The Process

Ordering from a menu can be hard. There is the matter of overcoming the paralysis by analysis that is brought on by very many choices. One must discard many choices right off the bat by seeking out something more than food that merely seems good. I luckily am very good at introducing other factors, of which cost is merely one. Most of them are less reasonable factors than that. Cost is a very useful thing to consider.

It's nice when the cuisine derives from a culture whose language I am especially inexperienced at pronouncing. That way, I can discard as a possibility any food item I am unsure of being able to pronounce correctly. It feels important to me that I look smart and not stupid in such situations, and this feeling helps me further winnow down the options before making my final decision. It may not matter to other people, but it need not.

The Mooch With Scrambled Brains

I am ordinarily fairly clear-headed, although it doesn't always come across that way. Whatever disorder appears on the surface, it is usually well-ordered inside. There's just some kind of problem transmitting that. Lately though, it's been messy on the inside. I am inclined to blame a breakdown in my routines leaving me tired and unfed at times. This is, I think, why I accidentally ate someone else's food at a restaurant the other day.

I was very hungry and, as this was the day following a big Halloween party, I was somewhat hungover. We were at a sushi restaurant for someone's birthday, and as you often order in a rather piecemeal fashion, it's hard sometimes to keep track of what is yours and what is someone else's. I ordered four cut rolls, and I knew for sure when things started showing up (which was a long time later considering nothing gets cooked) what three of them were.

A Lousy Place

I was at a restaurant last night. I had just done an improv show, and a teammate afterwards was endeavoring to get everyone to go out to this place. I agreed, and a handful of other did too. I was under the impression that this was a burger chain, another location of which I had been too a few years ago. I found on arriving that it was no such thing. Rather, it was a diner. I think I would not have gone if I'd known.

I resolved that with a place whose quality was in question, it was not smart to get anything that a place could mess up. I picked a turkey burger, because I thought that was a foolproof option in addition to being healthier than a regular burger. It was certainly not the best burger I've ever had. In fact, it was lousy, and at twice the cost of many of the ones I prefer. I was terribly remorseful about my choice very quickly.

A Couple Places Down

I am proud of myself, not because of advances I've made professionally and personally, but because I have managed to knock a couple neighborhood restaurants off my list of places I still have to go. There are so many neat-looking places around here, and I'm reluctant to eat out, so it's been slow going, and just think of all the turnover that adds to the list! In the last couple days, I have rewarded myself for aforementioned professional victories by letting myself eat out.

It's not all going to be good, of course, but that's why you try places. On an especially good day a couple days ago, I capped things off by going to the cheese steak place nearby. It looked authentic as hell, and though I'd heard mixed reviews, I thought I'd like to go. It was not only on my list, it represented about the most convenient option given that I was traveling from one place to another and had little time to deviate from a straight line. The place was all right, but far too expensive for the money.

To Eat And Reminisce

I was thinking, with something yet to be written for this blog today, about a restaurant that my school friends and I used to go to for lunch. Maybe I've written about this already, but I don't check anymore, so desperate am I now regularly to fulfill my obligations to myself. Anyway, this was when I was attending a rather informally-arranged school that had broken away from a marginally more conventional charter school. Things were kind of loose.

We went through a few evolutions even in the time I was at this school, which survived my departure more easily than it did that of its lone original teacher. At first, we were meeting in an office park, and ate lunch at its little cafe. We also, it seems to me, ate at a Schlotzky's, which was a sandwich place. I recall eating at a donut place, which doesn't exactly make for a very conventional lunch, I'll admit. As I said, thinks were loose.

Might I Go

I founded out a number of days ago that a friend I see seldom these days was set to perform at an open mic in my neighborhood. The open mic was, regrettably, set to take place right during a prior engagement of mine. I couldn't bear to miss it though, and so I pushed the other thing forward and rushed out right afterward. I'm quite glad that I did, for it was a worthwhile experience in a number of ways.

