Even the clattering dittoheads will acquiesce now.
This evening, amongst the Badlands and the Big Sky, the Junior Senator from the Land of Lincoln will be able to claim victory. Tonight, America will stand for change. Tonight, America will set the stage for the greatest electoral fight of our lives. For tonight, Barack Obama will, finally, be named officially the presumptive Democratic nominee for President of the United States.
Whether he gives a big speech or not, whether his now former opponent will make one final stand or not, whether his new opponent tries to crash the party or not, what tonight signals is a seismic shift in American thinking, in American policy, in the hearts of the American voter and, yes, in American history.
It has often been said that Slavery was this country's original sin. That the kidnapping, enforced labor, sale and genocide of an entire race of people was a major engine in the creation of this country, sadly, must always be acknowledged. Tonight, the presumptive nomination of Barack Obama, may finally begin to work back that stain on our history. A child of the Civil Rights Act, a citizen of the world, his was a candidacy and will be a government, built on a Perfect Political Storm to be sure, but one that has the opportunity to be transformational in nature.
Not merely transactional as many of his predecessors have been, bartering for votes and making concessions out of political expediency, but his was a candidacy and will be a government that will seek to transform American politics and government for generations to come.
He is the legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy in that way. He will have the gravitas, the will, the wherewithal, the drive, the determination and the guts to seek change across disciplines and interest groups, in many different segments of the American society. His Presidency will be the next great step in the American Experiment. His is the promise of a new generation.
We may not see the change promised in the next financial quarter, or the next four or eight years, or even in this generation or in our lifetimes. And thus, from the candidate on down, the time has come together as a party, and as a country and as a society and support Barack Obama.
For it will all be a dream without hard work.
The fight of our lives is upon us and will yield the promise of a new American century. Let us begin.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Good Things Come to Those Who Wait
It was a grim, gray, dull, lazy Saturday here on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. One of those brutal New York days, where the air is thick with the musty odors of the city hanging in humid air. The city is aching to breathe, praying for rain and continuously waiting for the respite to come. It was the perfect day for a field trip.
As the rain finally starts to fall around noon, James, Megan and I make our way into the 4 train. We have decided to get out of the Upper East and make our way to Brooklyn, to one of the centers of food world. I know, leaving Manhattan for good food seems like a crime. Dominic DeMarco makes your trip to Midwood, Brooklyn worth the trip, however.
James and I have been planning this excursion for years. Ever since we first heard from our songwriting hero Mike Doughty of his love for Di Fara Pizza, we have always wanted to try it out. The humble pizzeria had grown in our minds over the years to almost mythic proportions. Di Fara is revered both in and outside of the foodie community, especially amongst the pizza cognoscenti, and we felt that we needed to see it ourselves.
But we had always put it off. I mean, Midwood, Brooklyn might as well be on the far side of the moon. It takes forever to get there and the only real highlights even nearby are Brighton Beach or Coney Island. It literally defines the Bowels of Brooklyn. The time had come, however, because recent life events have dictated a move to the West Coast for yours truly (more on that in the afterword to this post) and with Dominic not getting any younger, we finally pulled the trigger.
So, hot, tired, hungover and hungry, we set off. After the change to the Q train at Union Square, it still took another 35 minutes to get to 14th Street and Avenue J in Midwood. As the skies opened up, we could not believe our luck. In this baptismal experience in pizza culture, the massive rains falling over Brooklyn may help keep the crowds down, and keep our waiting to a minimum.
We ran across 15th Street towards the giant "PIZZA" sign noting the small Di Fara outpost. As we burst into the cramped, blazing hot shop, we immediately took notice of the slower pace of life here. The signs on the wall don't lie. It's worth the wait.
After about five minutes, Dominic's assistant took my order: 1 regular cheese pie, to stay. He asked my name. That was the end of our transaction and conversation. He went back to work assisting the great master in his craft, shaving fresh mozzarella, refilling his sauce bowl, bringing new dough out for Dominic to craft his signature dish.
Dominic is clearly a man of advanced age. He is covered head to toe in flour. Bent slightly at the middle of his back from years of reaching and shaping and massaging and punching and spreading and saucing. He uses few tools: one wooden paddle to insert the pie, one metal paddle to remove the pie and serve, a box grater, a fine grater, a ladle, two oil cans, and a pair of scissors. Most important are his hands, worn into prime dough shaping position from more than a half century of work, calloused, burned, arthritic. These are the hands of a grand master, hands that can tell in one touch of the crust if a pie is done, hands that will reach into a 600 degree oven again and again to remove and reshape pies, hands that have the muscle memory and instinct all their own to make a perfect pie.
I watch him, studying him for almost 45 minutes. Finally he starts working on my pizza. He quickly shapes the ball of dough into a thing sheet, slightly oblong rather than circular, and covers it in flour. He then spreads out his own tomato sauce made fresh that day from rich, sweet San Marzano tomatoes. He then reaches for a loaf of fresh mozzarella and his box grater, shaving long, thick slices of the cheese over the pie. A final dose of extra virgin olive oil and the pie loaded onto the wooden plank and shoved into the oven. And the process repeats itself. Over and over and over again. And the line forms anew and more orders are given, and more people wait and watch and ready themselves.
Finally after about 12 minutes the pizza is ready. Dominic reaches into one of the two ovens (he can only cook four pizzas at a time, hence the wait) and grabs the pizza, sometimes with the metal paddle, sometimes with his bare hands and places it on a metal pie pan. He then tops it immediately with finely shaven mozzarella (not fresh, think more like string cheese mozzarella), fresh oregano which he cuts with his scissors and a final dose of olive oil. He asks whose pizza it is, shouting initials or a name written by his sous chef.
You give him your $20 and run to one of the few tables in the little shop. You want so desperately, after waiting what seems like forever in anticipation (in our case, we only waited about 45 minutes or so), to just rip into the beautiful delicious, bubbling, oozing pie. But you control yourself, if only for a moment, knowing that the charred dough and boiling cheese and creamy sauce are still white hot. But you remember, good things come to those who wait.
Finally, you can't control yourself anymore. You tear into the first slice. It is sloppy, gooey, hard to hold or control, even harder to cool down.
But then you taste the work of the grand master and it all melts away.
Pizza is delightfully simple, but when put together in the right way, with the right ingredients it is absolutely the greatest substance ever created by mankind. In Dominic's case, he has found the perfect blend of the ingredients. And his time tested methods and his personal skill and know-how allow him to create the perfect pie.
As James, Megan and I sat, briefly to take in the immensity of wonderful tastes and smells and experiences we had just borne witness to, we were awash in realizations about pizza and life and other things of import. There is no place on Earth like Di Fara. After Dominic is gone, hopefully not for many years, the little, cramped space at 14th and J will fade into the long history of Brooklyn lore, a place lost in time and forever remembered by all those who were there, then. But the memories of a day so long anticipated, and so humbly rewarding will remain forever.
