tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43875920372708365742024-03-19T02:52:32.631-07:00New Haven Eats ItWe are a new force using old forks. We hold New Haven cuisine over a fire in our weekly reviews. <br>
New Haven Eats It cuts lines, butterflies it, butcher twines it, wines it, and dines it. <br>
<br>Feel free to contact us: newhaveneatsit AT gmail.com<br>
<br>You only eat once, why not blog about it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-19568507414340204152010-10-26T19:29:00.000-07:002010-11-02T11:43:02.693-07:00It Takes Two to Taco: Partner'sHans and Mendez woke and found themselves to be victim to a vicious prank. Someone posing as Hans and Mendez on their favorite Linda McMahon fan page posted a public appearance of Hans and Mendez promoting vodka at Partner's, New Haven premier gay bar. In outrage, Mendez snapped his ipad mini in half. "Now's not the time for vodka; its hot toddy season!"<br /><div><br /></div><div>Like many bar-goers in New Haven, Hans and Mendez had never stepped foot into Partners on Crown Street, which is arguably the most talked about, but least visited bar in New Haven. Their reasoning is not out of homophobia, but simply out of optimism. Sitting around with a bunch of dudes on week nights is to be expected, not anticipated. </div><div><br /></div><div>Word reached Hans that this night Partners was hosting a Taco Party where free tacos were to be handed out and and several guest dj's would be performing. Before the words, ''cover free," reached the bloggers' ears, they had already changed into their dancing slacks, boogie shoes, and matching, "this is NOT a spin-free-zone" t-shirts. Mendez thought about wearing his leather pants, pinched his blogger belly and thought otherwise. Hans, who after several meat loaf specials from the Anchor (for research purposes only) just barely made it into his "Officially worn by Jim Morrison and that guy from INXS," leather trousers, but just as soon as he buckled the last strap, realized that leather night is on Tuesday. Not wanting to look ridiculous, he shimmied out of the pants. Readers rejoice: the rash has gone away. Outfits in order, wallets emptied of cash and the hair grease settled, the only thing that the bloggers forgot to bring were note pads and pens.<br /><br />The Taco Party was held on the second floor of Partner's as if to keep the young men in girls pants out of the view of older men. There was a line for taco's and the bloggers sampled the two offerings of black bean and an indescribable meat. The young lady serving the taco's denied them being a home recipe and was perplexed as to their origin. She served them gracefully to the throngs of hungry people who milled about.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Their lack of writing equipment, which to a food bloggers is as crucial to his craft as a fork and knife (perhaps even more so since a pen can be used for an eating utensil in a pinch), left Hans and Mendez at a severe disadvantage. "The tacos taste like hot dogs," Mendez said, reaching in his pocket for a pad and pen. "Pardon my French, but lightly salted roasted nuts, I forgot my pen in my <i>other</i> (leather) pants! I will never remember the finer points of this salsa cruda!"<br /><br />In a tizzy Mendez's left foot started to shake. Hans immediately spotted the nervous tick, he had seen it many times before. It came out during Mendez's first attempt at the blogger bar exam, when McDonald's changed four nuggets and fries from the number seven to the number three. The source of this condition can be dated back to when he and Hans had snuck into the "girls only" portion of "the talk" they received during a junior high gym class. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm really n-n-n-nervous," he said. The twitch moved from his foot to his knee, his knee to his buttocks. Get me out of here!" Hans took Mendez by the waist and lead him past chatting people to a quiet area. Then the lights dimmed and D.J. had started to perform. A video artist in the corner flicked to life a projector. The images pulsated. Disorientated by the the flashing projector and the taco crumbs on his glasses, Hans realized he accidentally lead Mendez to the dance floor. Mendez opened his eyes, which were closed to prevent nausea brought upon by what looked like girls from his graduating high school class. "They're just hipsters," Hans said rubbing Mendez's back which began to convulse. "They might <i>look</i> the same, but they aren't."</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, she cut me in the lunch line, and that one, she tore apart my essay on duck sauce." He soon fell to the ground, his entire body twitching in a syncopated 4/4 time.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey, that guys doing to monkey-fish!" a man (?) shouted from the sidelines. </div><div><br /></div><div>"No, its the New-York-Frankenstein-Gorilla!" The speaker was quickly and loudly corrected by their partner that the the dance was called the New-York-Frankenstein-Gorilla" named so due to the tenacity of...</div><div><br /></div><div>As Mendez "danced" Hans found opportunity to sample more tacos. "I can see where he's getting the hot dog flavor from," Hans thought to himself. "If only I had a pen. I could write in blood, but I remember the last time that happened... a bar napkin..." He soon found himself leaving his friend and fellow blogger Mendez on the dance floor, who had become some what of a demi-god/ court jester. He walked done the stairs from the dance/ taco party to the main room of Partners itself. The decor is bland and beat up. Nothing flashy, nothing "fabulous", or "fierce". The euro-synth beat and "Absolute-Pride" advertisements were the only factors which differentiated the barroom from any other dive in which men congregate. That and the dull colored paintings of men stroking their erections.<br /><br />Hans returned to see Mendez in full glory. The guest dj of the Taco Party, Ian Svenoius spun 45's of some real happening garage pop and soul music. Unfortunately the bloggers were unable to prevent the inevitable. While Hans was gone and Mendez, fueled by a fever and somewhat in a trance muttering "You're my miss Washington D.C" to anyone who listened, was taken advantage of. Someone had inadvertently given Mendez a vodka bottle to hold onto and pictures were taken. Foiled twice. The bloggers don't know who took them but any information you loyal readers can give is welcomed.<br /><br />The Taco Party hosted by Taco Zone was a great success in the blogger's eyes. Although, as typical of many functions in their beloved New Haven, Hans and Mendez do not see why their contemporaries don't dance. Some people are just prone to bringing a knife to a gun fight. The bloggers sympathize with you, young hearts, just remember: Be free tonight.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kAO4EVMlpwM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kAO4EVMlpwM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-61468781345402704192010-10-18T16:55:00.000-07:002010-10-22T20:03:05.350-07:00Behold! The Anchor RestaurantIf a bar napkin could be worthy of sympathy, this napkin in particular: saturated and mangled, would be a candidate for warm words and long hugs. Mendez rested his first, second, third and last Old Fashioned on this napkin, which like Mendez became more and more saturated with Bourbon as the night went on. Hans glanced at him. "Stop staring, for crying out loud, blink," He snapped, but it was no use.<br /><br /><div></div><div>The Mermaid Room, our beloved Anchor's weekend basement dry bar, is a great place to enjoy a cocktail responsibly or otherwise. The cocktail of choice that evening was a forgotten "old peoples" drink, mixed perfectly by the Mermaid Rooms bartender/ manager/ disc-jockey/ and creative director Ben Zemke. Most recently known as the manager of the late great Blue Peal, he brings with him the je ne sais quoi and mighty cocktails which have built his reputation. Hans and Mendez predict and are in serious anticipation for a Mermaid Room cocktail list to be drafted, but as of now this is only speculation and desire of the sincerest design. The Old Fashioned was both smooth and spicy from the angostura bitters, potent from the hundred proof Old Granddad bourbon, with just the right amount of carbonation to lighten the load of this very flavorful libation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Friends, countrymen, barflies- while we wish to praise the magical hands of Ben Zemke (found Friday and Saturday nights!) we've come to praise the Anchor as a whole. Heck, Eric who works upstairs can serve a mean cocktail as well. We like to think of the Mermaid Room as like a woman's hand; soft and lovely, but nothing without the rest of the body which it belongs too. The woman's beauty, of course, making the hand so desirable. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Anchor's strange charm is hard to rival in New Haven. The booths are beaten, the jukebox barely functional, and the bathrooms are handicap inaccessible. For the bloggers it is their home away from cave. The food hits the spot, and is more delicious as the night rages on.</div><div><br />The Anchor is where the blogger's celebrated all sorts of great occasions: 21st birthdays, brisses, Groundhog's Day, etc. For others of the public, it is a place to celebrate living. Any point of the day, at least before 7, single men line the bar calling for shots watching talk shows. At night the same men watch baseball playoffs. During the afternoon God's gift to men, Janet, serves and entertains with her sailor's mouth. The bloggers are fans of both her humor and enthusiasm for Jameson shots.<br /><br />The Anchor's kitchen is open until midnight. The food is typical bar fare and averages around nine dollars. There are club sandwiches and other deep fried specialties. The exception is their meatloaf plate. As named on the menu it is, "The Best Meatloaf." We agree. Lean and served with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli, it is the kind of homemade meal that can make a dreary Monday feel like the best day ever, or a boozy night waiting on a friend feel like Christmas. Disco fries can also be ordered for the adventurous or natives of New Jersey and Canada. <br /><br />Hans and Mendez may even go so far as to say The Anchor is the most New Haven of bars. Yalie and Southern student, church organist and motorcyclist, Yankees fan and Red Sox enthusiast sit side by side. We can only hope that you enjoy the Anchor as much as we have over the years. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/video/x2b1hf?additionalInfos=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/video/x2b1hf?additionalInfos=0" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="480" height="360"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2b1hf_village-people-in-the-navy-version_music"></a></b><i><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/us/channel/music"><br /></a></i></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-75231106942013986082010-09-15T19:16:00.000-07:002010-10-17T16:48:05.410-07:00Use Your Illusion: FroYo World<div>New Haven has finally, after years of impatience, received their first pour your own frozen yogurt business. Froyo World is an expanding San Fransisco import who has chosen New Haven as their second home. Their business on High Street is riot gear popular. Since Froyo first opened its doors a little over a month ago it has seen nothing, but lines out the door and a packed store. Hans and Mendez visited Froyo World armed with a microphone and rubber bullets to ask an alarming question. Knowing what they know about the pandemonium spurring popularity of Froyo World it had to be asked: Is this the death of ice cream?<br /></div><br />Froyo's audience is for a select group of undergraduates. Our fellow patrons were too young to meet friends at bars. It seems as if Yale, er, New Haven imported Froyo to get the Freshmen Fifteen over in two weeks. We can't see undergraduates at Southern or Albertus traveling this far for Frozen Yogurt. Nor can Hans and Mendez see why a health conscious adult would venture into this business.<br /><div><br /></div><div>As we said, this is a West coast model. Like other frozen yogurt hubs in America there is a station set up for the yogurt. At Froyo world this section is labeled "Swirl It." There are three machines, with three spouts. This allows you to select either Dutch Chocolate and Vanilla Bean, or, combine the two. A roped off area leads one to the toppings, "Top It" and a station set up for paying. Oddly enough parting with your money is called "Indulge It."</div><br /><div>The toppings are everything you would want when walking on "High" Street. Cap'n Crunch, Oreo's, Gummy Bears, M & M's, and Kit Kats. The topping area is key to the Froyo experience. You will find after a few spoons, that the yogurt doesn't have much going for it in terms of flavor. The yogurt is pleasant and soothing, but for some reason needs a little more kick. Load on the Cap'n and make the taste happen.</div><br /><div>For 49 cents an ounce, Hans and Mendez were surprised how much they did spend. The cups can snuggly fit a softball. The three figure number they faced was a little much, and maybe not worth it. Our eyes being larger than our stomachs, a fluke resulting from stomach stapling, we caution future Froyo visitors to measure carefully.<br /><br /><div>We interviewed a young man who said that he was a Med student. He had visited Froyo World two dozen times since its grand opening in August, which he attended. What was it that kept him coming back? We tried the yogurt and it was as good as frozen yogurt gets. We went a little crazy at the toppings stand later learning that gummy bears and breakfast cereals don't mix. Or are we just so New England that our stomachs can only digest the most creamy and fulfilling of deserts: Ice Cream.<br /><br />Mendez: What's this white thing? Not the coconut.<br /><br />FroYo Med: Mochi<br /><br />Mendez:What's Mochi?<br /><br />FroYo Med: Its a Japanese starch thing, they use to, like it's a Japanese islander thing, I don't know. I discovered it through FroYo.<br /><br />Mendez: Is this the death of Ice Cream?<br /><br />FroYo Med: Its the death of the Liberry, over there.<br /><br />Mendez: Liberry seemed like it was on its way out. What does it have to offer to the people? Nothing.<br /><br />FroYo Med: Definitely not the death of ice cream though. I had some Ben and Jerry's Smores. I like that it has more fat. Ashley's not going anywhere.<br /><br />Mendez: Well, Ashely's is a New Haven institution.<br /></div><br /></div><div> </div>An hour or so later on Chapel Street, the bloated bloggers noticed a group of twenty students sprinting down the street. Much like deer, they were ignorant of traffic with their eager bounce. Hans jokingly suggested that the students were most likely trying to beat Froyo's hours. Mendez's eye lit up and he jogged to join the students. They did indeed fill the small store for a sweet snack before bedtime.<br /><div><br />New Haven Eats It is not a thumbs up, thumbs down type of publication. It is a melting of both fiction and nonfiction, reporting and shooting the bull. What is interesting about Froyo World isn't what Froyo World does, or the product they sell. Everything about screams prefabricated West Coast decoy. What is interesting about Froyo World is the reaction received from their specific target audience. We will not judge Froyo world, but we will watch it: Waiting either for its fall, or for its total domination.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/r-u0bU7mrtI?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/r-u0bU7mrtI?