The open mic was at a nearby establishment that one might call a cafe. They mainly promote their pies, which I gather are both of sweet and savory varieties. As I've been attempting a frugal lifestyle lately, I resolved only to get something to drink. I wasn't much for the idea of coffee so late in the evening as 9 o'clock, but I did like the idea of getting tea after being advised that this place does tea right. They did not have my first choice, but the one I was recommended worked out nicely.

Was It Me?

There I was at a sushi restaurant, eating dinner with my mother. We ate and talked, and this did not go on for very long before I noticed that a couple, seated behind my mother, got up and moved to another table. I spent plenty of time thinking about that. I wondered why they moved. There are some legitimate reasons why they might. Most of them have nothing to do with me, but you can imagine that I have little interest in those. Surely it must involve me.

The thing is that I know I am not the easiest person to be around a lot of the time. I'm pretty loud, and what I have to say is not appealing sometimes. Your typical suburban couple out for an adventurous dinner could easily get fed up with my musings within minutes and take the step of getting another table in a restaurant full of empty ones. My mother did not feel that I was being so loud or objectionable, but I'm not so sure about that as her.

I See An Eatery

There is a construction project near my home that I have been keeping an eye on. It is not, unfortunately, on either of the vacant lots presently marring my own lovely street. In a way it's more exciting than that, because those are both fated to be filled with some shabby apartment building or another. I won't have any use for them myself, and I doubt whether I'll find them very interesting to look at upon completion. No, the new construction I speak of is on that great street running east and west, Magnolia Boulevard.

There had been some speculation in my circles that the president might have been set to travel along that street on his way from the airport to a nearby fundraiser, and why not? With such fine shops and restaurants as it has, he might even have been tempted to make a stop. Probably adding to the embarrassment of riches will be the new restaurant "Bow And Truss"), which may not have either a bow or a truss, but will surely have good food and a nice look.

Eat It

For a friend's birthday, we went to an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. This is very dangerous. Seafood is one of those areas of cuisine for which the margin of error is very thin, and the repercussions for misstep are terribly severe. It was not without reservations that I embarked upon the endeavor, although I was very excited for it as well. As I write this it is impossible to say with authority how things will turn out, but I know how they stand now.

The entire day leading up to the dinner, I opted to eat nothing. I also abstained from drinking anything apart from water. I had the idea that this would create a powerful appetite and really heighten the experience. Too many Thanksgivings have been marred by an appetite undermined by a full day of incessant snacking. I meant to get the most out of this buffet, and was not about to let a breakfast or a lunch interfere.

Business Brunch

Occasionally, I get asked to lunch for business purposes. Frankly, I don't find it to be a really ideal situation for that. You see in movies how people do a lot of serious talking, and somehow at the end of it their whole entrees are gone. You don't see them eating too much, so there is that mystery of how the food gets eaten. Perhaps they slip it into a napkin and feed it to the dog later. I don't do that myself, so the experience is neither a fully adequate meal or meeting.

That aside, I always do value a free meal and the prospect of work. Recently I was asked to have coffee to discuss a project. That makes sense. You don't have to constantly be drinking the coffee in order to be done with it in a reasonable amount of time. Well, a half-hour delay turned coffee into a meal, and I directed us to a place in my neighborhood that I had been past a thousand times but never had gone into. A situation like this is ideal for crossing a place off my list.

A Birthday Meal That's Too Difficult, I Feel

I love fajitas and I hate them. They are, of course, delicious. I had them at my birthday dinner yesterday evening. One can have them made in a variety of ways. They can have flour or corn tortillas, and they may feature any number of meats. I had chicken, steak and shrimp, along with grilled peppers and onions as well as the rice, beans and all else. They really were tasty, and rightly were the most expensive item on the menu. Fortunately they were free for the birthday boy.

