New York City

Abigail and I spent the day yesterday in New York City. Drove to Princeton Junction and took the train to Penn Station [33rd/8th Ave]. The weather was perfect for a walk up 5th Avenue to Rockefeller Center past the ice rink. We continued to the southern entrance of Central Park then reversed towards brunch.

"Bar Americain" by don't fence me in

Bar Americain [52nd/6-7th Ave] is Bobby Flay's restaurant, and despite some online reviewers grumbling about celebrity chef eateries I was excited to check it out. We were seated immediately in a mostly full dining room situated at street level. The first course was a trio of cold seafood cocktails including shrimp with cilantro-lime-purée!, lobster with avocado, and crab with mango and coconut. There was too much black pepper on the crab cocktail, otherwise everything was delicious.

Next came an order of frites with chipotle mayo and a couple of cocktails. Abigail had a Pimm's #1 with fresh lemonade and cucumber, I had a bloody mary. Both were as delicious as they were small and overpriced. I moved on to an Arcadia Rye Pale Ale (Battle Creek, MI) for the next course: poached eggs with charred tasso ham and spicy hollandaise. Top eggs benedict, and the potent sauce paired well with the crisp hoppy beer. Pocketed a mini-baguette and a few boxes of matches as we exited for the MoMA [53rd/5-6th Ave] to be inundated with the nihilistic screams of the contemporary art scene, an extensive abstract expressionism review, and a glance through the 20th-century ward.

After being ushered out of the museum we walked back to Penn Station, checked on the next Northeast Corridor train and popped across the street to Tir Na Nog for a Guinness before the return trip.


"Creativity and Imagination Shall be the Stability of Thy Time"
The LEGO Store appropriation of this, above the gate to 30 Rock

October

coffee goes cold fast
empty cove, tide is lower
the fish have gone south

Portable Peaks

After spending another glorious long weekend on Peaks Island, a question emerges and remains. How to emanate whenceward the way-of-living that comes so easily there? Can the good aesthetic, social, and ecological vibes of the island be transmitted?

Photo: DTVD

Aesthetic: This is art and craft. It is an aesthetic of place, not contrived and kitschy but homegrown and authentic. It is on display in the gardens and front porches; the look of wholeness and unity.

Social: Being on a small island promotes a spirit of community. We wave to every car and pedestrian, and they wave back. Generations who return and return are bound by their mutual appreciation of what they've shared.

Ecological: The proximity to nature and the inherent awareness of island ecosystem drives a strong sense of eco-logic. The tide rises, waves crash, fog rolls, rain falls. Creation is eminent, it demands awe and responsibility.

The clues are there. Locality. Community. Place. Apprectiation. It is easy to forget about these things amongst the daily drudgery of congested roadways, monolithic megamarts, a sea of "development" that drowns ideas of vigor and beauty from our lives. In the face of a daunting challenge, small tacks in the right direction are victories. I'm starting by waving to neighbors from the car.

Away from the things of man

I was happily introduced to this little gem while spending the weekend with some fine folks in Ohio. So much style and meta-thematics in this existential goofball of a movie, I thoroughly enjoyed it. The first film pairing Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan (who plays three characters). Abe Vigoda and Nathan Lane cameo as south-pacific islanders. Nice.

The beach!

First beach weekend of the summer, May 14-16. Assateague Island, Maryland.

Seattle, Ellensburg, Yakima

Click image to view slideshow.

San Francisco

Following my stay in Escondido I flew up to San Francisco for a couple days, nearly getting stuck in the San Diego airport because of bad weather. California was experiencing its storm of the decade precisely as I was experiencing California for the first time (poop). Fortunately, the weather provided a window for getting to San Francisco, which provided plenty of cool stuff to do that wasn't dampened by the constant rain.

Coincidentally, my dad was in the city the same dates as myself traveling on business, and I was able to crash in his hotel room for three nights. This was a huge coup for my budget and level of comfort (Hilton). The first night in town we took the courtesy shuttle back to the airport in order to access the Bay Area Rapid Transit system (BART). The train took us into the city, where we met my dad's old friend, Berkeley resident and rock aficionado Andy. He had a bead on a rare show by local favorite Steve Morse at a venue called Slim's.