Go to Di Fara for yourself. See the grand master and working class hero work. Smell the air. And yes, taste the pizza. And remember, good things come to those who wait.
---
AFTERWORD
So yes, it has been a while. I have recommitted myself to this blog (famous last words) and intend to write a lot more about the issues we all (read: I) care about (the election, baseball, food and wine). The last couple months have been rough, but I'm happy to say that come the end of June I am off on a new journey in my life, taking up residence in the City by the Bay. Friends on the west coast be advised, and friends elsewhere, come visit anytime!
As the rain finally starts to fall around noon, James, Megan and I make our way into the 4 train. We have decided to get out of the Upper East and make our way to Brooklyn, to one of the centers of food world. I know, leaving Manhattan for good food seems like a crime. Dominic DeMarco makes your trip to Midwood, Brooklyn worth the trip, however.
James and I have been planning this excursion for years. Ever since we first heard from our songwriting hero Mike Doughty of his love for Di Fara Pizza, we have always wanted to try it out. The humble pizzeria had grown in our minds over the years to almost mythic proportions. Di Fara is revered both in and outside of the foodie community, especially amongst the pizza cognoscenti, and we felt that we needed to see it ourselves.
But we had always put it off. I mean, Midwood, Brooklyn might as well be on the far side of the moon. It takes forever to get there and the only real highlights even nearby are Brighton Beach or Coney Island. It literally defines the Bowels of Brooklyn. The time had come, however, because recent life events have dictated a move to the West Coast for yours truly (more on that in the afterword to this post) and with Dominic not getting any younger, we finally pulled the trigger.
So, hot, tired, hungover and hungry, we set off. After the change to the Q train at Union Square, it still took another 35 minutes to get to 14th Street and Avenue J in Midwood. As the skies opened up, we could not believe our luck. In this baptismal experience in pizza culture, the massive rains falling over Brooklyn may help keep the crowds down, and keep our waiting to a minimum.
We ran across 15th Street towards the giant "PIZZA" sign noting the small Di Fara outpost. As we burst into the cramped, blazing hot shop, we immediately took notice of the slower pace of life here. The signs on the wall don't lie. It's worth the wait.
After about five minutes, Dominic's assistant took my order: 1 regular cheese pie, to stay. He asked my name. That was the end of our transaction and conversation. He went back to work assisting the great master in his craft, shaving fresh mozzarella, refilling his sauce bowl, bringing new dough out for Dominic to craft his signature dish.
Dominic is clearly a man of advanced age. He is covered head to toe in flour. Bent slightly at the middle of his back from years of reaching and shaping and massaging and punching and spreading and saucing. He uses few tools: one wooden paddle to insert the pie, one metal paddle to remove the pie and serve, a box grater, a fine grater, a ladle, two oil cans, and a pair of scissors. Most important are his hands, worn into prime dough shaping position from more than a half century of work, calloused, burned, arthritic. These are the hands of a grand master, hands that can tell in one touch of the crust if a pie is done, hands that will reach into a 600 degree oven again and again to remove and reshape pies, hands that have the muscle memory and instinct all their own to make a perfect pie.
I watch him, studying him for almost 45 minutes. Finally he starts working on my pizza. He quickly shapes the ball of dough into a thing sheet, slightly oblong rather than circular, and covers it in flour. He then spreads out his own tomato sauce made fresh that day from rich, sweet San Marzano tomatoes. He then reaches for a loaf of fresh mozzarella and his box grater, shaving long, thick slices of the cheese over the pie. A final dose of extra virgin olive oil and the pie loaded onto the wooden plank and shoved into the oven. And the process repeats itself. Over and over and over again. And the line forms anew and more orders are given, and more people wait and watch and ready themselves.
Finally after about 12 minutes the pizza is ready. Dominic reaches into one of the two ovens (he can only cook four pizzas at a time, hence the wait) and grabs the pizza, sometimes with the metal paddle, sometimes with his bare hands and places it on a metal pie pan. He then tops it immediately with finely shaven mozzarella (not fresh, think more like string cheese mozzarella), fresh oregano which he cuts with his scissors and a final dose of olive oil. He asks whose pizza it is, shouting initials or a name written by his sous chef.
You give him your $20 and run to one of the few tables in the little shop. You want so desperately, after waiting what seems like forever in anticipation (in our case, we only waited about 45 minutes or so), to just rip into the beautiful delicious, bubbling, oozing pie. But you control yourself, if only for a moment, knowing that the charred dough and boiling cheese and creamy sauce are still white hot. But you remember, good things come to those who wait.
Finally, you can't control yourself anymore. You tear into the first slice. It is sloppy, gooey, hard to hold or control, even harder to cool down.
But then you taste the work of the grand master and it all melts away.
Pizza is delightfully simple, but when put together in the right way, with the right ingredients it is absolutely the greatest substance ever created by mankind. In Dominic's case, he has found the perfect blend of the ingredients. And his time tested methods and his personal skill and know-how allow him to create the perfect pie.
As James, Megan and I sat, briefly to take in the immensity of wonderful tastes and smells and experiences we had just borne witness to, we were awash in realizations about pizza and life and other things of import. There is no place on Earth like Di Fara. After Dominic is gone, hopefully not for many years, the little, cramped space at 14th and J will fade into the long history of Brooklyn lore, a place lost in time and forever remembered by all those who were there, then. But the memories of a day so long anticipated, and so humbly rewarding will remain forever.
Go to Di Fara for yourself. See the grand master and working class hero work. Smell the air. And yes, taste the pizza. And remember, good things come to those who wait.
---
AFTERWORD
So yes, it has been a while. I have recommitted myself to this blog (famous last words) and intend to write a lot more about the issues we all (read: I) care about (the election, baseball, food and wine). The last couple months have been rough, but I'm happy to say that come the end of June I am off on a new journey in my life, taking up residence in the City by the Bay. Friends on the west coast be advised, and friends elsewhere, come visit anytime!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Delicious and Nutritious (For The Ears)
I have had today marked on my calendar for a long time. Well, a few months anyway. Today, Mike Doughty finally released his anticipated fourth solo studio album Golden Delicious on ATO Records. Like any good fan, I awoke early and downloaded the album from the iTunes Music Store, and enjoyed a first listen on my iPhone on the way to work.