They were not free of one thing, and that was some effort on my part. For some reason, they cook it all up and leave it to you to assemble. I go to restaurants for at least a few reasons. One is that at them I can have things that I never could at home. Another reason is that they cook the food and they clean up afterwords. All of the hard and unpleasant stuff is on them, and all the fun stuff is for me. Not so with fajitas, which you must assemble.

Not Smart

I read what I guess was an unfortunate article yesterday evening. It concerned a restaurant near me which may soon receive a historic designation from the city, or whichever government entity is concerned with such things. This restaurant may also lose its lease with the building owner soon. Now, the basis of the historic designation would mainly be the building's design, which I understand is of the 'Googie' movement.

The owner is said to be livid over the possibility of the designation. I guess I can kind of see his point of view. He may see the possibility of renovations and re-development being impaired in future. This certainly could impact his bottom line if he hopes to yield more money from the present tenant or from another after making some form of improvements, and as I said I can appreciate that concern, although I don't exactly share it.

"The X Is Closed Down!"

A friend recently observed that I'm often upset by the closure of local restaurants, retail outlets and the like- even ones that I never have been to. It's true. I retorted that I was upset in such cases because I never have been to the place in question and now I never will be. It's a moment of deep regret when I pass a place that I've been meaning to patronize forever and see a lease sign up. I feel the loss to myself and I am keenly aware of the loss to the business on account of everyone like me who failed to keep them afloat for want of motivation.

There are practical reasons to be bothered by a closure. Relatively few places are opening up these days, and plenty are closing. Every store that closes diminishes the local tax base. Their workers are laid off, and they are no longer able to patronize other businesses, whose workers are in turn laid off to save the business, if in fact it can be saved. It's a devastating cycle, and perhaps unreasonably I see a part in it played by me.

Not My Father

I love my father. I admire him and respect him. I believe strongly in the art of fatherhood and the impact that fathers have on their children and family units as a whole. Even so, there are things that fathers do that rankle. With some of them, the necessity and value eventually become apparent. With other things, they never do. Regardless, they are things I will only put up with when they come from my own father, and from no one else.

It is unfortunate then that anyone else would try to impose such things on me, and yet they do. It comes from surprising sources sometimes. There is a restaurant near my apartment that looks to have some tasty food. I believe they specialize in Philly cheesesteaks. I would think more highly of them if not for a sign posted in the window. The sign pleads with patrons to keep the door shut on account of the air conditioning being on.

Drink Up

I recently drank what I, perhaps naively, perceived to be a rather singular beverage. You will perhaps recall that I wrote of the pleasant but maddening smell of pizza coming from an establishment out at the nearest major intersection to my home. I never had been there, but passed by it many times on my way to other places. I was always struck by the strangely upscale nature of its clientele, and always enjoyed glancing at them as I passed. I didn't envision eating their myself of my own volition.

I now have patronized the place, though still not because it was my idea. In truth, I did not order or pay for any food myself, though I did finish off that of a friend. Still I would have to report favorably on the place. As is my wont, I will not name it for lack of any monetary incentive to do so. I will however describe it. They are one of those places that have small, inordinately expensive gourmet pizzas, but I was baffled by the availability of a forty ounce beer bottle more commonly associated with downscale liquor stores.

Sea Rating

At the risk of reaching too far back into the past for a subject of interest, I want to tell you about a notable seafood restaurant I came across a number of months back while in Sarasota, Florida for a wedding. The beaches there are nice, and there are some absolutely lovely areas chock-full of charming shops and restaurants. Regrettably, I was unable to visit them all, though God knows we made the effort. Truly the place is worth a second visit, if only to get to one more restaurant I saw while we were driving around near the hotel.

It was called "Barnacle Bill's". That was enough for me right there, as that is the partial name of a rather crude and salty song of which I am fond (although there are tamer and more sophisticated versions). It's a fine song, and I was pleased to entertain the idea that its titular character had retired from his seafaring and romancing to the town of Sarasota to run a seafood restaurant. Unfortunately, the illusion is ruined somewhat by what I've heard about the bizarre disinclination of sailors to eat seafood. Why make life at sea any harder than it already is, fellas?