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><div> </div><br /><div><a href="http://www.froyoworld.com/">http://www.froyoworld.com</a></div><div><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-77633913630705232552010-09-04T05:38:00.000-07:002010-09-16T07:26:02.081-07:00Double Dare: Black Bear SaloonWe suffer for our art. Does that mean anything anymore? Jealous of the starving artist, we dined at Black Bear. What is Black Bear to New Haven? Is it a haven for UFC fans who feel marginalized by both cable providers and bars that ban the brawls from being broadcast? For those who can't accept being thirty, does it allows a Cinderella enchantment to feel fully alive again? On weekends Black Bear's function is to provide vodka and Redbulls to Quinnipiac, Yale, Southern and Albertus student alike, uniting all backgrounds of young twenty-somethings to celebrate hours of bacchanalian pleasure to the full degree. Black Bear is whatever you want it to be. On this day, to Hans and Mendez along with other hungry patrons, it was a place to dine.<br /><div><br /></div><div>As we arrived the sidewalk tables where being removed in preparation for Hurricane Earl. All we had seen of it were a few showers in the afternoon. For the last few days the Hot 93. 7 weather report called for "Revelations Light," as Hurricane Earl crawled up the coast. For a food blogger, the rising of the dead is just a minor inconvenience. Like for Godot, we all waited, but Earl never showed. As we entered the night entertainment started to introduce himself. Never seeing the guitar man whose repertoire included Third Eye Blind and The Violent Femmes, we could only make assumptions as to his physical appearance. He was probably in his early thirties, judging by his affinity for '90s music. Probably slightly chubby based on his inability to hit the high notes. All in all he is a working artist and we respect him for it. Envy him if at Black Bear he was starving...<br /><br />The bloggers looked at a gift certificate which was folded in Hans' pocket, a print out from Restuarants.com. Spend 35 dollars and 25 of these dollars are taken off. That's a 10 dollar dinner. Alcohol was not included. The bloggers looked over the menu. The menu lacks most basic food group but meat. They ordered chicken nugget Sliders and two burgers, the Bacon Bleu and Southwesterner. These items come to 28.97. With tax, 30.72. Why these items? The idea of a sandwich made out of a chicken nugget is straight from the "Things that Kept me up Late at Night when I was in Fifth Grade" playbook: While the burgers we ordered were simply by chance. Are thirteen different types of peanut butter in the grocery store really definitive of options? The nugget sliders were served with bacon and cheddar cheese. Heck, the side of tater tots seemed odd enough to work.<br /><br />The sliders came out soon after ordering. The bun was steamed and the chicken barely hatched. The cheddar melted on the bacon but not onto the chicken. It was tasty and had flavor, which we would soon find out is a rarity at Black Bear. If Black Bear dedicated more of their menu to cheap pub fare like this, we would see the popularity. The side of tater tots brought elementary school flashbacks to the blogger's mind.<br /><br />The burgers came out faster than one could say "Big Meech." If Prime 16's burger is heaven, Black Bear's is hell, with Tucker Max as your cell mate. This restaurant uses glue and newspaper fed cows for meat. Hans and Mendez thought their taste buds were broken but, no, Black Bear's burger lacks any taste. Swamp Thing must have cooked the French Fries. Deep fried food reaches a new low here. However, when a majority of America's population thinks their President is a Muslim, we can see how other patrons enjoyed this food.<br /><br /></div><div>While the food was disappointing, the service was great (Mendez's opinion). She was the kind of woman you would want to take home to meet your mother for Sunday dinner, provided she stayed out of the kitchen. The rest of the staff seemed listless despite the 90's nostalgia. Hans and Mendez asked for her opinion about the "yummiest" dessert. They were sold out of her favorite, some Reese's Pieces whosiewhatsit. They received the Double Chocolate Fudge Cake, still cool from the refrigerator. The dessert qualified the boys for the coupon. If you can find these magical coupons, do so before eating here.<br /><br />Now, you may be asking yourself, or talking to the computer screen. "C'mon Hans and Mendez, that's not the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">real</span> Black Bear. Black Bear is 'men's shirts, short skirts.'" It's young naive women and the meat heads who court them. We answer that one corner of the Bermuda Triangle is no different than the other. Hans and Mendez have seen night life and they have had proctologist exams. No need to mix the two together.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5UX2afsTqFI?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5UX2afsTqFI?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-18583897810794353232010-08-16T14:46:00.000-07:002010-09-01T11:59:30.756-07:00Waist Expandable: Prime 16<div>As promised in countless past posts, Hans and Mendez visited Prime 16, with the purpose not simply to publicly announce the glory of the five dollar "student burger" and half priced beer, nor to memorialize happy hour and a restaurant concept in tasteful word. This review had special meaning for the two bloggers: It was their last meal before seeing the opening of the new Sylvester Stallone flick "The Expendables."</div><div><br />Near the New Haven green, Prime 16 offers a great burger for a reasonable price. These aren't your average gray fast food meat discs. These are reliable and unique burgers worth many visits. Think of the juicy, Prime 16 "student burger" as the Jay Z of burgers, untouchable. From Tuesday to Friday a special is offered where a burger with fries is five dollars. The burger is served at a perfect medium, so tender and full of good intention. Prime runs the special from two-thirty, to four o' clock, providing midday refuel. If you are happy hour savvy you will arrive late, around 3:50, say. Order the 5 dollar burger and wait until it comes out around four. At four you order your half-priced happy hour beer. Their burger is good, but, with a great tasting beer of your choosing, the burger becomes mythological good.<br /><br />Prime 16's beer selection is vast in its scope of beer flavors; Strong Black Coffee porters to gag inducing blueberry ales with lilac flavored Pale Ales thrown in for good measure. None of these heralded beers are fit for Beer Pong, nor Jager bombing, which is not offered to help keep riff-raff out. Some beer taps are oblong plastic, some of solid stoic wood. One tap handles has a fishing rod, another encloses a globe. The staff crank these handles back and forth like factory workers keeping the Prime 16 machine, and two hungry bloggers alive.<br /><br />They do have a menu featuring lamb, buffalo skirt steak, and fish burgers. The vegetarian offerings are a tad sloppy and uneven, lacking a structural integrity to hold them together. The non burger options of salads and grilled cheese please anyone with burger allergies. Keep in mind when ordering their pizza or wings, that Prime does burgers specifically and they do burgers well. The pizza Hans and Mendez had (half priced during happy hour) is comparable to Drake; limp, whack, and all about image.<br /></div><br /><div>After their wake up meal, the bloggers tightened their American flag bandannas. It was time for the movie event of their lives. "The Expendables" is Stallone's sly critique of America's capitalistic exploitation of financially inferior nations . Who else can take down a preacher of Individualism but a collective of military trained communists? Stallone and Statham hold your attention with screen charisma similar to that of John Wayne and Montgomery Clift. Dare we further say that Stallone has the cinematic eye of John Ford? That Scorcese has a new rival in the soundtrack department? Hans and Mendez have their resumes ready, Mr. Stallone. Perhaps food reviewers are on a cruise ship and its taken over by Russian spies. Hans, Mendez and their friend, you, fight and discover their plot to steal a borscht recipe. We win in the end, of course, but not without learning a lesson: Shaken is better than stirred. </div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3CBv3KuNJ7s?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3CBv3KuNJ7s?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-60135759193485788422010-07-29T22:19:00.000-07:002010-08-03T19:41:38.620-07:00Exile on Orange StreetHans and Mendez started their Orange Street Promenade at Archie Moore's. It is mildly less corny than the Milford spot by the same name and ownership, but that isn't saying much. News Channel 8 consumed the largest television at Archie Moore's almost, for a second, rivaling attention from the wall to wall Coca Cola advertisements. Were these framed posters and tin signs bought in bulk for a discount? Were they found at an estate sale? The answer may never be known. A tiny Miller Light poster in the corner of the bar advertised Happy Hour specials. <div><br /></div><div>Wings were half-price and stated to be the best in Connecticut. They were good, great even (Mendez's opinion), but this post is not to proclaim who serves the best wings in town. Served with fresh blue cheese and celery Hans tried to bribe the cook for the recipe. He would surely make a few bucks off of it at the severely lacking Buffalo Wild Wings. Regulars lined the bar, letting the bloggers know that Archie Moore's means something to these people. For them this is a place to gather, where the grandfatherly bartender knows your drink and favorite baseball team. Archie Moore's serves a good happy hour, nothing more, nothing less. Half-priced wings and decently priced drinks are a virtue no matter where you go. <div><br />The bloggers declined more food and drink to return to the Orange Street Promenade, a geographical term coined here to describe gourmet grocers cum take out spots residing in the East Rock section of town. They passed Romeo and Caesar's two blocks from Archie's, but did not go in; heading instead to Nica's, a popular spot which has yet to be experienced. To describe Nica's in one word would be to write 'claustrophobic.' To describe it in two: 'very claustrophobic.'<br /><br />Three children in the small store seemed like an entire elementary school during recess. The shrieks for candy came at every direction like a fun house. When entering Mendez openly mocked a young woman for wearing headphones. There is no need to be polite when the person being offended cannot hear said remarks. He later realized that the noise reduction technique might be a means of survival for a single soul in this take out shopping jungle. Feeling awkward for milling about, for there was hardly space to move, Hans purchased a brownie. It was fudgy but most likely not baked at Nica's. The usage of M &M's lends to his skepticism. Like Romeo Caesar's, it too has outdoor seating and Italian-American favorites such as eggplant parmigiana and chicken cutlets. The bloggers have agreed to postpone any final judgments of Nica's being that the store was way to crowded to be fully enjoyed for a solid dinning experience, but with the tried and tested Romeo and Caesar's right next door, is there really necessity for a second opinion?<br /><br />Intrigued by the Romeo and Caesar's connection, they traveled down further to Cafe Romeo. Its a chic, modern looking building with lots of chrome and patio seating. One of the glass walls lifted up exposing the indoors to fresh air. The staff is dressed for the X Games tryouts, backward hat being part of the uniform. The clientele sides with Apple as Macbooks and I-phones were plentiful. Hans and Mendez felt out of place writing in crayon.<br /><br />Cafe Romeo menu offers sandwiches, salads and pizzas. On this day, or at least during July, pizzas were half price. The fennel sausage pizza description seemed too good to be true. Some of the pre-made pizzas, used for slices, sat on the counter looking like bronze gods. They call your name when your pizza is ready, so Hans lead the man outside to the bloggers table. "Look at you people eating shitty salads and sandwiches while I make gorgeous pizzas" this man said to no one in particular, but Han, struck by the veracity in the speech, took note. The toppings were delicious. House made sausage added an artisan touch, but it was the olives that stole the show. A very nice change of pace to the canned black olives thrown on most pizza pies.<br /><br />The pizza's crust is given no love at Cafe Romeo. As strange as it sounds, the crust tastes and feels like a graham cracker, no lie or malice intended. Cafe Romeo offers vegan pizza which, surprisingly enough, is tastier than the real thing. Props are due for supplying vegan friends with much loved pizza. If Hans and Mendez gave "thumbs up and thumbs down," Cafe Romeo's pizza would get a "thumbs down" which upsets the bloggers because they love the affiliated Romeo and Caesars pie so much. Take away the old fashioned deli counter and replace it with 'hip' and 'chrome' and the food suffers.<br /></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-66943743428353529672010-07-26T11:13:00.000-07:002010-08-16T21:37:54.153-07:00Significant Other: Hummel Brothers<div>Hidden in the industrial center of New Haven, in the largest parking lot around, stands the faded brick building of Hummel Brothers. The Brothers Hummel provide hot dogs and deli meat to the world and New Haven's finest local businesses. While Hummel's produces several different kinds of cured and boiled hams, turkey, and countless other cold cuts, it is hot dogs that they are the most renowned for. Hot Dogs are summer food. You can eat one or a hundred depending on your mind set and stomach lining. Being that it is summer and the bloggers just relined their stomachs, they set off to enjoy this most New Haven of food.<br /><br />The surrounding buildings, including Hummel's processing and shipping plant itself (along with another New Haven food plant Lamberti Sausage) provide a very cinematic environment. Giant yellow concrete bricks and trash cans filled only with caution tape are placed around great lake puddles that form in industrial areas such as this. Metallic clangs of machines could be mistaken for either a rehearsal of "Stomp" or the music of the spheres. Film in Cinemascope and you'll make Antonioni proud.<br /><br />The chemistry of the hot dog is unknown to Hans and Mendez. The way that scrap parts of pig are brought together to form a sausage of uniformed smooth texture and reliable taste is one of the great mysteries of our time. To share our love of this food with you, we will not mention meat slurry, variety meats, sodium nitrate, or MSG. To be honest, after researching hot dogs Hans is unsure about eating one again. Also uncertain are his feelings regarding hot dog flavored water, a seminal musical expression of our time.<br /><br />The Hummel Bros house a compact deli; Think of a large handicap bathroom, multiply the square footage by two and you have the perimeter of the store. The walls, soda cooler, and shelves are lined with bright brand names: Wonderbread, Coca-Cola, Ruffles, etc. There is a salad bar next to the cooler which, on this day of visitation, would turn off a vegetarian from chlorophyll forever. </div><div><br /></div><div>The menu offers a variety of options including a daily special of soup or pasta. Who goes to Hummel's for soup on a summer day? The stuffed shells and meatballs looked fresh and homemade, but the bloggers were not here for Sunday dinner. Hans and Mendez ordered a hot dog each and shared a kielbasa. Mendez ordered his dog with the "works", just to say it. Once out of the deli clerk's eye sight he scraped the sauerkraut into a paper bag. Hans stayed modest with relish. The dogs are split in the middle and cooked on a grill, allowing the condiment to stay firmly in place atop the dog. The pinkish color of the hot dog is not tainted by this cooking process. The meal was delicious costing us around ten dollars total. For the full New Haven experience, Hans and Mendez suggest Foxon Park Soda.