The Dan Wilson (he of Semisonic...thus answering the question of "Hey, whatever happened to them?") produced album strikes the upbeat tone indicative of Doughty's work to date. Since leaving Soul Coughing, the "neo-jazz" (which was a term, created by music journalists in the late '90s, to describe whatever the hell it was that band was concocting) ensemble which blazed a trail for later artists with albums as diverse and rich in music texture as Ruby Vroom and El Oso, and kicking a heroin addiction which had begun to consume his life and artistic talent, Doughty's work has gotten progressively more happy. As he settles into his middle thirties in his beloved Brooklyn, each of his albums, beginning with Skittish, right up to today's release, have sounded sunnier tones, if the subject matter is still, occasionally, depressive, bordering on morose. Still, "I Wrote a Song About Your Car" would not have been heard from a guy writing "Laundrytown" and "No Peace, Los Angeles" ten years ago.
Is this album Doughty's best effort to date? I believe so. And I like this album for the same reason I liked the movie Juno; it is delightfully uncomplicated. Songs like "Fort Hood" and "Book of Love" are surely thought-provoking, but they are, at the same time, 3 to 5 minute pop songs, bulwarked by Doughty's unassuming yet provocative and singular vocal work. Like Juno, it was a solid work bringing together excellent parts to paint a good story. Subtext and self-importance need not apply here. This album is not Synchronicity or Joshua Tree or even Before These Crowded Streets. But the album stands alone on its merit as a great collection of songs that together weave a story of its time and place, and set the stage for Doughty's solid work to continue for albums to come.
Definitely give an earnest listen to "Fort Hood," Doughty's homage to Iraq soldiers, both suffering and dead, who have not received the devotion and thanks from this country and its citizens for whom they have given so much. "You should still be getting stoned with a prom dress girl/You should still believe in an endless world/You should blast Young Jeezy with your friends in a parking lot" should not be as compelling a lyric as it is, and yet in this time and in this scenario, it rings a deep and profound truth.
And there is something strangely poetic about wanting the girl in the blue dress to keep on dancing. That's pure Doughty, as he said on last weekend's All Things Considered. Assessing the essence of the mess is his very own essence and his wheelhouse. And that's what makes "Blue Dress" the most likable song, along with Put It Down" and "Navigating by the Stars at Night" on this, Mike Doughty's latest slice-of-life vignette of the outskirts of Hipster America.
The Dan Wilson (he of Semisonic...thus answering the question of "Hey, whatever happened to them?") produced album strikes the upbeat tone indicative of Doughty's work to date. Since leaving Soul Coughing, the "neo-jazz" (which was a term, created by music journalists in the late '90s, to describe whatever the hell it was that band was concocting) ensemble which blazed a trail for later artists with albums as diverse and rich in music texture as Ruby Vroom and El Oso, and kicking a heroin addiction which had begun to consume his life and artistic talent, Doughty's work has gotten progressively more happy. As he settles into his middle thirties in his beloved Brooklyn, each of his albums, beginning with Skittish, right up to today's release, have sounded sunnier tones, if the subject matter is still, occasionally, depressive, bordering on morose. Still, "I Wrote a Song About Your Car" would not have been heard from a guy writing "Laundrytown" and "No Peace, Los Angeles" ten years ago.
Is this album Doughty's best effort to date? I believe so. And I like this album for the same reason I liked the movie Juno; it is delightfully uncomplicated. Songs like "Fort Hood" and "Book of Love" are surely thought-provoking, but they are, at the same time, 3 to 5 minute pop songs, bulwarked by Doughty's unassuming yet provocative and singular vocal work. Like Juno, it was a solid work bringing together excellent parts to paint a good story. Subtext and self-importance need not apply here. This album is not Synchronicity or Joshua Tree or even Before These Crowded Streets. But the album stands alone on its merit as a great collection of songs that together weave a story of its time and place, and set the stage for Doughty's solid work to continue for albums to come.
Definitely give an earnest listen to "Fort Hood," Doughty's homage to Iraq soldiers, both suffering and dead, who have not received the devotion and thanks from this country and its citizens for whom they have given so much. "You should still be getting stoned with a prom dress girl/You should still believe in an endless world/You should blast Young Jeezy with your friends in a parking lot" should not be as compelling a lyric as it is, and yet in this time and in this scenario, it rings a deep and profound truth.
And there is something strangely poetic about wanting the girl in the blue dress to keep on dancing. That's pure Doughty, as he said on last weekend's All Things Considered. Assessing the essence of the mess is his very own essence and his wheelhouse. And that's what makes "Blue Dress" the most likable song, along with Put It Down" and "Navigating by the Stars at Night" on this, Mike Doughty's latest slice-of-life vignette of the outskirts of Hipster America.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Best. Campaign Video. Ever.
"Words. Words when spoken out loud for the sake of performance are music. They have rhythm and pitch and timbre and volume. These are the properties of music and music has the ability to find us and move us and lift us up in ways that literal meaning can't." - Jed Bartlet
What strikes me in watching this video of the words of Sen. Obama's Iowa Victory Speech is the message wrapped into the rhythmic cadence of his inspiring oratorio. Here stands a man - with followers neatly in tow - not just asking us to believe in the promise of America again, not simply asking that we dream of the things that never were, but to put our hope into action. To do, as the last frames of the video suggest, to turn our hopes into votes. To work together, in this time of great trial as a nation, to make our nation whole, and united, and strong again. To believe in hope, yes, but moreover to be the change we seek in the world. It is only in hard work, in reconciliation, in trial and triumph that America will be great again.
Let us begin.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Best Thing To Come Out Of Illinois Since Barack Obama
That's right, it's time for Top Chef: Chicago!
Published reports say the Bravo favorite will light the burners for their fourth season on March 12th at 10pm ET. Tom, Ted, Gail and, oh yes, the extra yummy Padma will all be back with a cavalcade of celebrity guest stars (Sadly, we have not, as yet, been advised of a cameo from Bill Swerski's Super Fans, or Wayne and Garth.) as we embark upon another culinary odyssey.
If you want to check out the early favorites for the $100K, Food and Wine spread, awesome vacation and Glad Ware, click on over to YumSugar, who have a slideshow of the new season's contestants.
Now, please pack your knives and go.
Published reports say the Bravo favorite will light the burners for their fourth season on March 12th at 10pm ET. Tom, Ted, Gail and, oh yes, the extra yummy Padma will all be back with a cavalcade of celebrity guest stars (Sadly, we have not, as yet, been advised of a cameo from Bill Swerski's Super Fans, or Wayne and Garth.) as we embark upon another culinary odyssey.
If you want to check out the early favorites for the $100K, Food and Wine spread, awesome vacation and Glad Ware, click on over to YumSugar, who have a slideshow of the new season's contestants.
Now, please pack your knives and go.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Bistro Bis? More Like Bistro F.