A Fair Wind From Italy

I've written before about pleasant smells coming from afar, and all the frustration which lies therein. Then it was about presumably homemade food whose odor drifted into the window of my home like the pies cooling on window sills in every Yogi Bear cartoon. This time there's a professional whose work invades my senses. I live a couple of streets down from a rather major intersection, and I spend some time each week either at shops right there or passing through to places that are near. Doing either is tough sometimes, and I have to blame the pit fire pizza place.

It all depends on the wind. When it's blowing north to northwest, there's no problem. I'm content with what I'm eating, and if I'm hungry, there's nothing to remind me of it or what I'd like to be eating. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, and this is good because I'm just not often at liberty to spend what it takes to eat as well as one does at a place such as I'm describing (at least it's not some four star steakhouse, because there might as well be a Bugatti dealership nearby as one of those).

Is There More?

I eat out somewhat less than the average person, who I understand dines at restaurants something like three times a week. Some weeks I approach or exceed that, but mainly do not. When I do eat out, I like to make sure that I will not be disappointed, so I stick to things I know and places I trust. When I travel, it's hard to do that considering my aversion to national chains. Well, the first place we wound up eating at while over in Sarasota was this Spanish place.

I could have named just a few things that are remotely Spanish. I know about tapas and Paella. The menu had empanadas and ropas viejas, at least the latter of which I knew to be Cuban but which apparently did come from Spain. Having had it, I thought I would do something else. The paella apparently took a while to cook, so I looked to a chicken and pasta dish that seemed sure to satisfy. I nibbled on bread and drank iced tea while waiting and chatting with long-unseen relatives and new friends.

Inhospitality

I guess I'm sensitive when it comes to restaurants, probably because I don't have so much disposable income to lavish on such luxuries. I don't know if that makes me more demanding than a fatcat who regularly eats at top-rated eateries in the Michelin guide, but I don't think so. I do know that I'm more susceptible to getting angry at a restaurant than most of my friends. I take after my mother that way. For that reason, I try to stick to places where one cannot expect much at all; namely I mean your typical fast food places, albeit the more reputable ones.

After improv class, we always go to a frozen yogurt place. After demeaning ourselves in scene after scene for laughs, we generally feel we've earned it. The yogurt place, about which I've written in the past, is cheap and reliable. Their habit of throwing open the side door late at night during the dead of winter aside, they're pretty good to us, and I can't complain. A pizza and panini-type place we recently went to as a change of pace however, easily can be complained about.

Restaurant Rant

I am probably not the world's biggest fan of sit-down restaurants. That may reflect lingering traces of my formerly dominant antisocial tendencies. I don't like settling the bill, and I don't like placing my order or assuring my server that I'm "still working on that" and that they need not "get that out of my way". Honestly, I find it to be the case fairly seldom that the increased price over a 'fast food' restaurant ensures that I receive a meal of a distinctly greater caliber. Mark Twain is reputed to have said of a restaurant that the food was terrible and the portions too small. The contradiction he relates would be humorous to me if I didn't find it to be the case nearly everywhere I seem to go. Of course, were I the cook and the kitchen my own, I could hardly hope to surpass even the low bar established, but must I relent in my criticism on that account?

Astoundingly difficult for even professional cooks is none other than the incredible edible egg. I do not trust myself to cook it in any other style than scrambled, and I am rapidly losing faith in the ability of restaurants to do any better. I'll certainly concede that when I order hard-boiled eggs at a Denny's, that's really my own fault. I think I do not deserve a substandard breakfast when I order my eggs poached at a restaurant of much greater reputation, and this has happened. Am I to be blamed for taking it poorly when eggs over easy go awry? There's just so much a man can take. Interestingly, I've never really been disappointed by omelettes or the like. Perhaps I must grant the restauranteur the allowance of disguising the eggs which vex him so with bacon, cheese, peppers and onions.