The gig was sponsored by Guitar Player Magazine, a publication that has repeatedly named Mr. Morse best overall guitarist. We bought tickets and grabbed some food and beers at a nearby, nearly empty, establishment. Arrived at Slim's a little late, as the opener was finishing, but were remarkably able to get seats near the front to the left side of the stage. It was a brilliant spot to see the show, as the guitar pedals were located right in front of us. The performance was amazing, I had for some reason expected a strummy acoustic set - quite the rocking opposite. Certainly one of the highlights of the entire trip.



The BART brought me back into the heart of San Francisco the next day, my destination the Museum of Modern Art. I enjoyed a streetside falafel wrap for breakfast en route. SFMoMA was hosting a seventy-five year anniversary exhibit, essentially a greatest hits narrative of the museum's history. It was a great tour, and I spent plenty of time viewing the offerings on other floors - not eager to return to the rain. After dawdling in the giftshop it was time for lunch. I hooded up and explored some side streets, stumbling upon Thirsty Bear Brewing. They served Spanish tapas alongside organic beers brewed onsite. The atmosphere and lunch menu were impressive, but I found most of the sampler beers to be yeasty (think Blue Moon, which I can't stand). I settled on the nitrogen stout, which came out drafted poorly with about two inches of head. Meh. I was pretty soaked after walking around a bit more after lunch, and hopped the train back to the hotel in the late afternoon.



The next day we switched hotels in the morning, moving from the airport Hilton to one located near Union Square in the city. My dad brought me to a fine Italian restaurant around the corner from the hotel called Kuleto's. They featured house-cured meats, and a scrumptious lunch menu including a fixed-price three course option. I chose linguine with clams and a bowl of dynamite minestrone, my dad had the taster lunch centered around a braised shortrib cannelloni and mushroom dish. We split a half-bottle of Napa Valley Syrah that had aged to an inky density. The whole meal was superb.



The final highlight of the trip took place that evening. I was able to meet up with Rob, an old friend from college who has lived in San Francisco for years, and who I hadn't seen in as long. He knew the good local spots, and we enjoyed catching up over some sinus-clearing Indian food. I had a very early flight the next morning, but we were able to get in a round of brews at an awesome little bar called The Black Horse London Pub. This was as literally a hole-in-the-wall as I have ever seen, seating/standing maybe ten people maximum. Bottled beers were served out of an ice-filled porcelain bathtub which also toted a keg of cask-conditioned IPA from a local brewer. Top notch, thanks Rob.

Escondido

January 17, I sputtered into San Diego from LAX on a United Express plane. That had propellors. A day ahead of the vicious storm that was about to thrash the west coast, the turbo-prop proved a delightful way to see the city as we looped into a landing at San Diego's tiny airport. My college roommate Tyson picked me up there, and we spent the afternoon in a gas-lamp district brewpub drinking pale ales and watching the Chargers fizzle to the Jets (this NFL playoff game was taking place a few miles away). We grabbed a hearty dinner of In-N-Out burgers along the twenty-minute stretch of superhighway between San Diego and Escondido.



The following morning a couple of Tyson's buddies, Brandon and Mike, converged at the house with a pile of guns, ammunition, and clay pigeons. We were bound for the county line, across a mountain range and into the desert. This trek proved somewhat daunting to the overloaded Hyundai station wagon, especially in the monsoon downpour we encountered on the return trip. Zig-zagging around chassis-hungry rocks in the desert was a different challenge. We safely reached the shooting area and went to work. Four hundred rounds of twelve-gauge shells were spaced out with fits of .22 fire from an assortment of arms. I had never fired a shotgun previously, and was pleased to have dusted the occasional clay pigeon. And the hundred mule-kicks to the right shoulder inflicted less of a tole than I initially thought. When the shells were spent we collected all the casings and set off into the teeth of the storm that was waiting in the mountains. Fun day.



That evening Tyson and I made our way to Stone Brewery, located in Escondido and heralded as one of the nation's best. I'd had Stone's entry-level IPA on a previous occasion, and thought it was indeed tops. Of course, it was no comparison to the delicious freshness of drafts poured a few yards from the brewing floor. Their "Arrogant Bastard Ale" boasts a rich amber color, strong citrusy hops, and is immensely drinkable irrespective of its high alcohol content (7.2%). The other beers, including the IPA pictured below, were equally fresh and tasty, and the restaurant fare was more on par with the beer than Dogfish Head's distasteful offerings.