I decided, at the behest of my good friend and former campaign roommate Julie, to drop a little honest coin and indulge in Washington's annual Restaurant Week. Ever ambitious, Julie made several reservations in the DC metro area, but we decided on Bistro Bis, which I had heard about through the grapevine as being pretty decent fare. Also, I'm a sucker for solid bistro French food at all times. So we gave it a shot.
First of all, as I was rushed to our table upon entrance, I noticed various empty tables throughout the fairly small restaurant. This probably should have been more ominous, since it's Restaurant Week and you cannot get a reservation anywhere in the District, but I sloughed it off, chalking it up to Wednesday night. As it turns out, the absentees knew more than I did.
I quickly ordered a glass of the special South African Cabernet from Wellington, which was actually quite decent. It also turned out to be the high point.
35 minutes later, our waitress finally appeared ready to take our order. In the intervening time Julie and I got catch up and I got to have a drink. Oh, this might be a good time to mention the other absentees: the waitstaff. It took twenty minutes to get water (bread would take ANOTHER 20) and finally - mercifully - we got to put in orders.
Julie ordered the moules grenobloises, trout special and chocolate toffee bread pudding. I chose a more traditional bistro route with onion soup les halles, cote de porc and chocolate roulade. The appetizers were passable though often forgettable. My soup was overpowered by brandy in the broth and it was, inexcusably, served lukewarm. (It's French Onion Soup, for Christ's sake.) Julie's mussels were nice, but oversized for an appetizer. The main course was where the meal totally lost its luster. Julie's trout looked decent enough - I admit I didn't try it - but my pork chop was completely lifeless. And to make it worse, it was covered in some kind of ridiculous, flavor-retardant barbecue sauce without any starch on the plate.
You know what guys? i know it's restaurant week, but stop treating us like cheap rubes. I mean, Jesus, this is not New York, it's Washington. Getting people in the door for haute cuisine is enough of a struggle, don't make those of us trying to enjoy an experience like this on short money feel stupid for having chose you. Have the common decency to do the little things, despite the drop in price. It's bistro food. I demand potatoes. Not a lot, just a taste, something interesting maybe. But at least something. Not a half empty plate. If you're working in DC, and you're not Michel Richard or Jose Andres, get over yourself and fill plates. And if you're pushing half empty plates at a bistro, that's borderline insane.
And in any case, don't lose a perfectly good medium rare pork chop in barbecue sauce.
Dessert was hit and miss. Julie's chocolate toffee was a good effort, and tasty, if non-inventive. My roulade was flat and nearly bereft of chocolate, though the berries left a pleasant brightness on the palate. All in all, I've soured on the restaurant week experience. If DC restaurants are all like Bistro Bis, people will continue to forcefeed themselves overpriced steaks at Sam and Harry's and the Palm and the food scene here will die.
Restuarant Week or not, however, skip Bistro Bis.
First of all, as I was rushed to our table upon entrance, I noticed various empty tables throughout the fairly small restaurant. This probably should have been more ominous, since it's Restaurant Week and you cannot get a reservation anywhere in the District, but I sloughed it off, chalking it up to Wednesday night. As it turns out, the absentees knew more than I did.
I quickly ordered a glass of the special South African Cabernet from Wellington, which was actually quite decent. It also turned out to be the high point.
35 minutes later, our waitress finally appeared ready to take our order. In the intervening time Julie and I got catch up and I got to have a drink. Oh, this might be a good time to mention the other absentees: the waitstaff. It took twenty minutes to get water (bread would take ANOTHER 20) and finally - mercifully - we got to put in orders.
Julie ordered the moules grenobloises, trout special and chocolate toffee bread pudding. I chose a more traditional bistro route with onion soup les halles, cote de porc and chocolate roulade. The appetizers were passable though often forgettable. My soup was overpowered by brandy in the broth and it was, inexcusably, served lukewarm. (It's French Onion Soup, for Christ's sake.) Julie's mussels were nice, but oversized for an appetizer. The main course was where the meal totally lost its luster. Julie's trout looked decent enough - I admit I didn't try it - but my pork chop was completely lifeless. And to make it worse, it was covered in some kind of ridiculous, flavor-retardant barbecue sauce without any starch on the plate.
You know what guys? i know it's restaurant week, but stop treating us like cheap rubes. I mean, Jesus, this is not New York, it's Washington. Getting people in the door for haute cuisine is enough of a struggle, don't make those of us trying to enjoy an experience like this on short money feel stupid for having chose you. Have the common decency to do the little things, despite the drop in price. It's bistro food. I demand potatoes. Not a lot, just a taste, something interesting maybe. But at least something. Not a half empty plate. If you're working in DC, and you're not Michel Richard or Jose Andres, get over yourself and fill plates. And if you're pushing half empty plates at a bistro, that's borderline insane.
And in any case, don't lose a perfectly good medium rare pork chop in barbecue sauce.
Dessert was hit and miss. Julie's chocolate toffee was a good effort, and tasty, if non-inventive. My roulade was flat and nearly bereft of chocolate, though the berries left a pleasant brightness on the palate. All in all, I've soured on the restaurant week experience. If DC restaurants are all like Bistro Bis, people will continue to forcefeed themselves overpriced steaks at Sam and Harry's and the Palm and the food scene here will die.
Restuarant Week or not, however, skip Bistro Bis.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
You're Not Wrong, Walter, You're Just Illiterate
Quite the barnburner last night in the Granite State.
Hillary Clinton went from being clinically dead (at least according to known feminist Chris Matthews) at 6pm to the "frontrunner for the Democratic nomination" by Midnight.
That actually happened. And while I believe all of those far-off prognostications about as far I can throw Hillary Clinton, we have been taught in American politics these days to expect the expected, that pollsters have gotten so good at what they do that they could never be wrong and that whatever they feed the mainstream media must be correct, because they got it right once or twice before. And the media, largely lacking the ability to use critical thinking and decipher what polls actually mean, report polling numbers as facts and then get pissed off when that's not the whole story, and legions of them look foolish on national television.
But the problem with both of those memes is that even a casual observer of the American political process would have known by 8:15 last night that something wasn't right. Actually, scratch that, anyone with an eighth grade education (or your typical New Hampshire primary voter) who can use a calculator would tell you that 40+30+15=85. By the best estimates, 15% of voters were undecided when they walked into the polls last night, and that's if you only look at the numbers. (And don't bother telling me "Oh you forgot about Kucinich." I didn't forget about Kucinich, we just all wish he forgot about us. Lunatic. Honest to God, he already talks about aliens, if he starts talking nude conspiracies, he and Lyndon Larouche are going to run on the Looney Tune ticket.)