<br /><br />The location of Hummel brothers is off putting; you really have to be in the area or a hot dog fiend to seek it out. The clientele suggested truck drivers stopping off either the I-91 or 95 highway for a bite to eat. They might be picking up or dropping off product to the factory itself. The deli's hours of operation are from 11 am to 2:30 pm, so plan ahead. Asides from two other delis (Johny Salomi being an exact replica of Hummel's, but with a better name, only a few hundred feet away) and a silly Teen Center for Twentysomethings, the Long Wharf Theater neighbors Hummels. Look out for Hans and Mendez' world premiere of "Choco Taco: An All Musical Review" starting in late September.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aNddW2xmZp8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aNddW2xmZp8&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-28989779563961630572010-07-25T17:02:00.000-07:002010-07-26T12:10:15.285-07:00The Icing on the Cake: Anna Liffey'sAnna Liffey is one of those places in New Haven that you just happen to walk by, ignoring it, because it is not a specific destination on your radar. There was a time in Hans and Mendez's past when they frequented The Liffey for its famous trivia night. Since the infamous night when an enraged Mendez threatened the mc's life for saying "Floggers" instead of "Bloggers," they haven't returned. Hungry stomachs and the promise of air conditioning brought them to Anna Liffey's doors.<br /><br />The wall leading to the subterranean basement bar is lined with pictures of various patrons, bartenders, and Irish literary celebrities showing a hall of fame of what once was , and perhaps what is yet to come. Haircuts and clothing change each step down, but once you reach the bottom, the color T.V.s bring you back to reality. Anna Liffey's was quiet, but with hell raising blood swirling inside, the bloggers sat at the bar. The gray stone walls add to the coolness (both temperature and otherwise) of the bar. Scarves once worn by soccer fans line the stone walls like woven tapestries of long ago. Senior citizens dine on bangers and mashed.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Mendez ate here once before during his lunch break from jury duty. "I know we're not supposed to talk about," He said once his veggie burger was ordered, "But did you notice the marks under the witness' eyes? I think he wears glasses." Upon re-entering the courtroom Mendez was asked to leave the jury, something about a conflict of disinterest. </div><div><br /></div><div>The beer selection was good, but not great. Like one of Ireland's great folk heroes, "Nothing Compares" to Liffey's selection of flavored vodka. The most interesting is an Absolute collaboration with Spike Lee called Absolute Brooklyn. The bottle is beautiful, but the sour apple/ginger flavor was nothing to throw a trash can through a window about. If Brooklyn is the new Manhattan, we'll stick with gin martinis. </div><div><br /></div><div>The menu is home to typical Irish and American pub fair. Some very impressive salads and burgers have made the bloggers agree that additional research will be needed at some time in the very near future. On a recommendation from an old friend, Mendez ordered the Shepard's Pie. Hardy and flavorful, the combination of mashed potatoes, beef, pees, and gravy, made Mendez pardon the crimes against humanity committed by Bono's hairdresser.<br /><br />Hans ordered one of the specials, a dijon chicken sandwich served with steak fries. It had more appeal than other specials, such as, the Irish Spicy Thai Salmon Salad and Chicken Gumbo Soup. A blanket of swiss melted just fine on the chicken. The hard roll too was a nice touch, slightly toasted and adding a crisp bite. Whoever spread the dijon is more of a mustard fanatic than Hans is. The mustard spice tickled his nose and in need of relief he ordered a beverage. "I need something light and sweet...I'll take a Smirnoff Ice."<br /></div><div><br />"Are you going to Ice someone?" the bartender asked skeptically. Confused, Hans asked for an explanation. The bartender pulled out a laminated sheet explaining the rules and regulations of Icing. We respect Gary's tact in not answering Hans final question: "Can't I just spin the bottle?<br /><br /></div><div>Hans "iced" himself and the two bloggers turned their attention to a rugby match. Like "Icing" the rules made little sense, the objective was blurry, and the participants where predominately fratty.<br /><br />Anna Liffey's is a destination for good, solid pub food. It's a relaxed environment and our bartender Gary really added to it. He was friendly and talkative while pouring drinks. For twenty dollars good food and good drinks can be expected.<br /><a href="http://www.annaliffeys.com/"><br />Anna Liffey</a><br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1cErlHd-YyE&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1cErlHd-YyE&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-3240341043725778702010-07-21T12:18:00.000-07:002010-08-31T07:22:38.849-07:00With Arms Wide Open: ZarokaMendez entered the restaurant still clad in his battle armor. One way streets, dastardly parking meters everywhere, school buses and cyclists; he battled with the traffic of New Haven. He lifted the beaver of his helmet up to see Hans waving at him from a small table in the dining room. A buffet in the corner and a blogger's welcoming arms are always sights for sore and squinting eyes.<br /><br />From the outside Zaroka doesn't look like much. As a matter of fact it is the outside appearance that has kept the bloggers from reviewing it thus far. A large sign on a small restaurant front looks disproportionate and offsetting. The rest of its company on York Street isn't too hot either; a large parking garage and a strange, never occupied Chinese food hut (on our visit census workers asked the wait staff at Zaroka who owned the property in which the Chinese restaurant resides and if it were even open; they were not).<br /><br />On this hot July day Zaroka's air conditioning would have been enough for Ghandi to forget about independence for a minute or two. For some reason there were five servers standing around playing a game of jacks during this slow season of New Haven restaurant dining. The bloggers went to the buffet which is more compact than the one offered at Tandoor. The colors of mash didn't run into each other on the plate. In fact their was more food in this buffet than the sauce loaded one offered at Tandoor. But let us not compare apples and oranges. We're saying that if you want to get more lentils and chickpeas in your dish try Zaroka. That is all.<br /><br />The dining room's calm color scheme complemented the mild food. There are no real stand outs but the Aloo Gobi and its homemade cheese comes close. The cauliflower is tasty and the Naan is put to good use scooping to clean the plate afterward. The naan is on the drier side of the bread scale: heat lamps don't help the essence of Naan to shine, but they will keep reptile pets healthy and comfortable.<br /><br />The oddball, in Hans' opinion, is the Tandoori Chicken. Its a lava red ball, one you avoided in the past when playing Mario. Too dry and tasteless, we suggest the Mixed Paroka. It too is lava red in color, but unlike its vegan-unfriendly counterpart is a ball of mashed, fried vegetables. It looks like a sea urchin but is more flavorful.<br /><br />As the bloggers ate Mendez's mood changes. He replaced his breast plate and sword with a full belly and a smile. Leaving, the two bloggers poked their heads in the upstairs dining room. One of the waitstaff lay on the ground. "This room is closed," another said. Hans was taken back to his childhood. He once owned the whole set of Disney's Aladdin toys and this dining room was strikingly similar to the dollhouse. The next time Hans and Mendez visit Zaroka they will certainly dine in this secluded upper level. They were informed that on top of this dining room was another smaller dining room with a seating capacity of about a dozen. In fear of interrupting more server's sleep they decided not to visit it, instead vowing to visit next time.<br /><br /><a href="http://zaroka.com/default.aspx">Zaroka</a><br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sVxUUotm1P4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sVxUUotm1P4&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-17380750498870710452010-07-07T21:06:00.000-07:002010-07-23T13:41:17.799-07:00Because man can not live on rice alone: Miya's Sushi<span style="font-style: italic;">We visited Miya's multiple times for this post. Our reasons? The food and to capture the environment, the life of Miya's, the scene and people and quiet havoc that exists at this magical restaurant. In the editing of this piece we may get our timing wrong, confusing names and faces, but we assure you this is how it was when we visited. You are our trusted audience. There are no tricks up our sleeves.</span><br /><br />"Mendez, I leave the blogcave for one weekend and you managed to eat everything in the refrigerator and icebox. Look, you still haven't taken the mousetrap off your fingers, have you no diggity-I mean- dignity? Don't give me those puppy eyes, I spare no sympathy for your incompetence. Oh, dear me, those puppy eyes...I'm sorry I yelled at you. How about I treat you to dinner at Miya's? Or better yet, let me pay for half your meal."<br /><br />Mendez felt this to be fair. It wasn't his fault Hans bought catnip and four tiny individual packages of Count Chocula cereal. However, the bloggers eating habits of home have no concern when talking about Miya's Sushi. When talking about Miya's you reveal a part of yourself that still believes in Santa Clause and good will towards man. <div><br /></div><div>The first time Mendez ate there, many years and fort nights ago, he complained that the menu was too long, too narrative, and lacked a dollar menu. Recently he dined on a spicy catfish and black been roll proclaiming, "This is the best restaurant in New Haven." He paused to contemplate the gravity of that statement but to say it again, before conservatively dipping another piece of sushi in soy sauce. This isn't your Sushi Palace, Sushi X or any other American Steak House version on the dish: the sushi is so flavorful as it is presented, too much wasabi paste or fresh ginger (as Miya's serves) would be both a waste of great sushi and quality condiments. Miya's is eccentric and innovative, to praise it any further without exaggerated hyperbole is difficult to refrain from. Much has been written about Miya's and many writers seek court with executive chef Bun Lai. We are no different from other members of the media in this regard.<br /><br />Miya's location makes it a destination to seek out. It's a few blocks away from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant magnet Chapel Street. The building is small but the inside functions as a clown's car managing to fit as many people as possible and comfortably. They have the friendliest atmosphere in town, the sushi rollers smile and wave and cheer, "Hans and Mendez!" The waitstaff should be referred to more specifically as buddies. They must have unofficially practiced their waiting techniques in high school signing year book after year book.<br /><br />"Okay Mendez, how about you choose all the rolls? Fair is fair." The menu is full of pop culture named concoctions to make the hardest to please Toshiro Mifune fan smile. The ingredients show a hodge podge of MC Escher thinking where limits and rules are thrown away. If a beet covered llama skull were to appear on the next menu, we would be the first in line. The prices reflect the quality put in, so there is a wide range from 3 dollars to 20 for a roll. Mendez waited patiently for the waiter to come over to the table. "We'll have..."<br /><br />Hans jumped in, jarring Mendez. "We'll have ..."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There is no definitive Miya's post.</span> Miya's is many times, experiences and people mashed together in a perfect paste. No, nothing can be perfect. We know of imperfect sushi rolls (unnamed here for protection). The kind you order again and again hoping to identify each individual ingredient, hoping to identify it, name it, own it. Miyas, like all New Haven restaurants is what you make of it. Like Richard Dreyfus with a mound of mashed potatoes we know that this post means something, but we know not what. Perhaps it is a recommendation, a critique, a thank you note...<br /><br />Hans and Mendez and their Russian friend pulled up in front of Miyas. ZZ Top blared from the blogmobile like a screaming Medusa set to turn everyone into rock and roll fans. The Russian friend pointed to a table of cute Asians on the sidewalk (yes, this signifier means we are not Asian). "We gotta sit next to them" he said before flicking open his switchblade comb.<br /><br />Miya's is the place where strangers are friends you just haven't met yet (Sorry, we forgot your names Forestry Students, you were polite and smiled prettily). Hans and Mendez were surprised that their Russian friend knew the hostess. She fell for his trademark smile and celery free teeth (but not his weird joke about liver transplants). Mendez demanded Firecracker Sake, shaking his finger at her to run to the kitchen for the freshest of chili peppers. The Russian friend was to make a joke about Anthony Kiedis but Hans frightened eyes killed the punchline.<br /><br />The menus were stained with food and age, however that is their charm. Miya's is the place where shirts and shoes are optional. Pets just shouldn't be allowed anywhere. The menu contains back stories for many dishes and includes footnotes, parentheses, and an MLA citation for Freud's <span style="font-style: italic;">Civilization and its Discontents</span>. So many appetizing dishes! Hans and Mendez chose the cheapest- we mean- their favorites. Hot headed cowgirl, spicy mushroom, Ravishing Rangoon, Spicy Char, etc.<br /><br />The Asian girls left after Hans and Mendez kissed their hands. "We'll tell everyone about the blog and how awesome it is," they said. Who were to replace this lovely duo outside on a beautiful summer night? Groups of people stood waiting for an outdoor seat. Would it be the Russian's choice, the so- called "Ho Train" or the group of young Yalies.<br /><br />The group of young Yalies sat down."Bloggers," intoned Esteban, "my dick is bigger than your vocabulary*. Don't tell me you're trying to write about Miya's. This one is wearing 'Jorts' and this one met the wrong end of the ugly stick." He said this to his two lovely female companions, Jenny and Vanessa. Jenny and Vanessa were Betty and Veronica to Esteban's Jughead.<br /><br />"I'm not wearing 'jorts'" Hans replied checking his legs. Tokyo Fries were served and consumed quickly with sake. Tokyo Fries are Big Mac sauce and potato stix. Laugh now when reading this, but eat them up before your company out eats you.<br /><br />The food came out, as did many drinks and what not. Police lights flashed and time passed. These few notes were taken about the rolls: Hot Headed Cow Girl is a combination of avocado, carrot, cream cheese and burdock and outlined with coconut. The sweetness of the ingredients is enhanced by the coconut, like a stream of hairspray to a birthday candle. The spicy char and cat fish were slimy and spicy. The Ravishing Rangoon is known for cream cheese and crab meat, like its namesake. The rice is top notch on every roll, made from the best stuff on earth.<br /><br />Is it wrong to blame our company for distracting the bloggers from their task? Vanessa wanted to look at everyone's calves. Sassy Esteban called on our waiter to do the sassy dance which mortified the family sitting next to the window indoors. Sake bombs on the house were served. Police lights flashed again for a black man riding his bicycle (again, signifier) for reasons unknown. Hans and Mendez touched each other for free desert.<br /><br />Yes, sometimes Miya's can have its bad days but who cares. Miya's is fun which counts for something in this town. When life is rough check out <a href="http://miyassushi.com/index.html">Miyas</a>.<br /><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-27451379745970914362010-06-21T06:43:00.000-07:002010-07-06T13:24:47.013-07:00Give a Hoot: The Owl ShopHans and Mendez decided to celebrate the first day of summer with a little class. Where else can one go to relax but, the only cigar lounge in town: The Owl Shop. How better to celebrate than with libations, friends and sandwiches? Mendez went to the blog phone. "I'm going to call Dorian."