I spent the next day weathering the storm, reading The Omnivore's Dilemma in a hillside house that, judging by the shrieks of wind through the single-paned windows, was not accustomed to such meteorological abuse. The squall passed in waves, but did subside completely around the time that I was booking travel arrangements to follow it up the coast the next day. Some friends converged later that night at a local dive for the weekly ritual of "Two-Dollar-Tuesdays" (bargain drafts accompanied by relatively tolerable karaoke). Bulging carne asada burritos from a drive-thru taquería sealed the festivities, and capped a lovely time in Escondido. Thanks to everyone!

Tyson, Jen, Rachel, and me laughing in the face of indigestion.

Las Vegas

I booked two nights in the Riviera on the morning of January 15th, arriving at the north end of the strip later that evening. The room was nice, and cheap, enough, but the casino and immediate surroundings were bleak. The first night in town I wandered in the direction of the closest nice hotels in search of food. At around 11:30PM I landed at the Encore, sister to the Wynn, in a casino-side eatery called Society. The quality and price of the food and wine registered fine with the lavish setting. I had a delectable salmon dish served with a quinoa cake and fennel/orange salad, in the process polishing off a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. I traipsed back to my room, content to forgo any wagering until the next day.



Jet-lagged, I woke up early on Saturday and set off again southward down Las Vegas Boulevard. My destination this morning was the Mirage, home to a bountiful poker room and certainly one of the strip's keystone casinos. En route I picked up a bottle of Pellegrino ($1.99), a coffee and a croissant for breakfast. I was a little surprised, even at 10:00 in the morning, to find only two games in action - $1/2 No Limit and $3/6 Limit Hold'em, the basement of Las Vegas poker. I registered and paid my $80 buy-in for the 11:00AM daily tournament and sat down with a rack of $1 chips to kill some time in the Limit game.

When the tourney started I colored up what remained of my stack, stuffed the $25 and $5 chips in my pocket, and sat down to a couple hours of good action. I didn't make the money, but I did enjoy a few rounds of drinks and plenty of poker. I lost most of my chips after gutting out a call of a huge over-size bet at a flop of JT9. I held two aces, and had re-raised an early position raiser pre-flop, receiving a call. My opponent shoved for twice the size of the pot without much deliberation after the flop came down, and I was vexed for a moment before opting to call. He held AQ, and needed a K or an 8 to make a straight. The King rolled off immediately, and the rest of my tournament was spent scratching around for a good spot with a short stack.

After finally busting I was ready for lunch. Stepped outside and continued down the strip, magically drawn into the Bellagio by escalators and walkways. I skirted the casino perimeter, noticing a number of nice looking eateries - none of which were open yet. Ended up in a far corner of the first floor, where the entrance to the hotel art gallery stands. I was more interested in food than paintings at that moment, and the $15 entry fee dissuaded me to turn back toward the casino. I was "hungry-walking" and brisked past a familiar looking gentleman headed in the same direction. I kept my pace and advanced fifty feet before holding up at a hotel phone station. Uncharacteristically, Sammy Farha's signature cigarette was smoldering, as was the notably taller woman who accompanied him. They walked right up, as if to greet me. Before he could reach for the phone I gave a sly grin and groveled for a quick autograph, to which Sammy replied, "Sure thing, buddy," scrawling a hasty S Farha across a sheet of Bellagio stationary. I thanked him and split as he grabbed the phone, presumably to call the poker room.

I ended up at Planet Hollywood, eating at the bar of a crowded P.F. Chang's. After a greasy, yet relatively cheap and edible lunch, I sat in a $1/2 NL game for about an hour, doubling my initial $100 input. This was a must-win situation, because my debit card only allowed a $400 stake for the day, two-thirds of which would have been gone had I lost that buy-in. Now all I had to do was double-up what remained of my chips from the Mirage and I'd be profitable (at gambling) for the day. It took one hand of blackjack to accomplish that before my return to the Riviera. I was ready to skip the long cashier line I passed on my path back into the Mirage card pits, and plunked the whole $50 down, with a couple of $1 chips leftover as souvenirs. Stood on a 17 against a dealer 5, 6, 4, 8 - bust. Blackjack is easy. Tipped a buck and was happy to wait in line to cash out for a big bill. To the room for a nap.