This situation also reminds us why tracking polls are crack for the weak. When there are only about 100 hours from the results being announced in Iowa until people started voting in New Hampshire, no pollster worth his weight whatever they were feeding the media all day yesterday would tell you that all bets were off. And then, when you factor in at least two huge events happening in an 18-hour span (the debate and Hillary's odd, salty discharge moment [non-sexual division]) history will take over.
See, people in New Hampshire are regarded as "private" people. They may actually just be "ridiculous" people but any way you slice it, they openly lie to pollsters in a vain attempt to try and get them off their backs. We go through this every four years: New Hampshireites (New Hampshirians?) are oversaturated with campaign materiel, candidates, pollsters, pundits and toast and egg breakfasts at diners, and they get hostile, wanting everyone to leave town, and thinking they never will. So they lie. They lie to staffers. They lie to pollsters. They lie to whoever will listen to their insane rants about their "problems" (Word to the wise, the only problems you have in New Hampshire are not enough NASCAR and too much snow and it was 65 degrees yesterday and the race is probably coming up, so shove it). They claim, despondently, that they just want to be left in peace. Then they vote and we all figure out that they were lying all along and we leave and talk about them for about 24 more hours and then we move on to the other 48 states and the real issues facing the nation.
And then, two years from now, New Hampshire will demand to know where we all have gone and invite all the politicians and pundits and pollsters and gentrified media types back for toast and eggs and demand that we fawn over these hardworking Americans facing down their withering past in a new American century. And for some reason, we oblige them.
And we are left with one simple, incontrovertible fact: That as the sun rises through the snowdrifts of Dover and Portsmouth on primary day and sets over the desolate hellscape of Keene on the evening of primary day, two-thirds of New Hampshire voters, whether they tell you or not, whether they know better or not, whether they care or not, will go to the polls (after eating their toast and eggs, of course) and stand in a booth, furrowing their brows in a vain attempt to understand and THAT IS WHEN THEY MAKE A DECISION.
These are people that make swing voters look like decisive party boosters. These are people who sling coffee and eat toast and eggs and yearn for simpler time when their lack of understanding and cultural diversity seemed to fit in Wonder Bread America.
These people are New Hampshire, for better or worse. And someday, people in politics will understand them. And run far, far away.
[/rant]
---
And yes, thank you, it is good to be back.
Hillary Clinton went from being clinically dead (at least according to known feminist Chris Matthews) at 6pm to the "frontrunner for the Democratic nomination" by Midnight.
That actually happened. And while I believe all of those far-off prognostications about as far I can throw Hillary Clinton, we have been taught in American politics these days to expect the expected, that pollsters have gotten so good at what they do that they could never be wrong and that whatever they feed the mainstream media must be correct, because they got it right once or twice before. And the media, largely lacking the ability to use critical thinking and decipher what polls actually mean, report polling numbers as facts and then get pissed off when that's not the whole story, and legions of them look foolish on national television.
But the problem with both of those memes is that even a casual observer of the American political process would have known by 8:15 last night that something wasn't right. Actually, scratch that, anyone with an eighth grade education (or your typical New Hampshire primary voter) who can use a calculator would tell you that 40+30+15=85. By the best estimates, 15% of voters were undecided when they walked into the polls last night, and that's if you only look at the numbers. (And don't bother telling me "Oh you forgot about Kucinich." I didn't forget about Kucinich, we just all wish he forgot about us. Lunatic. Honest to God, he already talks about aliens, if he starts talking nude conspiracies, he and Lyndon Larouche are going to run on the Looney Tune ticket.)
This situation also reminds us why tracking polls are crack for the weak. When there are only about 100 hours from the results being announced in Iowa until people started voting in New Hampshire, no pollster worth his weight whatever they were feeding the media all day yesterday would tell you that all bets were off. And then, when you factor in at least two huge events happening in an 18-hour span (the debate and Hillary's odd, salty discharge moment [non-sexual division]) history will take over.
See, people in New Hampshire are regarded as "private" people. They may actually just be "ridiculous" people but any way you slice it, they openly lie to pollsters in a vain attempt to try and get them off their backs. We go through this every four years: New Hampshireites (New Hampshirians?) are oversaturated with campaign materiel, candidates, pollsters, pundits and toast and egg breakfasts at diners, and they get hostile, wanting everyone to leave town, and thinking they never will. So they lie. They lie to staffers. They lie to pollsters. They lie to whoever will listen to their insane rants about their "problems" (Word to the wise, the only problems you have in New Hampshire are not enough NASCAR and too much snow and it was 65 degrees yesterday and the race is probably coming up, so shove it). They claim, despondently, that they just want to be left in peace. Then they vote and we all figure out that they were lying all along and we leave and talk about them for about 24 more hours and then we move on to the other 48 states and the real issues facing the nation.
And then, two years from now, New Hampshire will demand to know where we all have gone and invite all the politicians and pundits and pollsters and gentrified media types back for toast and eggs and demand that we fawn over these hardworking Americans facing down their withering past in a new American century. And for some reason, we oblige them.
And we are left with one simple, incontrovertible fact: That as the sun rises through the snowdrifts of Dover and Portsmouth on primary day and sets over the desolate hellscape of Keene on the evening of primary day, two-thirds of New Hampshire voters, whether they tell you or not, whether they know better or not, whether they care or not, will go to the polls (after eating their toast and eggs, of course) and stand in a booth, furrowing their brows in a vain attempt to understand and THAT IS WHEN THEY MAKE A DECISION.
These are people that make swing voters look like decisive party boosters. These are people who sling coffee and eat toast and eggs and yearn for simpler time when their lack of understanding and cultural diversity seemed to fit in Wonder Bread America.
These people are New Hampshire, for better or worse. And someday, people in politics will understand them. And run far, far away.
[/rant]
---
And yes, thank you, it is good to be back.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
There They Go Again
As I finished up this week's episode of Boston Legal on the TiVo at around 8:58, I decided I would catch the last couple minutes of Olbermann on MSNBC. He was talking about the latest nonsense coming out of the Britney Spears camp, which would be mildly amusing if small children weren't involved. Usually, when he throws his paper and talks it being the 1,659th day or whatever since President Bush declared Mission Accomplished in Iraq, that's when I find something else somewhere up the dial. Instead, tonight, I hung on for the first couple minutes of Dan Abrams' show. He was talking about Judith Regan and a lawsuit filed against NewsCorp, accusing Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes, among others, of telling Regan to lie under oath about her illicit relationship with disgraced former New York Police Commish and Homeland Security nominee Bernie Kerik. Kerik and Regan, of course, had an affair after 9/11, and on several occasions may have consummated that relationship in a Lower Manhattan flat dedicated to hosting relief workers working at Ground Zero.
