mix?? Hmm, this guy maybe, judging by that ill-contained snarl of his. LOL!!)
As my friend, we’ll call him dVID, and I were led to a window-side table by a hostess versed in the usual and expected pleasantries, I paused to consider that scorned “a” for the sixtieth time since jPAN mounted its vexing sign and opened its treated glass doors to the public a couple of years back.
As I organized my wares with the full respect and I dare say blatant admiration of dVID, a troubling thought coalesced, one with significant staying power, such that it was still festering when our waitress approached us several minutes later with an inquiry about drinks.
Basically, jPAN, it occurred to me that you were trying to be clever in skirting that first bold vowel.
With dVID taking on the drink order, I swept the room again, noticing, this time, a vaguely “managerial” figure hovering not far from our table, just beyond the sushi bar. And here, loyal and beloved readers (re: loyal and beloved, bona fide DDB “followers”--you know who you are--get an especially enthusiastic shout-out; p.s. let us know re: that pending Playa shirt order--you certainly do deserve one!!), is where it gets interesting.
At the close of our initial “confrontation” (see above), I shifted my focus away from the would-be DDB glory-stripper and back to the proceedings at my own table. Now, oddly enough, although several minutes had lapsed since dVID had first spoken up, the words were still coming, and I was left with the unsettling notion that here was a conversation which, like my glove (harumph), was going nowhere!!
There appeared to be a great deal of confusion with regard to the menu’s sake selection, with dVID repeatedly declaring his interest in “this one” but “served cold,” not warm as specified. Now, I realize the unlikelihood of your being acquainted with dVID, so you’ll have to take it at face value when I say he does not mince words. “He does not mince words!!” Wait, that was more “shout” than “say,” wasn’t it, readers? LOL! (Keep up.)
My head was starting to hurt. Because as the seconds ticked by (tick tick, tick tick), the air around me grew so thick with the collective spoils of confusion, my brain threatened to pickle ala the ginger gathered in tidy, fleshy mounds (resembling damp baby cheeks--ya know?? LOL) and circulating on all sides of us. Or, to go the way of the product mentioned here--
“When I opened the container containing my nigiri, it smelled rancid. I couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from except that it was coming from the container.”
Oh no!! LOL.
But man, the density was truly dizzying, toward the end so thick I would’ve put Big $$$ on effectively hiding an entire Pizza Plus chicken parm hero, the British monarchy in totum, and DDB’s staggering and enormous reputation in that muck. Heck, even a, a, a…
And that’s when it hit me, readers:
Even an A could don an invisible cape in that swirling stew of befuddlement!!!
Catching the eye of “managerial” a second time, suddenly it all came together: This wasn’t a case of the sort of “clever” I’d originally had in mind, the moutarded sort which, on confirmation, would’ve aligned smartypants jPAN with an entirely different breed of restaurant. Oh no, this was hands-down the very best sort of clever, the sort that channels mystery and suspense. (Sue Grafton indeed!)
jPAN, you w*nt us, you w*nt your customers, to sleuth out th*t missing A!!!!1 (See what I did there? LOL!!)
Brilliant. Just brilliant. Not to mention (though I actually am mentioning, LOL) further substantiated with the debut, shortly after, of my wine.
Here’s the thing: It’s okay! Sure, in terms of pour-size it may have recalled those tiniest cupfuls of children’s cough syrup back in the day, but I get it! That elusive A was dangerously close to revealing itself, wasn’t it? A milliliter away from whoosh--into the royal DDB goblet it goes. LOL.
I know why you did it, know why you ran interference.
It’s simply too early on! The game has only just begun, clearly, and jPAN, though I may be “on to you” as it were, privy already to the calculated rationale behind not only your “confused” service and your “careful” wine pours but your excessive application of various, and I dare say non-traditional, sauces, all of them w/ strong and undeniable “masking capabilities” and which fuel this variety of commentary--
"they're a little mad on their sauces there and a lot of the tricked-out rolls we ordered came topped with two or three different kinds of sauces each"
--I’m still plenty inspired!
And, hey, when DDB cracks that sh*t (no “a” in that one, LOL; just kissing up to our more “sensitive” readers) at most a few months down the road, may we request T-shirts commemorating our wholly expected but still noble victory? Something along the lines of--
jAPAN: No longer A-holes
Thank you, thank you very much.
p.s. Lest you be castin’ doubts (“catch” that one? LOL) around DDB’s presence in the blogosphere at large, here’s a tasty little morsel to tide ya over: http://www.yelp.com/biz/jpan-brooklyn#hrid:xcmnc500Qu82HRWHBKeaKw.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Compadres y commadres! Prospect Parkers OR given a previous post should i wax humoristic and say Prospect Parkas (not COAT "parkas," you dear phonetically-inclined smart alecks out there!) and manifest destiny gold prospectors, put down them there sediment sieves, and follow us into the vibrant, psychedelic rainforests of Barrio on 7th Ave and 3rd St.