<br /><br />"I'm right here," came a voice from the couch.<br /><br />Dorian had just arrived minutes before and upon stepping in suggested the trio to go to The Owl Shop. Hans and Mendez were too caught up in a game of Cat's Cradle. "Cup and Saucer" was Hans' automated response. Dorian, adjusted his ruffled sleeves and finished his martini. "Remember to leave behind your exploding cigars. This is a classy place," he warned.<br /><br />The Owl Shop stands next to The Anchor like an older, cooler brother puffing away. For some reason, or loop hole in the state of Connecticut's penal code, The Owl Shop is the only bar/ business where you can smoke tobacco legally. Chain smoking is a sign of respect.<br /><br />The interior has more wood and leather than a medieval themed adult store. The leather chairs are for people who have perfected lounging the day away. You can play chess or listen to the classic rock. The Owl Shop hosts live music on Wednesdays. We recommend the outside for the fresh and slightly less tobacco filled air, if that's your thing. There are always new friends to meet when outdoors.<br /><br />Dorian suggested the spot for its 'prime real estate'. Beginning in early April, The Owl Shop digs its two patio tables and suspended space heater out of storage to provide spring heeled New Haven-ites with much craved outdoor seating. This sidewalk patio stays in high demand throughout the spring and summer. The tables stay while the space heater is returned for another seasonal hibernation, until autumn's chill peppers the air.<br /><br />Libations are enjoyed while the three wait for their sandwiches.<br /><br />"Best cup of coffee in town," Mendez says proudly as if to no one. Hand controlled brakes squeal. A gentleman dismounts his bicycle.<br /><br />"Did you say best?" the gentleman says, lighting a cigarette. "'Cuz last time I was here <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> said that it was the <span style="font-style: italic;">second</span> best cup of coffee in town." He now winked at Hans and The Dorian Gray of Bullshit Artists. He extended his hand and a smile, "Mr. Golden."<br /><br />He invited himself to sit with the trio . Obliged to share their 'prime real estate' with a fellow coffee and food lover, they dusted off a neighboring chair for him. "Man, you guys look like you like music. Well, I like music too, in fact I like it so much that I make music. You guys look like you like hip hop. Well, between you and me, or me and you,there is a Mr. West who is asking me about my music. I put him on hold 'cuz I have a Mr. Birdman on the other line. They keep calling and calling me, and I'm like seven figures; cut the check. Snoop calls too. No one wants to cut the check. They want the beats but they don't want to give me the check. I have two dollars to my name but I come here for the tea and the honey. I'll be right back."<br /><br />The sandwiches arrived, while Mr. Golden eyed the cheese and fruit from inside the doorway.<br /><br />Mendez enjoyed the brie, pesto and green apple sandwich, choking only a little on the eight dollar price tag. Hans argued with Mendez on the bread finding it to be too crusty. Mr. Golden came back carrying a cup of tea and side of honey. One of the waitstaff carried out a snifter of cognac behind him. "Best tea and honey in town," he said, lifting the snifter.<br /><br />Dorian asked why Mr. Golden had only two dollars to his name. "Well, my wife won't let me have a motorcycle, so she bought herself a necklace. What can you do with jewels? Nothing. I like gold because you can sell it. I had a 7, ooo gold chain the size of a jump rope, my wife wanted me to buy her a cell phone, so I sold the chain. She can't have the money. What did I do with the money? Gave it to the church. I'm always giving my money to the church, or the homeless. There's a man out here walking these streets with sneakers I bought him. It's like what Abraham says in the bible, 'You don't know what you got 'til its gone.'"<br /><br />"Wasn't that Joni Mitchell?," Dorian asked.<br /><br />"Something like that. God was the one who said that to me. I'm always speaking to God. My wife drives me crazy, I talked to God and God said to divorce her."<br /><br />"Wouldn't God speak against divorce?" Dorian asked slightly bewildered from both Mr. Golden's speech and the opium filled hookah he kept in his breast pocket. The bloggers viewed the hookah longingly. Mr. Golden continued telling stories of Birdman, Wayne and the Super Friends. Mendez concentrated on his coffee. Rich with strong hints of cocoa, it is worth the wait for this individually brewed delight. The beans, which are co-op, high elevation grown, could replace the jewels in a king's crown, if he is a man of fine taste. <div><br /></div><div>Even with this strange passer-by telling tall tales, The Owl Shop is a great place to relax, enjoy conversation with friends and enjoy some of the quickly disappearing hallmarks of civilization; manly fine cigars and excellent coffee.<br /><br /><a href="http://owlshopcigars.com/">The Owl Shop</a><br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OxJnVazqa_k&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OxJnVazqa_k&hl=en_US&fs=1?rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-49173585802114152032010-06-07T20:12:00.000-07:002010-07-22T22:07:36.676-07:00The Last Temptation of Pizza: Frank Pepe's Pizzeria NapoletanaAs food bloggers it is only right that we pay respect to our cities patron saint. Muslims flock to Mecca, chatty middle-English folk to Canterbury. Likewise, New Havenites and pizza enthusiasts travel to worship at Pepe's Pizzeria on Wooster Street. As any pizza scholar knows, Pepe's is not the only shrine dedicated to pizza pie in town, but it is New Haven Eats It's favorite. Here in New Haven we have the Big Three: Pepe's, Sally's, and Modern; each with cult followers respectively.<br /><br />We consider Pepe’s the first to get it right. We decided to worship during a slow service so we visited during lunch. Going to Pepe’s for dinner is like waiting to confess to the Pope, longer lines than video game releases and with the same absolute results. We were invited to sit ourselves and were soon greeted by a waitress friendly enough to be completely unmemorable. Like a good altar boy she was attentive to her task, but did not perform it so excellently to detract from the real star of the show: the pizza. Parched, we ordered Foxon Park soda whose fame rivals that of Pepe’s. If Jesus needed a pick me up after a hard day throwing money lenders out of temple, he’d order the Cherry flavor.<br /><br />The brick oven is huge enough to cook a Golem in. One can't help but sit in awe and anticipation each time the door opens. There is a giant handled pizza paddle which hangs like ultimate Spanish Inquisition punishment from the ceiling.<br /><br />The simple decor reveals an undercurrent of Pepe’s narcissism. Photographs, which are now icons of Frank Pepe and past pizza makers, hang on the walls. To be noted is the picture of Frank and (labeled as such) ‘Ugly Nephew’ Sal Consiglio. The mustache drawn on that picture is a little much but that’s family for you. Sal is the founder of Sally's. Sally’s got into the game with their update of "_____ did ___ here," with "Frank Sinatra ate here” (and banged a waitress or two). However, Sally’s is an offshoot of Pepe’s, much like "Joanie Love Chachi" is that of "Happy Days."<br /><br />The pizza arrives on a metal tray with napkins, paper plates and utensils. All are unnecessary but the former. The cheese is gooey and at first bite you know the mozzarella is fresher than the Prince of Bel-Air. The sauce is lighter than a sparrow landing on snow, tastier than a fresh tomato. Each bite reveals a care and craft, rare to find elsewhere in a New Haven pie (sorry Alpha Delta). Pepe’s managed to turn Love into an ingredient and sprinkled it liberally into each creation.<br /><br />Frank Pepe is New Haven's patron saint and the pizzeria that bares his name, his temple furthering his word. The faithful flock to Wooster Street, not out of hunger for charred, thin crust pie, but out of devotion. Surely, there are other pizzerias and more convenient restaurants in the city serving New Haven’s renowned masterpiece. But it is the religious experience the Pepe's diner is after. And just like after a Sunday mass or saint day, pastries can be enjoyed down the street at Libby's.<br /><br />Now you might ask, Why the need for saints when people are jumping off the Catholicism bandwagon left and right? Because Pepe's and the other big three are part of New Haven’s identity. The big three, known nationally, bring a tear of pride to our eyes. Chicago and New York, those are just names on a map. New Haven is a place to eat.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vov2WYaqkvA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vov2WYaqkvA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><div><div></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-40765746707384290932010-06-02T09:53:00.000-07:002010-06-17T21:13:31.510-07:00L'infer: Buffalo Wild Wings<i>Through out the course of life the artist must stop to consider his art. Has this project helped humanity, its understanding of the ugly and the beautiful? Has it helped myself? There were points even after the murder of his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">fiancée</span> when Dr. Frankenstein looked lovingly unto his monster thinking, "Even for all of his flaws I made something unique, I made something important." Food fiction is like that. It is something powerful and beautiful, but like the monster, it is not without flaws. Where are the lines between truthful reporting and imaginative fiction drawn? We did not, in actuality, dine with Tony the Tiger, or meet up with a leprechaun on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cinco</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">de</span> Mayo, but there really was a creepy bathroom attendant with a spread of cologne and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">menthols</span> at Downtown at the Taft. </i><br /><i></i><br /><i>Maybe it is our flair for magical realism that has caused the confusion, the blur between food prose and food verse. But it is that blur, the waking dream between digestion and exposition which is the art of food fiction: That which separates us from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bourdain's</span> of the world. We are not simply using our words and minds to express sensory details of the dining experience, we are using language to express the fantasies food and life have to order.</i> <i><br /></i><br /><i>This post on Buffalo Wild Wings has been written from the moment that the dreamer wipes the dew from his eyes. When he starts to separate the actual events of his life from the sleeping fantasies. We have added nothing, no characters, no details, that were not actually part of our experience at Buffalo Wild Wings: For even the most gifted writer of lies could not make this up.</i><br /><br />Hans and Mendez recently made a bet with a friend. The details are too meticulous to get into, but they are both puzzled how a pound of feathers can weigh the same as a pound of gold. Their victorious chum struck a match against Mendez's ear. His serpentine eyes glimmered. "Hans and Mendez, my dearest bros, the stakes were high but it looks like I won't be sucking an egg through a garden hose. However you two must concede to my whim and we shall dine at... Buffalo Wild Wings."<br /><br />Buffalo Wild Wings is a chain restaurant full of neon characteristics. You'd typically find one at the shopping mall right next to a variation of the Sunglasses Hut. New Haven's offering of good restaruants makes the inclusion of Buffalo Wild Wings draw many questions, mostly why? It's difficult to walk by the restaurant without getting a headache from all the televisions. Hans had difficulty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">processing</span> the fact Buffalo Wild Wings is not a Best Buy, "People eat here?" he asked. The trio <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">proceeded</span> to a table to be greeted by a friendly server. She recited the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Margarita</span> specials, specially noting the more masculine of the set having <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">amareto</span> in it. If <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">amareto</span> is masculine, consider Hans Bette Davis.<br /><br />The lighting is key at Buffalo Wild Wings as they need to be dim enough to let the televisions shine like diamonds. Its like sitting in a Budweiser commercial from the 90's where all you can see is product placement lights. This allows everything else in the restaurant to appear in an affected shade. Who knows what the glistening chicken legs really looked like, all we know is that they require a lot of napkins and act of penance to get through.<br /><br />The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">bloggers</span> and their friend ordered a bunch of chicken wings whose flavor combinations resemble those of Doritos. Garlic Blue Cheese Ranch wings taste no different from Sweet Butter Pecan Cough Drop Wings in the end, and with that lighting its difficult to differentiate what you're picking up. Hans ordered a bacon cheddar burger, the taste of which can be defined as burnt and ordinary. Don't bother to look for any taste of freshness. The french fries served are frozen Brand X with a snow white coloring. Hans thought of making another bet, to turn on his black light, but the rest of the table declined for fear of how much grease the table really soaks up.<br /><br />The Wings used to be 38 cents, according to our "friend," but their 50 cent price is appealing to the hungry. Mendez suspects the price increased out of fear of being a cheap alternative to Domino's.<br /><br />The waitress is the only sign of humanity in Buffalo Wild Wings, as she expressed some form of personality. The bartender is a former school bully who made Mendez <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">squak</span> like a chicken for the amusement of substitute teachers. The manager, a high school senior, patiently waited for his parents to honk the car horn. All these people toil at this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lazer</span> Tag environment for hours and hours while mid 90's hits shatter the ear drum. Hans and Mendez thought of saving the waitress, lifting her on their shoulders and treating her to a night on the town, but she has to make a living somehow.<br /><br />Buffalo Wild Wings is the worst of America <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">miniaturized</span>. It sits like a mosquito light on Church Street across from an abandoned storefront. We're going to petition for a health food store. If Americans are viewed as obnoxious and obese and wasteful, Buffalo Wild Wings is one of those reasons. Who knows how much sugar and fat goes into a meal at this place? The margaritas look diabetes inducing. The tomato and onion on the burger don't make up any fraction for fruit and veggie daily intake; we recommend serious exercise before and after eating here.<br /><br />By exercise we don't mean to take advantage of Buffalo Wild Wing's punching bag contest, wich is offered along with free pay-per-view when UFC matches are broadcast. The menus are notable for being lined with gimmicks applying to random hours. One special being a 12 minute service <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">guarantee</span> during lunch. It goes without saying, you're not taking a date here. If you are a regular, it goes with out saying, that you can not <em>get</em> a date.<br /><br />Beer, booze and wings is a common business model, but Buffalo Wild Wings gets it all wrong. You're getting the worst quality in everything. Mendez lacks a mean bone in his body, as opposed to Hans Wolverine-esque adamantium<b> </b>frame of snark, but he recommends bringing Tequilla to McDonalds if all you're after is booze and junk food.