Now, generally this story is one marked for Page 6 in the Post. However, what we have here may actually be quite insidious. Why would Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes go out of their way to defend Bernard Kerik? Might it be, as Abrams alleged, some kind plot to protect Giuliani as he moves towards his date with the cast of the bad reality show we call the GOP Primary process?
We need look no further than what was airing at the same time on Fox News. I thought perhaps they'd be running the latest political intrigue with the Democratic primaries, or some ridiculous story about another lost suburban white girl, or something just as idiotic. Instead, what they were running was not just repulsive, it validated all parts of Dan Abrams' argument. At the EXACT SAME TIME MSNBC was running a story talking about Fox "News" may be covertly - perhaps even overtly - supporting one candidate for the Presidency, Hannity and Colmes (I was going to write a joke here, but I'm pretty sure it writes itself) was broadcasting a program-length commercial for Rudy Giuliani, starring his new best friend, Conservative ninny Pat Robertson.
The tagline running under Robertson's loathsome visage actually talked of him "discussing his endorsement of Giuliani."
Let me try to say this in plain terms: A purported news outlet is currently allowing an avowed misogynistic bigot to discuss his idealistic defense of a three-time philanderer with whom he shares no political views in order to drum up support for his campaign.
We have to be left to wonder, what took us so long for us all to catch on?
Now, generally this story is one marked for Page 6 in the Post. However, what we have here may actually be quite insidious. Why would Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes go out of their way to defend Bernard Kerik? Might it be, as Abrams alleged, some kind plot to protect Giuliani as he moves towards his date with the cast of the bad reality show we call the GOP Primary process?
We need look no further than what was airing at the same time on Fox News. I thought perhaps they'd be running the latest political intrigue with the Democratic primaries, or some ridiculous story about another lost suburban white girl, or something just as idiotic. Instead, what they were running was not just repulsive, it validated all parts of Dan Abrams' argument. At the EXACT SAME TIME MSNBC was running a story talking about Fox "News" may be covertly - perhaps even overtly - supporting one candidate for the Presidency, Hannity and Colmes (I was going to write a joke here, but I'm pretty sure it writes itself) was broadcasting a program-length commercial for Rudy Giuliani, starring his new best friend, Conservative ninny Pat Robertson.
The tagline running under Robertson's loathsome visage actually talked of him "discussing his endorsement of Giuliani."
Let me try to say this in plain terms: A purported news outlet is currently allowing an avowed misogynistic bigot to discuss his idealistic defense of a three-time philanderer with whom he shares no political views in order to drum up support for his campaign.
We have to be left to wonder, what took us so long for us all to catch on?
Monday, November 05, 2007
All Your Sport Are Belong To Us
It's a great day to be alive in America. I've walked into my office each morning for about the last three weeks saying that. It is simply amazing to see what is happening in the city of Boston right now. It figures, of course, that it all starts clicking as soon as I leave, by the way. I guess I can never move back.
What the Patriots did yesterday moved them into the pantheon of great NFL teams. Teams like the Cowboys of the early 1990s, the 49ers of the 1980s or the Steelers of the 1970s. They are approaching immortality. They are approaching that rarified air that few teams ever reach, the immortality that is born of special teams. Teams like the '67 Packers, or the '85 Bears, or, of course the best of them all, the 1972 Miami Dolphins. What we all are watching is simply amazing. Tom Brady's season, barring an unthinkable injury, will go down as the best in NFL history. At the rate he's going, he will surpass Peyton Manning shortly after Thanksgiving. It is a treat to watch, and anyone who thinks otherwise, despite all of the ridiculous "Spygate" musings, just does not truly appreciate football. He is making a case that he may not just be having the best year of any quarterback in history, he may just be the best skill player in NFL history.
By the way, in case we forgot, the Celtics look like world beaters, and the Red Sox won the World Series last week. I'm told the Bruins are playing hockey at a high level, but I think we're all willing to accept that pro hockey isn't even a sport anymore. And sorry, but BC were WAY overrated even before they got whupped by Florida State. That said, there can only be one reaction when we take into account all these wonderful happenings:
Somebody set us up the bomb.
Indeed.
What the Patriots did yesterday moved them into the pantheon of great NFL teams. Teams like the Cowboys of the early 1990s, the 49ers of the 1980s or the Steelers of the 1970s. They are approaching immortality. They are approaching that rarified air that few teams ever reach, the immortality that is born of special teams. Teams like the '67 Packers, or the '85 Bears, or, of course the best of them all, the 1972 Miami Dolphins. What we all are watching is simply amazing. Tom Brady's season, barring an unthinkable injury, will go down as the best in NFL history. At the rate he's going, he will surpass Peyton Manning shortly after Thanksgiving. It is a treat to watch, and anyone who thinks otherwise, despite all of the ridiculous "Spygate" musings, just does not truly appreciate football. He is making a case that he may not just be having the best year of any quarterback in history, he may just be the best skill player in NFL history.
By the way, in case we forgot, the Celtics look like world beaters, and the Red Sox won the World Series last week. I'm told the Bruins are playing hockey at a high level, but I think we're all willing to accept that pro hockey isn't even a sport anymore. And sorry, but BC were WAY overrated even before they got whupped by Florida State. That said, there can only be one reaction when we take into account all these wonderful happenings:
Somebody set us up the bomb.
Indeed.
Monday, October 22, 2007
In The Land Where Champions Roam
This must be a dream.
Some kind of twisted fantasy land where things go right in Boston. Where the Red Sox ascend to the American League Pennant with minimal hardship. Where the Patriots slough off would-be contenders with the greatest of ease. Where the Celtics can go from cellar dwellers to an all-start team in the course of a summer.
Yes, it is a magical time to be in Boston.
That's why I'm glad I was back this weekend. I stopped up here for Carnival, Year Up's big national fundraiser, and got to hang on to witness an incredible weekend in Boston. The air seems lighter here, not only because of the global warming-inspired heat wave that's taken hold over New England, but because that pall of fear that usually hangs over us at this time of year has long since dissipated. The excitement gripping this city, this region has us all pinching ourselves.
The Red Sox are on the brink, as one newscaster put it last night, of making sure it won't be another damned 86 years. There has never, in my lifetime, been a Red Sox team as good as this one. The 2004 squad will always be in our hearts, bu they were a rag tag bunch of idiots who knew how, when and where to get hot and end all the misery. There were times during last night's game that the Sox' despatching of the Indians looked almost clinical. Teams that win championships have a new hero every night. Last night, we had the much-maligned (for the last week or so) Dustin Pedroia step up and give his answer to why he should. by any reasoning, be the Rookie of the Year. And we had Jonathan Papelbon come in and slam the door in the 8th in a situation in which we desperately needed to right the ship. This team is the best to ever wear the uniform, a fact that will be proven over the course of the next few days between Boston and Denver.