For dinner it was off to the Wynn, where I found the Daniel Boulud Brasserie and sat looking out at "The Lake of Dreams" in the hotel's courtyard (featuring a giant animatronic lip-synching frog amongst a rotation of oddities). I ordered a bottle of Pellegrino ($8), a half-bottle of Calera Pinot Noir, and Duck Confit with lentils and foie gras. The entrée also featured a tuft of fennel and orange salad and a purée that I thought may have been lentils and foie gras combined. Needless to say, the meal was superb. The service was as sharp as anywhere I've eaten, the sommelier attended to my wine glass with zeal, and the food was positively delicious. I don't relish paying so much to eat so well, but Vegas has a way of dissolving one's sense of proportion when it comes to cash.

I decided to recoup a bit by gathering some free drinks at the Wynn's poker room, and maybe even some chips. I sat in a $1/3 NL game and fluctuated for a couple of hours, eventually breaking dead even after an embarrassingly karmic reversal of the big hand I played earlier. This time I made the straight on the turn with AQ to double up through the guy holding AA. I'd had my fun, was not a favorite in the game, and had a flight out of town at noon the next day, so I called it a night after a few more hands - pleased to be the fish lucky enough to break even.

Westward

Planning a bit of a circuit for the end of January. Things have been kinda slow at work, and rather than burn all my vacation days in the first month of the year (like Pam from The Office), I'm taking a couple weeks off as unpaid leave. Philadelphia to Las Vegas to San Diego to Lake Tahoe to San Francisco, and back.


Sign in Las Vegas, originally uploaded by amyscoop.


San Diego Bridge, originally uploaded by rqerita.


South Lake Tahoe, originally uploaded by Februum.


the road to nowhere, originally uploaded by Rob Van Harken.

New Year's Eve

This soup was delicious. Perfect for recovering after flying out to Grand Rapids on December 31st. Happy New Year, Twenty-Ten!

tofu, ginger, vermicelli, cabbage, chicken stock, collard greens, bacon

Feats don't fail me now

Don't the sunrise look so pretty?
Never such a sight,
Like rolling into New York City
with the skyline in the morning light.

Wrapped up

photo: nate v.

Crunchy cold

It's like the Amazon out there. 87º in Wilmington, sticky humidity feels like 97º. Time for a five-second break, off to the frosty mountains of northern Italy.

video by dvd

Peaks is.

I neglected to bring the camera along for the trip to Peaks Island.....this is the only photo, taken with my phone crossing the bridge on the way out of Maine.

In less than a thousand words, picture: patches of sun through rolling fog, lobsters on the rocks, abundant food and wine, beach bonfire blazing at sunset, Spar Cove basking, portable iPod speakers blasting, sushi for seven at Benkay, Wilco exploding the Maine State Pier - "The Late Greats" encore - dancing on the top deck as the ferry pulls away from the crowd, catching lunch(ish), cocktails and hors d'œuvres with neighbors, quick swim before departure. Four-day weekend.

The ticket

Discovered my Wilco ticket behind the storm door at the front entrance to the house yesterday. It was sitting there for a week, glad to finally have it in hand. On the horizon:

DEUTSCHE BANK CHAMPIONSHIP
Labor Day weekend, 2009. Heading up to Boston again to catch some playoff golf, third sequential year. Ticket's in the mail, jawohl!

AP Photo/Mary Schwalm

MUTEMATH FALL TOUR
The band is still together and will be touring to promote their overdue followup album, Armistice. They released an EP a few months ago with different versions of the single "Spotlight." Hoping the bulk of the new album is closer in spirit to the SON LUX remix than the standard issue (which shows up in the Twilight soundtrack). Regardless, I will be attending a concert; MuteMath is a must-see live performance.

Metropolitan Museum

click here to view full slideshow.

Big steps

Had another marvelous weekend in Grand Rapids. Weather was beautiful, got in thirty-six holes of golf, played some good poker at Soaring Eagle, observed sister's college graduation, ate well, travelled easy. ConGRaDulations LVD.

At San Chez tapas restaurant on Fulton Street. A fine, if not over-indulgent, meal. Here's shots of a few courses:

Heirloom tomato salad with goat cheese.

Stuffed poblano pepper with raspberry salsa. I want to eat this every day.

Ginger tuna.