<br /><br />Food fiction is a tough racket. There may not be such things as Frankenstein's, Chupacabra's, or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tikbalang">Tikbalang's</a>. There is, however, Buffalo Wild Wings. The horror, the horror.<div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6UV3kRV46Zs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6UV3kRV46Zs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-61814192140288793532010-05-23T09:27:00.000-07:002010-05-26T13:27:53.312-07:00Brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack: Downtown at the Taft<div>With the rites of Spring come caps and gowns. For many students across New Haven a four year journey of growth is ending and a looming future of student loans hang like black clouds. New Haven is known as the home for Yale, one of the world's most well known and respected schools, along with a handful of local universities without billion dollar endowments. Many world leaders have sprung from the loins of Yale after gestating in secret societies and rituals of paddle gauntlets to the keg. </div><br /><div>Like Moses and his swarm of locusts, Yale students call upon families to descend upon New Haven and strip bear the land of restaurants. Non-Yalies, hungry after spending hours trying to find parking, are turned away to make space for Lords, Dukes, Duchesses, and crazy Uncle Morty who retired early after invesetments in Enron and drinks silently during family functions. Hans and Mendez were invited to spend some "qt" (quality time) with a "bf" (best freind), Dick Pierson, a lovable Yalie grad whose impressions of Borat and Dave Chapelle bits defy both relevancy and expectations. Hans and Mendez spent many wonderful times with Dick and had to say goodbye.</div><br /><div>Hans and Mendez were to meet Dick Pierson at Downtown at the Taft, formerly known as Hot Tomatoes. Hans, being politcally minded, wore an anti-Harvard t-shirt hoping to catch the ire of a wayward "Crimson" student still lost in New Haven months after November's football game. Mendez, trying his best to get an "in" with Uncle Morty, wore his, "I'm with stupid," t-shirt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Upon entering one is greeted by four foot cursive letters written on the wall facing the doorway. The letters read, "Artisan Pizza," which is common short hand for as close to microwavable as you can get without gamma rays. Down Town at the Taft's dinning room evokes "Cries and Whispers" through its red decorative motif. There was a decent crowd of thirty to forty people this Saturday night but somehow, either due to arcitechtrual design or a CD playing crowd noise, sounded like a hundred people. The design of the building is to be noted; its like a grandball room of yesteryear marketed and turned into a chic bar/ lounge. Are we to think of Italy when we see the walls with ornate scenes and chipping paint? Or America with the baseball game and chalkboard of specials? This identity issue is like King Kong wearing a woman's bathing suit to Dennis Rodman's wedding, The Taft decor works, but leaves one wondering what a little focus could do.</div><br /><div>There were jaw dropping women wearing fancy dresses mingling with backward baseball cap bros, a left over scene from Hot Tomatoes. Hans could see several discarded matchbooks on the floor with his telephone number written on them, another left over from the former establishment. There was a fake fireplace flickering by the back wall. The staircase leads to an exquisite dining room where a high school sports team was enjoying a spaghetti buffet. Instrumental music played softly but not uptempo enough to bounce your head or butt to. Most important to the atmosphere; there was no Dick Pierson. We tried calling his cell phone but no answer. Mendez started to pick up the discarded matchbooks. "Hey Hans, do these belong to you? They have your name and number written on them." Hans grimaced, "Let's order some food."</div><br /><div>Hans and Mendez studied the menu and noticed that several items were "Yale Staples." For a restaurant that has been open for a year or so, it might be too soon to label your dishes as "Yale Staples."The bloggers searched the menu looking for the artisan pizza selection. To their surprise, they only found three dishes listed as such. Staying with the theme of the night and hoping that Dick would pop up soon, they chose the "Bulldog" pie. A pizza, of mashed potato, bacon, and mozzerella. The pizza is served on a wooden slat and is adequete for the hunger they had. Think of their pizza as better than an appetizer but not an entree. The pizza is dough-y, had bacon bits and not enough potato, but satisfies on the level of junk food. This new Yale staple is potato skins without the Super Bowl halftime show; nothing to write in your diary about nor something to stab yourself over.</div><br /><div>"Let's see if we can't find Dick in the men's room." Mendez suggested. The hallway to the bathroom is as quiet as an art gallery but with less art. Hans and Mendez pushed open the door and were surprised that it pulled open. On the floor was a duffel bag and on the sink a pack of Newports and various cologne. A bleary eyed gentlement stood behind the door. "You guys named Stanley?" he asked. The bloggers shook their heads. "Nevermind man."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Say," Mendez began, "have you seen our friend, Dick? I'm looking for a Dick Pierson?" The man behind the door grabbed Mendez by the shirt. "Listen up....Stupid. Your momma didn't raise you to be no fool, right? Either use some cologne or beat it. Hey you," he called to Hans, "you didn't wash your hands you... Harvard hipster creep."</div><div> </div><br /><div>Ashamed, Hans and Mendez left the Men's room in disgrace. They walked outside to catch some air and collect themselves. Dick Pierson! He was leaning against the Schubert Theatre like a James Dean chatting with a young blonde. Dick leaned forwards her as she lit his cigarette with one of Hans' matches. After Dick exhaled she threw the matches to the ground. Dick waved to Hans and Mendez, threw his blazer back over his shoulder, kissed the girl and took her by the hand leading her to another New Haven hot spot. "Man, what a Dick" Mendez said in disbelief, "what a Dick."</div><br /><div> </div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FBBBwgK6gHI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FBBBwgK6gHI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-37734054333055621622010-05-20T09:25:00.000-07:002010-05-21T15:41:47.095-07:00Fantastic Voyage to Mamma Mary'sIt is hard to define American food. There is the "stupid answer to a stupid question," i.e. food cooked and eaten in America, but sometimes geographical confines can only brush upon the hair of understanding. There is a space capsule floating around the universe containing a 45 inch of Chuck Berry's "Johny B. Goode," so that extraterrestrials will know what rock 'n' roll music is. We agree that Mr. Berry should be Earth's ambassador to outer planets but what or who should be food's ambassador? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich? At the blogcave we began constructing our own capsule for launching into outer space. After long consideration we have decided to pack a lunch of Soul Food, the ultimate American food. Home grown by American Blacks and Southerners, brought to all other sections of the United States by immigration booms to industrial centers, this type of cooking is as American as The Blues. Looking for some good Soul Food for our capsule we decided to visit Mama Mary's on Whalley Avenue.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Since visiting other Soul Food and their Jamaican counterpart establishments we had preconceived notions about Mama Mary's, especially about the atmosphere. Most other Soul Food restaurants in New Haven are geared towards take-out, providing only a small lunch counter or a single booth for diners. Some hang photos of Sammy Davis Jr. as response to the ever present Sinatra's of the city's Italian eateries. Mama Mary's defies these past experiences. Its brick wall and hardwood floor dining room is one of the most handsome in the city and houses the most comfortable chairs. The lighting is perfect, with large windows providing scenery and sun. One never tires of the R n B hits and Oldies they play.</div><br />
<div>Hans ordered the Chinese take-out staple of chicken wings and French fries, while Mendez opted for the meat loaf special. He chose collard greens and macaroni and cheese for his side dishes. Complimentary corn bread is served before the meal and toes the line of sweetness. The wings were huge, almost half that of a pterodactyl. The sweet honey barbecue sauce was sticky, requiring several old forest produced napkins. This is the kind of sauce New Englanders love and Texans despise. Sticky and sweet, it zinged the palate like a wise-ass with an audience. Mendez's meat loaf was tasty with enough fat to please the most hardcore fans of the Elvis Diet Cook Book. The macaroni and cheese was as good as such a dish can be, with the collard greens stealing the show. Peppery with just enough spice, Mendez will order them during every future visit to Mamma Mary's. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We also ordered chitterlings. When in Rome, last words said before our experience at an amateur goat orgy, when in Rome. This is not a comment on Mama Mary's, we're sure they were cooked to perfection for the dish, but never having eaten pig entrails before we were not ready for the aroma or flavor. You can definitely tell which part of the animal this Soul Food staple comes from. After our initial trial bites of this slimey, rubbery dish we offered them to a neighboring table. They turned our offer down.</div><br />
<div></div><div>The ten dollar price feels right for the amount of food one receives. Its almost unnecessary to order a side dish, but don't let us discourage you. The service was friendly and a recent visit by Rakim proves that great minds think a like. We decided not to place chitterlings in our space capsule for the sake of the alien's palates. When the aliens do come, let us, Hans and Mendez, remind them once again, that America will fight for their Independence Day.</div><br />
<div><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uPfIIn5V_LQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uPfIIn5V_LQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-37388417775900867952010-05-11T21:12:00.000-07:002010-05-16T18:55:36.970-07:00Cinco De Mayo 2: Happy HourC.O. Jones runs one of the better happy hours in town. Even if you get there past Happy Hour, the boys recommend trying C.O. Jones's "Advocate's Best" margartias (especially on Monday when they are half priced until closing). They are boozy and sweet without overpowering the drinker with either. During the week C.O. Jones features a burrito buffet to ease the potent margaritas and the diner on a budgets wallet. Unfortunately for the bloggers, they visit C.O Jones on Cinco De Mayo. It seemed an appropriate follow up to "Cinco De Mayo: The Long Wharf Trucks," as to see how non-Mexican-Americans of legal drinking age celebrate this adopted holiday.<br /><br /><br />C.O Jones on Cinco De Mayo is like watching a horse being impregnated (sex education having changed since the advent of the internet). It is something you wish no one else to experience. The holiday batch of margaritas are more syrupy than 7-11 and the tequilla is applied with an eye dropper. Hans and Mendez entered and grimaced as their beloved burrito station was not there. A hooded figure holding a sickle pointed to a sign reading "No Specials."<br /><br /><br />Hans was about to have one of his "infamous" hissy fits. His hands broke out into hives. "Anything but this!" Mendez wanted to calmly remind Hans that this was a holiday and the lack of specials was to be expected, but seeing Hans's hands, ordered another Slush-Puppy instead.<br /><br /><br />The hooded figure stepped towards the bloggers. He slowly removed his hood revealing busy red hair and beard. A leprechaun! "Have you lost your zeal? Have you lost your zest?" And with that the Leprechaun pulled a flask from his vest.<br /><br /><br />"You've forgotten that every ten feet on State Street is a chance to drink! Why its just like Crown Street if you stop to think. A bar here and a there, why even tonight there's bar specials everywhere! The leprechaun took a swig and pulled Hans and Mendez by their ears to J.P Dempsey's, which is across the street from the once lovely C.O. Jones.<br /><br />The Leprechaun laughed and waved, leading Hans and Mendez in his merry way to the back of the restuaruant. It was less crowded than CO Jones and had more room. More importantly, they had a happy hour. "Waitress," the leprechaun called with a voice rather mellow, "for my sad friends here, a shot made of Jell-o." This kind gesture sort of made up for the ear pulling. It was also pleasing to find a bar that doesn't give a damn about image and serves Jell-o. Hans and Mendez were even transported back in their memories to a time when "Jigglers" was a common noun. The Waitress applied a liberal amount of whipped cream to the Jell-o shots, while the Leprechaun smiled as the two bloggers perked up.<br /><br />"Why the drinks are fifty cents off and there are some sandwiches by the window. Yes they use mustard instead of mayo. There are peanuts on the table and dinner is served late. It's the perfect place to leave a blacked out date!" The Leprechaun's enthusiasm was quie contagious and J.P Dempsey was offering margaritas which the bloggers drank with the lovable man. It was going oh so well until the Leprechaun spilled beer on himself. He arose with anger and made such a clatter, that the bloggers knew immediately the Leprechaun was "beer battered."<br /><p>"Oh shit, my I-phone," the Leprechaun lamented. "And tonight my fantasy baseball team is playing. Damn it all."</p><p>"But Mr. Leprechaun, why do you need an I-phone?" Mendez asked the wee man in green. And here is the part of the story which may make you shed a tear. He was no Leprechaun at all, but a short man in his Freshman year. He dressed as a Leprechaun out of a pledge and confessed this all tearfully to Hans and Mendez.</p><p>"Hey for showing you two guys around, can you at least let me spend the night? I shouldn't be drinking and driving." The kind bloggers agreed that such behavior was dangerous and let the Leprechaun stay the night, but reader beware: a Leprechaun always keeps a VHS copy of the beloved action movie Con Air. It stars Nicholas Cage as a Army Ranger sent to prison for protecting his wife from drunk, violent men with rape as a personal mission. For seven years he waits and doesn't complain and how is taking home? Not by car but by plane. The movie was long and terribly slow and soon the duo fell asleep. The Frat leprchaun used a magic marker and drew genitals on their faces. </p>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-33064198663054554202010-05-03T08:35:00.000-07:002010-05-13T23:05:46.711-07:00Cinco de Mayo: The Long Wharf TrucksWith a bright spring day shining through the silk curtains of the blogcave and a slight rumble in their tummies, Hans and Mendez, rose from their bunk beds. "Would you like to fly kites today at Long Wharf Mendez?" Mendez groaned in response, wiping vodka sleep from his eye. <div><br /></div><div>"The twins! the twins!" He cried in a confused rage. "Did they leave already?" he looked around holding his two favorite stuffed bunnies. "But... no....do you remember what happened last time we flew kites? Your working Mothra reproduction almost got us laser beamed. Let's just go for the trucks and high heels."