And the New England Patriots? What can we even say about them that hasn't already been said. They are one of those special teams in NFL history already and it's only Week 7. They will be mentioned in the annals of history, certainly with the '85 Bears and the 1980s 49ers and Cowboys. But the 1972 Dolphins, a team unmatched in sport, much less only in football, will need a certain amount of luck if they are to have their champagne party again this year. In two weeks, we should have our answer. If the Patriots beat the Colts, they will almost certainly be unstoppable. No one else on the schedule should provide any measure of competition to a team playing at the level of the Patriots. If Tom Brady had not already cemented his place in Canton, he is doing it this season. As I watched him slice and dice the Miami secondary yesterday, I couldn't even think of another quarterback who made it look so easy, so effortless. Not even Joe Montana in his prime could do what Brady did. Not Dan Marino. Not Johnny Unitas. Tom Brady is not just the greatest quarterback of his generation anymore. We may be watching the highlight reel of the NFL's greatest ever quarterback.
It's good to be home.
Some kind of twisted fantasy land where things go right in Boston. Where the Red Sox ascend to the American League Pennant with minimal hardship. Where the Patriots slough off would-be contenders with the greatest of ease. Where the Celtics can go from cellar dwellers to an all-start team in the course of a summer.
Yes, it is a magical time to be in Boston.
That's why I'm glad I was back this weekend. I stopped up here for Carnival, Year Up's big national fundraiser, and got to hang on to witness an incredible weekend in Boston. The air seems lighter here, not only because of the global warming-inspired heat wave that's taken hold over New England, but because that pall of fear that usually hangs over us at this time of year has long since dissipated. The excitement gripping this city, this region has us all pinching ourselves.
The Red Sox are on the brink, as one newscaster put it last night, of making sure it won't be another damned 86 years. There has never, in my lifetime, been a Red Sox team as good as this one. The 2004 squad will always be in our hearts, bu they were a rag tag bunch of idiots who knew how, when and where to get hot and end all the misery. There were times during last night's game that the Sox' despatching of the Indians looked almost clinical. Teams that win championships have a new hero every night. Last night, we had the much-maligned (for the last week or so) Dustin Pedroia step up and give his answer to why he should. by any reasoning, be the Rookie of the Year. And we had Jonathan Papelbon come in and slam the door in the 8th in a situation in which we desperately needed to right the ship. This team is the best to ever wear the uniform, a fact that will be proven over the course of the next few days between Boston and Denver.
And the New England Patriots? What can we even say about them that hasn't already been said. They are one of those special teams in NFL history already and it's only Week 7. They will be mentioned in the annals of history, certainly with the '85 Bears and the 1980s 49ers and Cowboys. But the 1972 Dolphins, a team unmatched in sport, much less only in football, will need a certain amount of luck if they are to have their champagne party again this year. In two weeks, we should have our answer. If the Patriots beat the Colts, they will almost certainly be unstoppable. No one else on the schedule should provide any measure of competition to a team playing at the level of the Patriots. If Tom Brady had not already cemented his place in Canton, he is doing it this season. As I watched him slice and dice the Miami secondary yesterday, I couldn't even think of another quarterback who made it look so easy, so effortless. Not even Joe Montana in his prime could do what Brady did. Not Dan Marino. Not Johnny Unitas. Tom Brady is not just the greatest quarterback of his generation anymore. We may be watching the highlight reel of the NFL's greatest ever quarterback.
It's good to be home.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Mystique, Aura, Gang Colors
Why is it that no part of this new report surprises me in the slightest?
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,294409,00.html
Actually, I take that back. The only thing that surprised me is that Yankee paraphernalia wasn't already considered gang colors.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,294409,00.html
Actually, I take that back. The only thing that surprised me is that Yankee paraphernalia wasn't already considered gang colors.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Coast
I finally get it.
For years, literally years, people have been telling me to experience Northern California. "You'll love San Francisco if you love Boston," they said. "If you like LA you will be blown away by the North coast." And other things like that. I finally got sick of hearing it all, and I went to check it out for myself. Luckily, I also finally got the excuse with Megan's family headed out for the wedding of her Aunt Erin. So last Friday night Meggie and I boarded a JetBlue flight at Kennedy Airport bound for San Jose. For the next nine days, I had some of the coolest experiences I've had in the US. Here is just a taste.
You Can Find Me In The Cove
From the moment I saw it, walking towards the park on the Embarcadero, I knew AT&T Park was going to be for me. Now, of course, there is no place in the world like Fenway. It is the ultimate cathedral to baseball. If you don't know this by now, then you are just not paying attention. However, teams of late have been building markedly better stadia throughout the major leagues. I've been to a few of the new generation parks, Jacobs Field and Camden Yards among others, and while they are definite improvements, surely the Park at 24 Willie Mays Plaza must be the crown jewel. It is straight out of the old school. Despite the fact that our group tickets were in the third deck, I felt almost on top of the action. Not that there was a whole lot of action going on between the Giants and Pirates, but still, I felt close to the players and the game. We Red Sox fans are spoiled rotten these days, because we get 81 days a year where we get to see our boys play in those hallowed grounds. But if I ever had to choose another place to watch 81 games a year, AT&T Park would be it.
Wild World
I never made it to the Wild Coast of South Africa. I will certainly have to see it when I go back, but for now, the Mendocino coastline will have be a placeholder. It is a truly wild, rough place. As Highway 1 cuts north, slicing its way along the coastline, the vistas and ruggedness become ever more pronounced. The Mendocino headlands, in Mendocino village, a quaint seaside community for ex-hippie burnouts and, as it happened, "Murder, She Wrote" fans (it was filmed there), were the best part. An underground maze of caves and grottoes, punctuated by cliffs and beachheads, the headlands are a wonderful place to wile away the lazy afternoons hours, getting a chance to see what the California coast has looked like for centuries. And yes, even we indoor kids can enjoy it.
Foodie Paradise
I always loved going to Cooperstown when I was young. It was a monument to the game of baseball which had become a huge part of my life even in my youth. So it was no surprise that I got an analogous feeling as I arrived at COPIA - the Center for Food, Wine and the Arts, in Napa, CA. Eating in Julia Child's kitchen, the flavors I had recognized from my youth permeated throughout the air, as the wondrous smells wafted in from the open kitchen. My mom learned to cook while she nursed me, watching Saint Julia on PBS when I went down for my afternoon nap. And as we passed through the courses - Curried Summer Squash Bisque, Flatiron Steak with Garlic Smashed Potatoes, and Bing Cherry Strudel - I could almost hear the sharp tones of Julia's well-worn old New England voice lilting through those aromas, making the most elegant and decadent food accessible to us all. After lunch, I got to see exactly just how much of a playground COPIA could be. I stopped off at the Wine Spectator Tasting Center and did their "Judgment of Paris" tasting - a tribute to the famed 1976 Paris Tasting, in which I got to experience both Stag's Leap Artemis and Chateau Montelena Chard, both worth the price of admission. Then we wrapped up our visit, walking through the Edible Garden, taking in the different tastes and smells as the open-air pantry excited all the senses simultaneously in a veritable sensual orgy of foodgasm. A perfect, leisurely end to a wonderful visit to the monument for food.
