Friday, July 17, 2009

Luna Generousa

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


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

Tummy Yucko

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 DDB" shirt ($14.95 + S/H, kids! LOL(!!!)) on it and send it on its merry way as a proud mom looking from her immaculate entryway though the breeze-sustained open door at her reformed child who's now embraced a life of civility and respect for his fellow man whereas once there was such a concentration of bile running so densely in his putrescent viens dat... whoops! where wuz i? oh yes, da little rascals of the rest'o'rant world. suffice (suf'rice? saffron'rice?) it to say, we lovs em.

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 Yummy Taco shirt, then BOOM!) chronometrically.

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 US): i mean, warm regards transmorphgrified into resigned bemusement; a desire-to-please to a wipe-their-sleeve, to a getting-up-with-a-heave!!! Can you imagine DAT, gentle/eel reader?!, and not that DDB expects pimp and circumference when we'z enter, the proverbial and literal beagles of fanfare, rose petals lampooning the ground 'fo' ('?) the feet (though that WOULD be nice... NB: Benjifips => Jeevesyfips?!, since you clearly ain't doing much write / writing now!) but a little sumthin(-sumthin) WOOD be a pro(fessional) pos(eurs). Needles(s) to say, dis might've ruffled the royal feathers a bit, but anywhom... journalistic dis(sin' fools!)passion intact (fer na!...~1)

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!) 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 "!!! Methinks the dream started unraveling with the sad, limp slivers of lettuce, and began its descent into revulsion and nausea as far from compl(i/e)menting the gustatory gaps from chewy meats, the guacamole actually exasserbated the experience1 DDB might have an iron stomach (honed in the fires of concern for our fellow fan-tastic eaters!) but a paryoxyism of trauma shoots down the spine at the slightest look at these images. BO(bama) should ban these phot(at)oes from being released, but DDB must show da TOOTH of what happened!

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!

DDB and DD fo' life!!! Thug life, fools. ~WH(A/U)T~!