</div><div><br /></div><div>The boys drove to Long Wharf, a place known for its superb Hispanic cuisine and the accompanying reggeton and drawn on eyebrows. The stretch of road next to the beach serves as temporary home to several Mexican food trucks, Puerto Rican trucks, and the George Washington of American street food; a hot dog truck. Although Sweeney's Hot Dogs and The Flag Guy still remain a lot has changed in that past few years- and for the better. Once a haven for male-prostitution, hard drugs and drag racing, the New Haven Police Department has transformed this once setting of pulp-fiction, (or one of Hans's weird BBQ's) into a family friendly mobile emporium of ethnic cuisine. It is now a popular weekend spot for Hispanic families and Gringos in the know.</div><div><br /></div><div>Geographically Long Wharf is a stretch of coastal land divided from East Haven by Long Island sound. Not quite a beach and close enough to the highway to be thoroughly littered with fast food remains, this area receives few tourists from the local suburbs.</div><div><br /></div><div>On this particular day the sea side was packed with faces young and old. Kids carried balloons; adults carried paper plates full of colorful food. A stage was set up for traditional Mexican bands to perform and dancers in varied costumes to dance and clap along. Tents were set up for t-shirts and ice cream. Hans and Mendez considered this all before walking to the trucks. This is not your usual Sunday at Long Wharf. Why all the extra commotion? Then it dawned on them. Before they could say "Santa Anna," the bloggers discovered Long Wharf was celebrating Cinco De Mayo. Cinco De Mayo is a holiday that is to Mexican beer what St. Patrick's day is to Irish beer and what Valentine's day is to candy and the rejected plea for a threesome. </div><div><br /></div><div>"This is even better than kites!" They walked up and down the designated fair ground looking for the most appealing taco truck to eat at. The Puerto Rican truck being no where in sight, the bloggers settled on Taquiero. They passed a soul food truck which was parked a few lonely yards away from the festivities. This truck sold pricey meals, not cheap snacks. When eating at a Long Wharf truck party one must sample a little bit of everything. Its kind of like attending an orgy. </div><div><br /></div><div>When ordering the bloggers stuck to what they loved best and what they could get the most of for the least amount of money. They stuck with tacos. A Taco truck is only as good as its name sake. Have you ever ordered rib eye at The Ground Round? </div><div><br /></div><div>Think of the trucks as glorified Ice Cream trucks. Instead of circus chimes to entrance the hungry, the smell of spices and meat blow through the wind. Hans and Mendez carefully ordered with the hope that Muffy taught them the right verbs and nouns. After a few minutes wait the order is called out. On a busy day like this one, this can be a very stressful ordeal. Spanish is the excepted language and this isn't your middle schools version of it. Several plates where handed out before ours and several times we almost took the wrong order. But like true love, when you see your plate for the first time you know that it was meant for you. The tacos are the size of silver dollar pancakes. They are priced reasonably for their size; five dollars will fill you up. The bloggers chose an assortment of beef tongue, pork, chicken; one of every food group found in <i>Charlotte's Web.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>After dining the bloggers sat on the warm grass looking out upon the water. The Q Bridge was to there left, next to huge holding tanks of petroleum. Closer to the sun sat water front property. Children played soccer and threw rocks into the water. "You know Hans, we could solve all of the worlds problems." Hans knew that New Haven Eats It brings countless people together, but how would it solve the world's problems? Mendez continued, "You take one group of people who don't like another group of people. You introduce them to the other groups food, music, and women, and viola! Peace and understanding! Let me prove my point. Shout out any ethnic group."</div><div><br /></div><div>"********!" A few heads turned.</div><div><br /></div><div>"That's the easiest of them all: Pizza, Tarrentelli, and Sofia Loren."</div><div><br /></div><div>"******!" More heads turned. A few men rolled up the sleeves of their shirts. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Tapas, Penelope Cruz, Flamenco." The sun started to dip lower and lower, cooling itself off in the sound. Hans quizzed Mendez until the street lights came on, unable to stump him. Love really is a simple thing to conjure. Understanding could be gained with in only a few bites. This realization got Hans to thinking. "We could throw a huge party and invite bigots and members of the Republican National Party over. We would serve ethnic food and invite women representing every nation of the world!" It sounded like a good idea, Mendez even tried to remember a few good caterers that he knew, but what to do with that many rednecks and suits after the party? They thought back to the time when hippies and Hell's Angels partied together at the blogcave and the carpet they had to drag secretly to the pier afterward. Surly they couldn't stay at the blogcave. Would people like that even know how to fold a pizza slice in half? World peace would have to wait, but a catered event with women representing every country on the globe<i> </i>could happen as soon as this weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/crKB0_Jo9n8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/crKB0_Jo9n8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-49844342107029842262010-04-30T16:10:00.000-07:002010-04-30T16:14:19.082-07:00Funeral For a Friend: The Blue Pearl<p class="MsoNormal">The Blue Pearl is a longtime friend to New Haven Eats it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hans sort of remembers the first time he blacked out, thanks in part to the Blue Pearl’s cocktail menu.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mendez remembers the first time he made out with a drag queen.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s difficult to hear the difference between Daniel and Danielle when your prostate is being massaged, or so he says.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Blue Pearl is and was the only building located on Court Street, a side street adjacent to the federal building and banks of Church Street. The other buildings on Court are forgotten corpses: the now future of Our Pearl after its final dying gasp. Is this what they refer to as “The Beautiful Death?” Half priced drinks and fondue are its dying wish: that those who were friends should celebrate the life and times of the deceased. The Blue Pearl is like a pirate ship; a relic of New Haven unfairly cut down due to some unknown reason. Perhaps The Amistad needed more restoration, tug boats are cute, and the Titanic grossed millions, but we at New Haven Eats It still say, “yo ho.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mendez once wore a velvet blazer, checking his pompadour in their mirror. “I am Mr. Saturday Night,” he said to his reflection, holding his nose with his right hand: Beautiful dining room, stinky bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A dust bunny once threatened Hans for loose change in that men’s room. Quarters where given and trespasses forgotten. The Blue Pearl is (was) an Emerald City of sorts: the glamour, the place to be, run by midgets and colored horses. At the time of Mendez’s first visit he was amazed; such lighting, such decor, he had never been in a drinking establishment so appealing before. “Where are the drunks, the sad stories of wasted lives, the vomitorium?” He asked a patron in a form fitting dress. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“This seat is taken,” She said.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We’ve referenced the Pearl before. Erin was “shouted out” in “Rotten Tomatoes: The Heirloom,” as being one of the best bartenders in the city. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We’d also like to give Ben major props for making the Blue Pearl not boring.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Televisions would show vampire movies instead of sports and the beer menu rotated more than Linda Blair’s head. Like “Jurassic Park,” and the novels of R.L. Stein, The Blue Pearl will forever be a reference point for New Haven Eats It. Like legends, it will never die.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At 6:30, the patio door closed fearing the winds of change that forcefully blew throughout New Haven: a death sigh, hoping to extinguish the recently lit candles (do we have room for another Elton John reference?).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hans, Mendez, and our good friend Britt (see “Comfort Food: Clark’s Pizza and Restaurant and Tropical Delight) sat on a comfortable couch and enjoy the ambiance of talk. We also noticed that we were in very rare company: the women at the Pearl outnumbered men 20 to 3. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>James Bond wouldn’t know which way to turn his head in a place like this.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He would enjoy their martini menu. Maybe he would stray and go for the Zebra in Pink Pajama (free recipe: pomegranate vodka, triple sec, pineapple and cranberry- provide your own estrogen).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The martinis are made strong, with a fury and purpose that would karate chop Bond into a hangover.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The music went from schmaltz to boogie-ville over the course two songs.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And to think the Blue Pearl just started Brunch-a-billy, a most delicious combination of breakfast food and rock-a-billy music.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For ten dollars you got both your grits and Little Richard.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While typing this, the candle keeping the fondue warm- the recently brought out fondue- just went out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Customers shouldn’t have to struggle to keep their food warm unless the menu states so, but we are not ignorant to the poetic symbolism presented to us with our cheese and vegetables. The fondue’s vegetables are slightly boiled or something to give them a limp, damp effect.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Like the French and Disco culture which conceived and raised fondue, the outcome is dated and slightly off putting. Good vegetables, with their color and nutrients, are forced to walk the plank into a saturated fat murky depth of melted cheese (“yo ho”) ruining both good vegetables and cheese in the process. Like polyester this unholy combination of ingredients leaves one feeling uncomfortable in ones own skin and likewise should remain unawaken in the old section of Time Square. Let sleeping dogs lie, we say, unless you really want to play fetch. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We hypothesize that the fondue was the nail in The Blue Pearl’s coffin. Yes they held a niche market, but holding that market is like holding a bees’ nest: you’re the only one crazy enough to do it, but you and your customers are also the only ones getting stung. Forgive our angry and hurt tone, our hatred for fondue (really, Mendez’s- Hans thought the fondue menu was cool, they are the only place that did fondue), but with a drink menu, ambiance, and staff like that The Blue Pearl should still be with us: Always there for those nights when velvet blazers are necessary and a little “strange” is a must. Mendez remembers a night when The Pearl was occupied by dozens of Southern Indian women, each more beautiful and exotic than the last and another night when Hans’s sister brought a “Single and Horny Young Woman Anonymous Sex Group,” in for cocktails. We are not saying that The Pearl was always packed wall to wall, or that, like every other bar in town, it did not have its nights when it was more of a tree house for dudes who don’t want to drink alone at home than a bar, but when something beautiful is dying no one remembers its blemishes. Like with arteries, too much sausage can ruin a bar.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hopefully this humble post will serve to comfort those, who like us, lost a good friend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hopefully it will keep the memory of a great place alive; so that when future generations pass the real-estate and see a glorious shell with a pungent Starbucks inside they can wonder what it must have been like when artisan cocktails where poured and the Blue Pearl glimmered by sun and moonlight.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With roses placed on the tomb we say adieu,</p><p class="MsoNormal">and we will never forget, we will never cease to miss you,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hans and Mendez<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mM0-ZU8njdo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mM0-ZU8njdo&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></p>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-79112612263338420032010-04-29T14:17:00.001-07:002010-07-23T13:08:15.776-07:00Breakfast of Champions: The Pantry<div>These two bloggers, they do my heart well. Sure Mendez can be a bit silly at times and Hans has been known for shrewdness, but who hasn’t from time to time? I really like their style and their respect for breakfast. Why I should know. Humph? Whats that? Oh who am I? Hahahaha maybe this will help you out “They’re Great!" Purr. Tony Tiger, pleased to meet you. I’ve been watching Hans and Mendez for quite some time now, and well yes, they too are great. </div><div><br /></div><div>Recently my agent asked me if I wanted to do a breakfast special with Hans and Mendez. I didn’t even ask where we were going, I jumped at the chance. I took the next plane out from L.A. and landed at LaGuardia. I’d rather not go into the details of my flight. If Kevin Smith felt embarrassed for being denied a seat on an air plane, can you imagine my embarrassment of having to be kenneled and stored in the hull for six hours. Kevin Smith’s fat ass deserved it, at least I’m a real star, but I digress, I am better than that! Hahahah. Purr. Look at me, talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Me stooping down to that level, blogging about my disappointments and disrespect. Egg in the face is one thing, but to use it as you Twitter profile picture! Purr…</div><div><br /></div><div>Once I arrived in Hartford I chartered a private jet. I would love to give the coordinates, but lets just say I landed somewhere… special… Imagine Willy Wonka’s factory, no, Warhol’s factory, well maybe a bit more Wonka…. Regardless, it doesn’t need to be said that Tony Tiger, Hans and Mendez got down to some serious partying. How can I put this gently? Checks aren’t the only things they rip and sometimes they do more with lines than just cut them, but someone has to cut the raw. If its not raw we were surely baked and more was filleted than just steaks, but regardless… purr.