The Rake Magazine

Month: November 2006

  • NYC Eatathon

    hotdog.bmp
    the first order of business in nyc…

    I’m headed to New York this weekend for the marathon. No, not running, cheerleading. One of my Girls and her future sister-in-law will be huffin’and puffin’ while I, and the rest of the gang, stuff our faces with lox and try to find them in the crowd.

    It’s been interesting trying to figure out our eating patterns. We have to consider the size of our group (eight), the times we want to eat, the pre-marathon food, carbo/protein intake, and the fact that I need to eat at places that are worth the ticket and hotel cost.

    Dinner Friday is at Telepan, the new Upper West Side joint by Bill Telepan who used to cook at the JUdson Grille. His menu is simple but fresh and has a very reasonably priced tasting menu.

    Saturday is the harder day. I wanted to go “no reservations” at a couple of tapas bars: Boqueria or Tia Pol. But since it’s pre-race, I think the runners might want to eat early and turn in early, so I booked a couple of tables at the brand-spanking-new Cafe Cluny (much chit-chat in the food world about this one…). If the rest of us get hungry later, we’ll head to Momofuku Ssam Bar where they put out an innovative tasting menu after 10:30pm.

    Sunday morning, I think we’ll drop the runners off and breakfast at Balthazar with good strong coffee, good strong bread, and maybe a soft-boiled egg? After the run, I know the Girls will be craving a wide slice of which ever pizza is closest (I probably should indulge for the sake of commaraderie). Dinner will be at Morimoto in celebration of sake and sushi and girls who will be barely able to walk in heels.

  • Survivor

    wasteland.jpg

    I’m the guy who walked out of the building and the building fell down.

    That’s certainly the sort of experience that’s going to stay with you, but I sure as hell never thought it would come to define me to such an extent.

    A close call like that is all it takes anymore to make a man a celebrity in America. I guess it bothers me, though, to think that might be it for me, that an accident, an utter fluke, might represent …what? My legacy? My entire life boiled down to one terrible moment?

    Because in that instant I became a career survivor, the most hapless sort of success story, a kind of superstar of random fate, almost, you’d think, a hero.

    You’ve probably see the video footage, the tape that was replayed thousands of times on the television news, a tape that was itself an accident, shot by a German tourist who was panning the square outside the building. It was purely happenstance. They had to blow the sequence up, of course, but there I unmistakably am, purportedly the last person to make it out of the building alive.

    I’ve just exited the revolving door in the west lobby, my briefcase dangling from one hand and the other arm swinging free of the entrance. I take three steps into the square and then duck instinctively, covering the back of my head with my right hand. And then, almost as if fleeing a crime in which I had some complicity or foreknowledge, I run, ambling like a drunk right into the inescapable arms of what now passes for history.

  • Last Chance

    I’ve been remiss: there are two fascinating films in town, and tonight’s your last chance to one of them. Unfortunately, I can’t speak to Death of a President, as I’m going to tonight’s 7:15 show, but I’ll weigh in on it tomorrow–it’s around for another week.

    So I’m hoping, gentle readers, that you go instead to a film that I believe will someday be a B-movie classic, in line with many of the great 50s noirs: 13 Tzameti. There is one showing, at 9:00 tonight, at the Lagoon. Tzameti is a movie of surprising power and tension, well acted (not a requirement in a B-movie), and a treatise for beginning filmmakers on exactly how to make a movie on the cheap. Focus on your characters, on your plot, keep your actors engaged, and can the fancy stuff until you get your hands on a real budget. I’m already dreaming of the day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, when I’m walking the midnight streets of some forlorn city, Detroit or L.A. or New York, and I come across this little flick at some run down theater in a bad part of town. If all went well it would be raining afterward, and I’d spend the next few hours in an overlit coffee shop, watching the nightowls and thinking of poor Sebastien and his fate.

    Since this may never happen, you owe it to yourself to stay up late this evening with 13 Tzameti.

  • Putumayo's Acoustic Africa: The All-Stars

    Now, there’s a show I wish I had the ticket to see ‘n hear! Love the sound of an acoustic guitar… Love Habib Koite.

    But I’m actually going to see Death of a President tonight… Finally. And because I’ve already written plenty about that flick, I figured I’d just put tonight’s happening-est music event front ‘n center. I find I’m a bit behind on my moviegoing as of late, in any case. And so I’m trying to pour energy there. I just got around to seeing Marie Antoinette for heaven’s sake! And I’m afraid I had to give that my thumbs down. Way down. This was about the most amateurish piece of art I’ve ever seen–from Dunst’s premature gazing into the camera, well before we felt any sort of empathy for the character (if we ever felt it at all), to the Chuck Taylors tucked amidst the queen’s stash. Having loved Sophia Coppola’s other films, The Virgin Suicides and Lost In Translation, I’ve been taking mental inventory ever since. Was I seduced by a pretty girl who trails off her sentences? Pretty clothes? (Wouldn’t be the first time.)

  • Meat and Fish

    untitled.bmp

    Sausage

    Sausage Sisters! I know how you love them at the Mpls Farmers Market, with their cute little hats and funky sausage treats. Well, now that the market is over you can still get your sistah fix. First of all, they’re having a Sausage Garage Sale (which sounds kinda funkish, but they are professionals) on November 4th from 11am-2pm at Sister Cherie’s house in Bryn Mawr (229 Upton Ave S, 612-986-7298). Secondly, they deliver in the metro and as far a-field as Buffalo, for cryin’ in the barn! And lastly, don’t forget to check out their gift boxes…I’m thinking the Poppa Joe Breakfast Box (sausages, Sturdiwheat pancake mix, pure maple syrup for under $30) ia an appropriate delivery for Christmas morning.

    Fish

    Apparently, eating fish isn’t the only way to make you smarter. Through The Oceanaire Seafood Room’s website, you can learn about different species of fish, what their flavor profiles are like and where in the world they swim. Bigger bonus, the checkmarks on the menu page are updated to reflect the fresh fish that are actually in the restaurant. So if you are a Coho Salmon lover or, like me, often dream of Opah you can check the page and head on down. I hope they soon do the same for oysters (mmmmmm…Malpeque).

  • Twang we can all get behind

    Easy! Go check out the westerly soulful Hacienda Brothers at the Calhoun Square Famous Dave’s.

  • Vote for the Anti-Anti-Christ


    “It’s worth being the Anti-Christ if I get to wear this great hat.”

    In a hilarious bout of turn around is fair play, it seems that some Christians (if you count Roman Catholics as Christians–some don’t, you know) are upset that Michele Bachmann’s sect of the Lutheran Church regards the Pope as the Anti-Christ. Here are the exact words: “We identify the Antichrist as the Papacy. This is an historical judgment based on Scripture.” While you’re on the WELS site, be sure to read their take on Halloween, too.)

    Of course, Michele’s “people” reject that interpretation. I think their position goes something like, “Any Catholic who votes for my particular form of religious bigotry can be saved, just like me.”

    She may not phrase it exactly that way, though.