Disclaimer: DDB never holds back when it comes to dishing (LOL!) the truth on the fine eateries of our neighborhood (our "barrio" if you will... oh yes, DDB does its research, wikipedia-style) however!
But there it was. A beautiful, sunny day, and entering into the carnival tent emerged DDB, with its necessary array of accoutrements: camera, notepad, pencil, batting glove, iPod, ready to walk that tight-rope between curious patron and patronizing curiosity, mind still unclouded by unfortunate proprietary overlaps. Dare I say it was as if the circus curtain was thrown back and a hush fell over the audience? It could certainly have been because of the dearth of clientele, but with alarming plausibility, I conjured the idea that DDB's cover could have been blown (could it have been the glove?!?!!) and thus with feigned casualness did the wait staff saunter around, the bartender disappear into the kitchen, all of whom clearly desperate to conceal the panic that had just whipped their souls! What else could explain the extravagant few minutes I spent waiting to be seated?! or maybe they just didn't know what to do with customers?! maybe they thought I still had to tie up my elephant outside?! LOL.
It was thus with mounting skepticism that I took my seat and began to note my environs, as a psychic scanning the crime scene for remnants of transgressive acts... only in reverse chronological order, ya know?
Forget the freakishly long-armed dancers or the mural's am-i-still-drunk-perspective or the menacing army of bananas or EVEN the Wild West swinging saloon doors, I think it was the vision of mop and spray can seated across from me that next caught and held my eye. Now DDB accepts the proximity of cleanliness to godliness, but that doesn't mean you want your tacos scented with Palmolive or to suspect that, at the drop of a hat, those mop's tentacles might lash out and steal your guacamole!
Speaking of which, it is almost criminal that even the most indignant plots and blossoming skepticism can be dispersed with the thought of that divine substance of green liquid-y gold! It's like mashed Kryptonite to DDB!
And there it was, placed in colorful counterpoint to the chicken enchiladas that had begun settling into my plate. And despite the fact that it tasted like what I would imagine paper to taste like (guac IS slang for money now, isn't it? maybe Barrio just took that too literally! LOL!!), the guac nonetheless added a subtle flair to the mouth-watering and tasty main course. Never has making a mess with your food been so delicious! Before I could even restrain myself enough to relax what must have been my three hands holding fork and knife and guacamole-laden chip, I had dispensed with the savory enchiladas. You can see that my attempt at capturing this miracle of melange proved too late. :-(
But though I might have missed the opportunity to photo the fiesta, mid-gluttonous rampage, at least we can affirm together the adage: You are what you eat! :-)
Sensing perhaps that the iron was hot and that the scales of culinary justice might be tipping in their favor, Barrio went for the knock-out punch with a tender wink-wink moment and tried to not charge for the two Sprites. Now maybe the moral outrage at such transparent bribery (carbonated payola!!) was somewhere in the enchilada I just scarfed down, and though it might lower the moral currency of DDB in the eyes of our loyal following, DDB has to admit to being touched, if not altogether shocked, by the gesture. Now, you surely cast aspersions if you think DDB would accept such gratuitous payola! DDB might not be above enjoying such blatant currying (curry? not at Barrio surely!!! LOL.) of favor, but its journalistic integrity will forever remain unimpeachable. ~Period~. Tilda. Another period.
But now, with my reservations melting away as so much sour cream on warmed tortilla and with the taste of real Sprite (no, not no Pizza Minus Sierra Mist knockoffs!) coursing through my arteries as so much fine mineral sediment through well-worn tributaries, this ol' prospector forgot for a moment the color palette of bubble gum bursts and mango lassi (barf!), the convincing, conspiratorial casualness of the staff, and even the glimpse behind the carnival curtains, and ensconced himself in tryptophanic (gobble gobble!) satisfaction. And whaddya know, I even got my gold after all. And if getting gold wasn't good enough already, it was stuffed with chocolate!!
Andale! Andale! Arriba! Arriba! Yiii-haaaaah!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Choo choo... chugga chugga chugga chugga CHOO CHOO...
Next stop: Jake's Kansas City Bar B Q Restaurant, where hyphens are apparently optional. LOL!