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a week of bending and preparing our appetites we were ready to eat. Hans suggested The Pantry, a breakfast only establishment not far from the Blogcave. Let me tell you, I’ve made a living off of breakfast. Put several cubs (after a while you just stop counting) through college and use the cereal bucks to take care of several other broads and their cubs. Panthers, sex kittens, cougars I’ve had them all. Back before all of this whole grain nonsense, Captain Crunch and I rented this bugaloo… hahaha, purr. [Tony is now rubbing himself against the floor and couch, his hair is every where. He rolls up yet another catnip cigarette]</div><div><br /></div><div>Breakfast is beautiful. If it is an art form, The Pantry is Michelangelo. The interior is small, but comfortable. Posters advertising long since past jazz festivals decorate the wall adding color and a laid back vibe. The walls croon out “It’s okay, this is the most important meal of the day and you are in good hands.” The manager invites you to sit at any table that is clean. We sat next to the window facing State Street. Nothing accompanies a good breakfast like rays of the morning sun. This is not some greasy morning after spoon; dark glasses and stained shirts are out of place. </div><div><br /></div><div>The double sided menu is clean and concise. Waffles, pancakes, eggs and omelets can be found on the first page, but the real gems can be found on the flip side, where the benedicts are printed. Because I am under contract I ordered a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Hans ordered an eggs florentine for a holy hollandaise experience. Mendez ordered the eggs blackstone. Both are around ten dollars. While waiting for the waitress we noticed the powerful affect that a great breakfast has on people. We were surrounded by smiling faces. Faces of every age, race and college affiliation. Yale sweatshirts and Southern Connecticut State University sweatshirts, literally cut of the same cloth, dined together like lions and lambs, or a tiger and bloggers. Meow. A man with a hard hat and reflective vest sat at the bar, hipsters in a large booth, and older women catching up over pancakes. It was a beautiful sight.</div><div><br /></div><div>The waitress is the kind of woman whom you wouldn’t mind serving you breakfast on the regular. A midnight snack wouldn’t be too bad either. Mendez slightly elbowed me at the table. “Tony, as you know, I’m the guy who usually writes about the waitress, I’m curious to hear what you have to say about her.” I smiled at my friend. “Mendez,” I said, “I’m not scared in the least bit, thus this isn’t a tail between my legs.” Regardless to say, we high-fived. You see there’s a reason why there are no women in my business. Cereal spokesmen are notorious for having non-bite sized libidos. Captain, Count, Boo-Berry, Snap, Crackle and Pop (well not Pop- let's just say that he and a <i>very</i> famous Wheaties endorser where caught in the back room of General Mills doing more than pouring low fat milk on each others balanced breakfasts). It’s a business for men who aren’t afraid of being men: Coco Puffs isn’t going to be hiring John Mayer any time soon. If Hans and Mendez weren’t doing their thing with New Haven Eats It, they would be on the front of a cereal box, one being served with a carton of cold milk with the hearts and souls of dames on the back. I think that deserves a “purrr.”</div><div><br /></div><div>The food came out. Served with fresh cantaloupe and home fries the benedicts are the best I have ever seen or tasted in my nine lives. The bacon was thick and smoky, the eggs poached to perfection. There was a time in my life, before I stumbled across Frosted Flakes when I was traveling the country selling perfume door to door. The work took me across the country and back. If not on my sales route, from divorce hearing to divorce hearing. If a fox creeps into the chicken coup late at night whose fault is it? The fox, the chicken, or the rusty pad lock on the coup? I blame destiny. I’ll see you next Tuesday. Any ways, while I was traveling the country I have eaten a lot of home fries. I’ve eaten them at hotels, diners and at 4 star restaurant brunches and these where the best to ever pass my lovers lips and mouth. Hahaha, can you imagine appearing before a judge and saying that the kids not yours? Whiskers and all? Great home fries, purr.</div><div><br /></div><div>We finished our meals. Sadly I had over stayed my welcome in the Elm City. Urgent business had come up back in L.A. the kind of business that would never have existed back in the days before whole wheat, but that’s the game we play. We said our fair wells. It would not diminish either myself nor Hans and Mendez to mention here that their was not a dry eye out of the three of us. I told our waitress that I would call her soon and gave Mendez the address of a great customer that I knew in the area. He’s gonna look great in stripes on date. <i>Not</i>. Now this is the most touching part: Hans taught me the secret New Haven Eats it Hand shake... well if the water works weren't turned on. Hans and Mendez saw me to the air port and politely turned away while I was being kenneled. The Pantry is truly a gem in New Haven’s crown and as I’m sure you could have predicted my final thought is this: those two bloggers, those lovable writers of food, well, THEY’RE GREAT!</div><div><br /></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-58630418832933418752010-04-21T20:47:00.000-07:002010-04-26T10:59:18.274-07:00Today is a Good Day to Die: GeronimoFood bloggers love deals, not gimmicks. In our last post we researched discounted food and drink at some downtown happy hours. To us free wings is bang for your buck, something to be celebrated. The recently passed "Restaurant Week," is an advertising gimmick, an effective one, but a gimmick none-the-less. The idea is for downtown restaurants to attract new customers while the weather is just starting to warm up, the Christmas credit cards are paid, and spring fever is swelling in the loins and wallets of New Haven's eligible bachelors. <div><br /></div><div>By running synchronized reduced pre fixed menus and exhaustive advertisements the restaurants are trying to turn tourists and first time diners into regulars. For tourists and restaurateurs the week has been a success, but for those who have already been acquainted with the food scene, the week long festivities are long lines and pre-fixed menus that read and taste like boiled cliff notes. As literary ambassadors of New Haven, we visited Geronimo during restaurant week not as a result of planning, recommendations or fortune, but because Geronimo was the only place still serving lunch at 3:05 on a Thursday. <div><br /></div><div>Geronimo is a South Western bar. The Mexican influence can be found on their drink menu where Tequila varieties outnumber the options one has for food or beer. The White Texan influence can be tasted in the low quality and lack of inventiveness. The name Geronimo applies not to the man whose remains are stored several blocks down the street (either at Skull and Bones or Hula Hanks), but to their food. Before we dove into the appetizers we looked towards each other, "Geronimo." <div><br /></div><div>The Restaurant Week menu choices Hans and Mendez selected were for their appetizers; a watermelon gazpacho and spicy Buffalo chili. For entrees; a burger and crab quesadilla. For desserts; a tres leches cake and banana fosters. The spicy Buffalo chili was indeed spicy but didn't offer much asides from lingering on the tongue. The watermelon gazpacho tasted plain but felt, like young men in Daisy Dukes, one season ahead of being appropriate.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Crabmeat Quesdilla combines two of Han's pleasures; cheese and crab meat. Unfortunately, like sex and deep water shark harassment, not all pleasures should be combined. The crab and cheese paring ended the same way the intercourse and fishing adventure went: tummy aches and several months of intense physical and mental therapy. The crabmeat was dry and flakey and the bits of corn didn't add much to the meal. The presentation of this dish would earn a newspaper to the nose if brought to the Westminster dog show. At least its not adoption by Michael Vic.</div><div><br /></div><div>The burger that Mendez order was a perfect host for his ketchup. Because of the leanness of the bison meat it gave him even more of an excuse to drown his food in it. "But Hans, its so dry, just pass the bottle over one more time." He gave it another liberal squirt. Cutting through the ketchup he could taste the sweat, brown sugar cured bacon. The bacon was the best part of the burger being cooked to perfection drawing envious comments from the diners seated next to us.</div><div><br /></div><div>"How did he get two pieces of bacon on his burger? We had to share one piece between the two of us." Apparently the only consistency at Geronimo is disappointment.</div><div><br />Geronimo's service lacked on this day. Hans and Mendez were one of two tables eating, two other tables were either finishing up or drinking. Spotting a waitress is like spotting Waldo; both are elusive but at least Waldo seems happier. Our waitress came and went, we assume, through the set of "Legends of the Hidden Temple" to get to the kitchen. She probably had to start over a few times before finding it, explaining both her lack of presence and defeated attitude [little known fact: Hans was the voice actor for Omar].<br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Another appropriate name for this business would be "Dear Lord what I have Gotten Myself Into." With a name like that the tequilla selection would double and mixtapes from ex-girlfriends would play softly in the background. We're sure that Geronimo's is a great spot on a Friday night to rub elbows, sip on Martinis, watch goons drag their knuckles, and spot Bret Michaels lookalikes. As a matter of fact Geronimo's by night is a completely different restaurant than it is during the day. By night its semi-private, semi-outdoor seating attracts large crowds. When we begin our consulting position at www.milffinder.com, we're filming at Geronimo's! </div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-71414767387338178742010-04-16T12:51:00.000-07:002010-04-19T13:45:08.756-07:00The Hans and Mendez Happy HourEuropeans take siestas, actors take fives, and CEOs spend their lives loafing like bums. For the average American we have Happy Hour to sooth our nerves and souls. There is nothing more American than free or discounted food served with discounted (or veiled as discounted) alcoholic beverages.<div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Hours are best enjoyed after a long day, when food and drink are needed to lift spirits and weary heads from hands. Hans and Mendez are perfect canadites for this American tradition. New Haven had fallen victim to a very un-American political rally. The Tea Baggers have gathered at Long Wharf, a great New Haven eating location, to spread their message of disjointed anti-progress anti-liberty rhetoric. With their turf invaded for the day by freedom and thought hating Tea Baggers the bloggers thought of eating a carton of Ben and Jerry's each to lift their troubled spirits. "Let's do something productive, Mendez. Let's drink."</div><div><br /></div><div> Hans and Mendez were so shook up about the conservative take over that they neglected New Haven's better happy hours, such as C.O. Jones and Prime 16 (stay tuned to updates on those). Instead, like Ray who was told not to think of anything, for it would bring ruin, the bloggers thought of the Stay Puft Marshmallow of bars: Rudy's.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rudy's at night time is packed. You elbow your way to the bar as Motley Crue and Morrissey blare over the speakers. In the winter the rooms are kept a cozy below freezing; in the summer they are several degrees above the outside air, depending on the number of patrons. Rudy's is known for its regulars like Cheers or Moe's. If you are looking for that funny looking guy with the funny looking mustache playing "Don't Stop Believing" on a wax paper kazoo, you will probably find him one night sipping a Schlitz. He may claim that Rudy's is locals only, completely ignoring its campus proximity and wall to wall Yale sports memorabilia.</div><div><br /></div><div>To early for the $2.50 domestic bottle special and too late to turn around the blogger's ordered Saranac as it was the daily drink special. Hans being hungry decided to order the chicken nuggets special. The cook took the order and walked away then returned five minutes later apologizing that they did not have any Chicken Nuggets, they took chicken wings and a hot dog instead. This came to 10 dollars.</div><div><br /></div><div>A man spoke intelligently while the bloggers nursed their beers. "You know what's wrong with society? Because of political correctness we have to accept other people's flaws- think of the politicians and the public who support ideas so outdated and so selfish- ideas whose results cause pain for others. They take to the streets and they take to the televisions and we all sit here and make do. We try to get through the day and accept people for who they are. But it is they who do wrong." Who would say this? The man with the wax paper kazoo? No, it was CSI SVU's rapist. </div><div><br /></div><div>Scrunching their eyebrows in dismay the bloggers were alleviated with the food. The hot dog was okay and ripped in half to share. The hot dog is worth exactly 1.50. The wings were delicious and satisfied the requirement for good wings: they were messy fun. If the spicy sauce doesn't coat your fingers and leave you looking like a cannibal, what's the point? Hans and Mendez sat and watched the rest of CSI, transfixed by the amount of eyebrow scrunching required by the actors when a new development came about. Who would watch this show? The bloggers looked around to the few who sat indoors, who sat at attention towards to the television. It was time to leave.</div><div><br /></div><div>Where else to go? Their minds weakened by CSI, the bloggers ambled on to Christy's because it too is a proper noun themed bar. Christy's is to Orange Street what Anna Liffey's is to Whitney Avenue a block over; a Rugby crazed Irish bar. They were on a 90's British rock kick which is unusual enough in New Haven to notice. New Haven bars tend to avoid the Gallagher brothers music too tired of being jerked around by their heartless antics. Christy's Happy Hour is fifty cents off a drink. We are beggars; we chose their cheapest drink, the honorable Pabst . This means that Rudy's Happy Hour Blue Ribbon and Christy's are the same price. The wings are free but dry out on a heating plate. Christ'y bartender has personality and talks to you. It's a departure from Rudy's where the bartender texted Wordsworth while painting Fabergé eggs. Hans and Mendez used their certificates in personal training to compare the waitresses glutes and thighs. Their findings shall remain confidential for now. In the end the bloggers preferred Christy's. Like love thrift conquers all. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>In the days to come, while working on in this post for you, we revisited Olde School and have been really thrilled by their Happy Hour Special, it starts and three and ends at six for the early birds out there. Affordable and delicious appetizers. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Eat on,</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Hans and Mendez</i></div></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DYp2LGKOF_M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DYp2LGKOF_M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></i></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-34765308999370574432010-04-16T09:41:00.000-07:002010-04-16T12:59:59.516-07:00BATTLE ROYALE!<div>What: Mendez competitively eats lots and lots of spaghetti. </div><div><br /></div>When: Tomorrow (Saturday 17th) 1:00 pm Eastern Time.<div><br /></div><div>Where: Sarafinos Ristorante Italiano, 72 South Turnpike Road, Wallingford, Connecticut 06492</div><div><br /></div><div>Why: Mendez competitively eats lots and lots of spaghetti.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Come Meet Your Two Favorite Food Bloggers! Cheer On Your Favorite Novice Competitor!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-83624836196481257482010-04-09T12:20:00.001-07:002010-04-16T12:48:24.752-07:00Health Has No Fury: Claire's Cornercopia<div>Continuing their adventures in the depths of Health, the bloggers treated themselves to Claire's Cornercopia, a popular vegetarian restaurant on Chapel Street. Behind the counter towering over customers looms a vast black board menu ranging from breakfast, Mexican, sandwiches, pizzas to daily specials and soups. Hans and Mendez's eyes darted from the menu to a cake covered counter. An open kitchen stands to the right of the counter where people work frantically.</div><div><br /><div><div>The bloggers immediately noticed how busy the restaurant was. Even on a rainy afternoon Claire's was packing in hungry diners. The clients differed from Edge of the Woods, substitute Noam Chomsky with "Going Rogue," but the Torah remained on many a reading list. Clean cut yuppies keep the fixed gear crew out, allowing more room for J. Crew shopping bags. Classical music soothes the crowded atmosphere, there is no room here for elevator muzak.</div></div><br /><div>A tattooed extra from either UHF or a Burning Man documentary took the bloggers order. Hans ordered a soy beef potato patty; while Mendez ordered the Grande Burrito. Both dishes where brought out to the bloggers minutes later. They were left waiting long enough to know that the food was cooked to order; it was brought to the table fast enough for them to know that there is no dilly-dallying going on in Clare's open-kitchen. One neat characteristic about Claire's is that they take your name when you order. They then holler this out into the dining room to find you. Due to the nature of blog celebrity, the names Vladmir and Bugsy were given. Better to suffer soft chuckles than die hard fans while eating.</div><br /><div>Mendez, who claimed to have lost his appetite, being surrounded by the yuppies found it in a hurry once his burrito was served. Yuppies or not, the burrito was delicious. It was comprised of asparagus, buffalo soy chicken, refried pinto beans, brown rice, and one under cooked carrot. The carrot came as a shock, but an appreciated one none-the-less. The buffalo sauce was distinct, but not over powering, making for one filling and tasty lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>The soybeef potato patties came as a trio; not as bad as Green Day, not amazing like the Band of Gypsies, but enjoyable like The Three Stooges. They were pancake sized and retained the soybeef flavor over the potato and other ground stuff. They were breaded and flakey and the side of sour cream enhanced the experience. The daily special white board said the patties would be served with a mango chutney but alas, not. A side of apple sauce was consumed in its place with a slight hint of resentment. The food is worth the ten dollars one spends at Claire's; it's filling but not too heavy and rises above expectations.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mendez needed to use the rest room and felt embarrassed, for he had to ask for a key. Like Studio 54, one must ask to be let in, but once inside it is worth the scrutiny of the restroom bouncer. Embarrassment is a small price to pay for a facility so clean and bum free.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you are looking for vegan or vegetarian options Hans and Mendez recommend Claire's over Edge of the Woods. The two are incomparable in quality. Claire, a contributor to New Haven culture, has earned her stripes and admiration from Hans and Mendez, be it from longevity, published cookbooks, or newspaper articles.</div><div><br /></div><div></div></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-69363909535802384262010-03-29T14:06:00.001-07:002010-04-07T19:21:21.816-07:00Here's to your Health: Edge of the Woods<div>With swimsuit season just around we have decided to tackle the first installment of Healthy Eats from the Elm City. We have also started an exercise routine, not for the gawkers at the meat market, but for ourselves. We believe life cannot be fully lived or fully enjoyed unless the person living it is in good health. For the next two post we have sworn off of French fries and pork rinds. Maybe we have been inspired by Jamie Oliver's crusade on the American diet or just plain vanity. Either way, with the interest of our waist line and taste buds equally in mind we dined at The Edge of the Woods. </div><div><br /></div><div>We have both dined here before, many years ago, both separately and together. In the past we were drawn in by the exotic sounding word "vegan". We thought that our lunch selection would make us appear sexier to those girls with tattoos and dreadlocks. As our taste in women and food changed we soon forgot about that little spot on Whalley. Our return was like looking that old, tattooed, high school sweetheart up on The Facebook; only minus the masturbation</div><div><br />Edge of the Woods is like a Cracker Barrel for those who read the Torah and Noam Chomsky: it is a half shopping, half dinning destination. One can shop for organic groceries, herbal cure-alls, or enjoy their hot food, sandwiches and baked goods. We associate Edge of the Woods with unwashed bike messenger types and sociology majors; those who bum handrolled cigarettes and will only ride a fixed gear bicycle. It reminds us of that old joke made famous by Jeff Foxworthy before he discovered redneck humor: "If your record collection consists of 7 inches ordered from a Seattle zine...you just might be a vegan."<br /><br />The self-serve buffet has been called "A vegan Conn Hall," by a friend of ours and employee of Edge of the Woods. His identity shall remain anonymous after those malicious remarks. For those of you out there unfamiliar with Conn Hall, it is the mess hall at Southern Connecticut State University. The food does not taste like death warmed over, but death warmed over, refrozen and then reheated again, plus more yuckiness. The food at Edge of the Woods sits like an unwanted newborn at room temperature. Mendez dabbed at his eyes with his monogrammed handkerchief like an Indian seeing litter for the first time. Food needs warmth and love. The food here is dried out not by the omni-shining heat lamp, but by time. "Where's the integrity?" Hans asked scooping a macaroni salad to his plate: like the chef, he too can read the back of an Annie's box. Out of our entire selection we like the cauliflower pie best. It was essentially mashed potatoes made with cauliflower, not the most original of dishes, but tasty non-the-less. Mendez enjoyed the spinach salad immensely finding the sweet onion to be paired well with craisins and the salad's mixed nuts. </div><div><br /></div><div>Vegan options are where chances can be taken. The limited ingredients should open the doors of creativity allowing chefs and food to shine. Instead one tray of slop with cheese is no different than slop without cheese. The food at the buffet is 5.95 a pound. It's best to get a variety of things to push around with a fork and make new flavors. The average price of a sandwich is five dollars. Unfortunately the sandwiches are made with pre-packaged "meat"slices.</div><div><br /></div><div>The dessert case is packed with the sweetest of eats. The mocoa chocolate chip cookie Hans munched was a tiny bit burnt but the coffee taste made up for that. Mendez thought his trail mix cookie was the best part of his meal. Great flavor, good texture, it is a cookie done right. </div><div><br /></div><div> Location is what makes Edge of the Woods stand out. This area of Whalley Avenue is known for meaty dishes; soul food and Chinese take out places are every other block. The dining room looks out unto Whalley Avenue. Mendez had no idea so many lending businesses and lawyers could fit on one block. Sitting behind the fake plastic plants in the dining room, we heard many silly conversations, such as the pie guy, who asked for the "juiciest, sweetest, most delicious slice of pie" Edge of the Woods has. The employees talk about their hours being cut and the latest organic coffee being served. They are sure to repeat the name four or five times so anyone overhearing conversations is punished for doing so. The bloggers would recommend Edge of the Woods to anyone who is on a lunch break or walking by. It's certainly better to eat tempeh than any thing from the Burger King a block over.</div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4387592037270836574.post-20043952959935522302010-03-19T11:30:00.000-07:002010-04-09T14:25:22.692-07:00Ladies Night 101: Olde SchoolMendez and his pet parakeet were sweaty and exhausted from an afternoon of falconing. Upon their way home he spotted a sign for Olde School's Ladies Night. Mendez immediately picked up his end of the blogcave's tin can telephone. To the bloggers Ladies Night is Yom Kippur, Grandparents Day, and Russian History Month all rolled into several reduced drink price hours. Olde School is the most recent addition to the New Haven eatery scene. It is located on the outskirts of the downtown restaurant district, at the intersection of State and Court. Neither of the bloggers had been yet, so Mendez whispered the magic words over his tin can telephone: "Ladies Night." Within minutes the bloggers, dressed in elbow length falconing gloves and bear bating pumps strutted to Olde School knowing only of a rumor claiming it to be a teacher's bar.<div><br /></div><div>Upon entering the rumor was confirmed, but more questions sprang to the bloggers' minds about the identity of the bar. The windows are decorated with neon beer logos, contradictory to the dinning room and entranceway, which is decorated with snow white table cloths and napkins. The adjacent room, with the neon windows, is finished like an Irish/Italian/Klingon bar. A portrait of Warf gazes across the room into Sinatra's baby blues. A rather androgynous velvet Elvis stands guard over the room, add a mole and you have a masculine Marilyn Monroe.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ladies Night at Olde School is an opportunity to share a karaoke microphone and five dollar Stoli drinks with physics teachers and other people who have failed Hans and Mendez. The badly butchered songs played on in the background as the bloggers thought of revenge and if Miss ________ from junior high still had that plump ass. Hans and Mendez spent many afternoons in detention "accidentally" dropping pencils. Mendez grimaced thinking of how he has been tricked, humiliated, and unwantfully bedded by the education system, one unprestigious New Haven university in particular. <i>Where are the jobs? I hate sharing a bunk bed with this clown Hans, never mind our toothbrush.</i> Before shoveling the driveways of their winter's discontent the bloggers had to eat. They sat at the bar drinking Cape-coders. The perk of Ladies Night is this surprising drink special where after three drinks your balls are so big you will sing "Margaritaville."</div><div><br /></div><div>The bloggers ordered Oysters Casino, Olde School Nachoes and Stuffed Mushrooms. The bloggers initially scoffed at the Nachos. They thought back to dozens of nachos, from bowling alleys to pubs: some boasting buffalo chicken, others, twenty-four different types of corn chips, all tasting like bovine feed and texturally equivalent to a gag rubber-chicken. Skeptically they took their first bite. Soon after the bloggers stopped biting and chewing all together, and fought for the cheesiest chip, throwing sour cream to defend their claims to sausage. The gorgonzola and mozzarella cheese melted deliciously together. Bits of sausage with hot and sweet peppers made for a flavorful eat. The mushrooms are stuffed with crabmeat and cream cheese, fit for a cocktail party. All of these items are part of Ladies Night five dollars special and taste better than the menu's description.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mendez, when are you going to grab the mic and speak your mind," Hans chided Mendez who stewed in silence as teachers mingled about laughing. A lone nun sat in the corner filing her meter stick for maximum knuckle smacking. "Aren't you sick of these teachers holding all the answers to life in their teacher's editions? Are we just to sit here and watch these professional liars celebrate? Mendez, look like the innocent blogger, but grab the mic and let loose the devil underneath."</div><div><br /></div><div>Mendez thought back to his childhood: the endless detentions and five paragraph essays as to why he would not blog about the cafeteria's deficiencies. "But I wanna blog!" he whined in protest. More essays and more discipline followed, but the essays made him stronger. He wrote his reviews wearing bear skin briefs likening his punishment to Conan laboring, turning that giant mill. Soon Mendez would become strong enough to break free from bondage. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I asked you to write about what you did this summer, Mendez. You wrote three pages about the hot dog stand at Epcot, I just don't know what to do with you anymore. Why don't you you blog about your afternoon in the principal's office." Mendez walked down to the office. He sat next to a young student who was using an Etch-a-Sketch as a writing device. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Hi, my name is Mendez." </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm Hans, wanna read my review of Chuck E. Cheese? Care for a candy spliff?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"This is why we met," Mendez said to Hans, who was licking the Nacho plate. "Revenge. Tonight we sing, tomorrow we blog."</div><div><br /></div><div>They shoved a librarian out of the way, chalk dust all over her face and hands. "Key of E and make it snappy," Hans ordered the D.J. Mendez spun his microphone. The countdown for the song's first note began. They sang. They sang with power, with force, and with a pure passion. They sang for revenge.</div><div><br /></div><div>"We shall blog!" they shouted into the microphones. Vodka filled glasses shattered at the utterance of self-publishing. The educator's faces started to melt, revealing monstrous pus covered creatures. The bartender didn't blink at the physical changes long accustomed to bar patrons like these. Gym teachers kept their stoic mugs for they are ignorant to publishing and technology apart from the lanyard and whistle. Mendez let out a "Whooo" Hans began to sing, "<i>Turn around, every now and then I fall apar</i>t." Mendez picked it up, "<i>And I need you more than ever</i>." They sang. Hans and Mendez were avenged and this is their blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>After they had their revenge they sat back at the bar. "That was really something," the bartender winked while patrons did their best to reattach their faces. "Oh, and this round is on Miss_____." The boys turned, Miss__________ raised her glass, the boys did the same. Life has changed since their school days: the blog has taken off, virginities have been lost, but Miss______ still has that plump ass.</div><div><br /></div><div>ADDENDUM:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Because Hans and Mendez kick ass and forget names, they won the karaoke contest. Given a choice between beheading a teacher of their choice OR a surf and turf luncheon, the bloggers went with the food. This is the review of their victory:</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Hans and Mendez slid up to the bar and ordered the Coldplay song to stop. Bloggers need absolute concentration because blogging is a rough path to walk. You never know when a Yelper will attack from behind during a dinner. One of their blogging buddies was choked with a napkin ring days earlier. The waiters follow the awful code of "No Snitching." Anyone who has information in regards to the death of Funtime Frank, of Funtime Franks Fantasy Food review should e-mail us.</div><div><br /></div><div>The surf and turf is not served on a gold plate but its free. It's also, yet again, surprisingly good. Hans has never tasted a better steak than Olde School's. It is disconcerting to have a lobster stare at you, no mater if it is dead and delicious. The prize surf and turf was served with sautéed broccoli rabe and our choice of French, yucca, or sweet potato fries. We chose the yucca fries and chose well. </div><div><br /></div><div>Old School is a great addition to the New Haven food scene. It is still new and has some kinks in its image, but the food and staff are there. Teachers' bar or not we hope to see Olde School flourish, the food is too good for the restaurant not to. </div><div><br /></div><div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/840B27zYfOk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/840B27zYfOk&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>New Haven Eats Ithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01224876491223476101noreply@blogger.com