Ridin' the rails down Red Hook's sleepy <yawn> Columbia Street on a recent Saturday afternoon, this DDB conductor was compelled to alight in front of one of Brooklyn's more time-honored barbeque joints (not to be confused w/ Lookout Hill Smokehouse, or w/ Biscuit, for that matter--LOL; see previous post). I had happened upon some fairly promising reviews courtesy of a handful of other reputable food blogs (surprise--we're not the only BBOC*!! stick w/ us another month or so, however, and DDB will be "mopping the floor" and "wiping the counter" w/ these old bats), and I figured Jake's was at least as deserving as Pla-"something to drink for the octupus?"-ya. LOL. (See previous post.)
Sauntering in, I "tipped my hat" to those present, a jaunty lineup consisting of one "rested and alert" waitress, a few "behind the scenes" personalities harboring a conspicuous helping of interest (can I get some salt w/ that?!?) in the heralded arrival of yours truly, and a veritable chuck wagon of... not customers, that's for sure!! In fact, there were a whoppin' four of us total: myself and a trio of feisty young bucks (more on them later). Still, let's not forget, it was 2:00 p.m. on a dead-cold Saturday, and the "Columbia Street Waterfront" is no boom town to begin w/. LOL.
Cuing off the helpful gesticulating of my waitress, I quietly took my seat and set up shop, pleased w/ the expanse of table allotted me.
A minute more and I was zeroing in on the menu: a preserved, plastic-sleeved model ripe w/ (potentially!) delicious dishes. And, well, as much as I don't want to be "that person," I would be remiss, in the process subjecting DDB to all variety of withering commentary, if I failed to out the following:
There it is, clear as a crystal vase: ASSORTEMENT. WTF?! Is it intentional? A playful swipe at those malapropism-spoutin' Midwesterners ("ah sorta meant")?? LOL--j/k. Of course it's a mistake. Heck, I have to wonder if even I wouldn't misplace the occasional "e" if it were me rising w/ the cock-a-doodles at the crack of dawn, yanking my Carhartt in place as I soaked hickory chips and smoked all manner of delicious animal hide out in the great wide open. You know?? (For the record, fellow critics, I know they don't actually do it like this. We're in Brooklyn!! The closest we get to "Carhartt and smoking" is the Williamsburg bar scene. LOL!!)
Anyway, ride 'em cowboy: my food was a hit. I opted for a "small bite," being I was a scant hour out from a particularly "extreme bagel." Here's how it looked:
Chili, meet cheddar. A nice soft blanket of it. Er, except for along the perimeter, where its gooey interior morphed into something decidedly and satisfyingly crispy. This was a strong selling point for me--the delicate textural balance--as was the resonant tomato base of the chili itself: piquant, subtly spicy, and generally pleasing in flavor. The dozen or so tortilla chips served as a complement were "straight from the bag"; "Jake," if you're reading this, may I suggest "smoking" a little less and laying tracks in the kitchen a little more?! Really, though, making your own is a breeze: http://teriskitchen.com/appetize/tortillachips.html. (Now that I think about it, still plenty of time for smoking!! LOL.)
Oh, there was also a miniature cornbread "loaf" served alongside, which was on the dry end of the spectrum but when dredged through those delicious beans, came out alright. And if you're wondering about the "centerpiece" of single chip and sour cream "smudge," I can in good conscience claim it as my own. Makes for a stunning photographic display, wouldn't you say??
Another tidbit I should include: the service. Interestingly enough, after emerging from the kitchen w/ my dish in hand, my waitress went AWOL all throughout the second half of my downhome dining experience. Now, in the wake of a solid week of mulling, I've basically figured it out: It was those cretins to the right of me, the "trio" to whom I previously alluded. Their language was despicable (the p-word was uttered w/ reckless abandon), their gestures of extreme ill-repute, and their menu selections vile at best ("slab" of this, "half-slab" of that). Not much to laugh at there, huh? (LOL. I stand corrected!)
Lastly, I did take some issue w/ the interior decor. Because while the color scheme--a festive "dance" of yellows, browns, and oranges--as well as a series of dazzling vistas framed and hung at regular intervals, a whimsical "twig wreath" of sorts, and that madcap Wall o' Tile pictured above, lend a certain "flair" to the establishment, a set of woebegone cafeteria-style furnishings comes nailbitingly close to canceling out said flair completely. Hell, I was nearly "committed" for Major Depressive Disorder!! (Psst, "Jake": I've got another little "wisdom nugget" for ya... LOL.)
Looks like I really cleaned up--must have been good!!
At any rate, ~Jake's Kansas City Bar B Q Restaurant~ appears to lasso up some good eats: Get in there and claim your spot at the trough. And, hey, make haste--before ol' Bessie crowds ya out. Oh, wait, she's more likely to be on your plate!! LOL.
Choo choo... chugga chugga chugga chugga CHOO CHOO...
Next stop... ?????
*BBOC: Big Blog on Campus!!!!1