Love, California Style
From the town that inspired Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork "The Birds," I got the chance to experience possibly the most beautiful wedding in the most beautiful setting you could ever conceive. How's that for an image? Nestled snuggly on the northern rim of Monterey Bay, the Monarch Cove Inn provided a veritable Shangri-La for the celebration of Megan's aunt, Erin, and the man who has become the love of her life, Ralph, and their commitment to each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I haven't gone all soft on you or anything. But I think you know enough about me by now that despite my tendencies towards sarcasm and cynicism, at heart I am an old hopeless romantic. And I believe in the power of love. Never before has that been feeling been more palpable in one time and one place than on that breezy Saturday afternoon. The setting sure helped, as did Ralph's signature "Swimming Naked" drink - and the 7 of them I drank (Ask for the recipe, it's pretty much the best beverage I've ever tasted. Ever. Including beer.). But the high point, and the one that slayed just about everybody was the expression of love in the couple's vows. Most times, people writing their own vows end up sounding like Rachel McAdams' sailor sister in Wedding Crashers, or Homer Simpson - "in richness and in poorness, in times when flying monkeys..." - in a word, hokey. But love flowed in the words Erin and Ralph shared with each other. As with everything else on Saturday, it was an exactly perfect microcosmic representation of their lives together. And in those words, and in that moment, in that perfect place and time, they created an everlasting bond with each other, and between both of their families and for the new family they will build in the coming years, and one that I am privileged to which I am honored to have borne witness.
We had lots of great experiences. The above are just a few selections. I owe a great debt of gratitude to the entire Bentley family for the experience. And I invite you to check out more pictures on Facebook for more from the California Odyssey.
For years, literally years, people have been telling me to experience Northern California. "You'll love San Francisco if you love Boston," they said. "If you like LA you will be blown away by the North coast." And other things like that. I finally got sick of hearing it all, and I went to check it out for myself. Luckily, I also finally got the excuse with Megan's family headed out for the wedding of her Aunt Erin. So last Friday night Meggie and I boarded a JetBlue flight at Kennedy Airport bound for San Jose. For the next nine days, I had some of the coolest experiences I've had in the US. Here is just a taste.
You Can Find Me In The Cove
From the moment I saw it, walking towards the park on the Embarcadero, I knew AT&T Park was going to be for me. Now, of course, there is no place in the world like Fenway. It is the ultimate cathedral to baseball. If you don't know this by now, then you are just not paying attention. However, teams of late have been building markedly better stadia throughout the major leagues. I've been to a few of the new generation parks, Jacobs Field and Camden Yards among others, and while they are definite improvements, surely the Park at 24 Willie Mays Plaza must be the crown jewel. It is straight out of the old school. Despite the fact that our group tickets were in the third deck, I felt almost on top of the action. Not that there was a whole lot of action going on between the Giants and Pirates, but still, I felt close to the players and the game. We Red Sox fans are spoiled rotten these days, because we get 81 days a year where we get to see our boys play in those hallowed grounds. But if I ever had to choose another place to watch 81 games a year, AT&T Park would be it.
Wild World
I never made it to the Wild Coast of South Africa. I will certainly have to see it when I go back, but for now, the Mendocino coastline will have be a placeholder. It is a truly wild, rough place. As Highway 1 cuts north, slicing its way along the coastline, the vistas and ruggedness become ever more pronounced. The Mendocino headlands, in Mendocino village, a quaint seaside community for ex-hippie burnouts and, as it happened, "Murder, She Wrote" fans (it was filmed there), were the best part. An underground maze of caves and grottoes, punctuated by cliffs and beachheads, the headlands are a wonderful place to wile away the lazy afternoons hours, getting a chance to see what the California coast has looked like for centuries. And yes, even we indoor kids can enjoy it.
Foodie Paradise
I always loved going to Cooperstown when I was young. It was a monument to the game of baseball which had become a huge part of my life even in my youth. So it was no surprise that I got an analogous feeling as I arrived at COPIA - the Center for Food, Wine and the Arts, in Napa, CA. Eating in Julia Child's kitchen, the flavors I had recognized from my youth permeated throughout the air, as the wondrous smells wafted in from the open kitchen. My mom learned to cook while she nursed me, watching Saint Julia on PBS when I went down for my afternoon nap. And as we passed through the courses - Curried Summer Squash Bisque, Flatiron Steak with Garlic Smashed Potatoes, and Bing Cherry Strudel - I could almost hear the sharp tones of Julia's well-worn old New England voice lilting through those aromas, making the most elegant and decadent food accessible to us all. After lunch, I got to see exactly just how much of a playground COPIA could be. I stopped off at the Wine Spectator Tasting Center and did their "Judgment of Paris" tasting - a tribute to the famed 1976 Paris Tasting, in which I got to experience both Stag's Leap Artemis and Chateau Montelena Chard, both worth the price of admission. Then we wrapped up our visit, walking through the Edible Garden, taking in the different tastes and smells as the open-air pantry excited all the senses simultaneously in a veritable sensual orgy of foodgasm. A perfect, leisurely end to a wonderful visit to the monument for food.
Love, California Style
From the town that inspired Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork "The Birds," I got the chance to experience possibly the most beautiful wedding in the most beautiful setting you could ever conceive. How's that for an image? Nestled snuggly on the northern rim of Monterey Bay, the Monarch Cove Inn provided a veritable Shangri-La for the celebration of Megan's aunt, Erin, and the man who has become the love of her life, Ralph, and their commitment to each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I haven't gone all soft on you or anything. But I think you know enough about me by now that despite my tendencies towards sarcasm and cynicism, at heart I am an old hopeless romantic. And I believe in the power of love. Never before has that been feeling been more palpable in one time and one place than on that breezy Saturday afternoon. The setting sure helped, as did Ralph's signature "Swimming Naked" drink - and the 7 of them I drank (Ask for the recipe, it's pretty much the best beverage I've ever tasted. Ever. Including beer.). But the high point, and the one that slayed just about everybody was the expression of love in the couple's vows. Most times, people writing their own vows end up sounding like Rachel McAdams' sailor sister in Wedding Crashers, or Homer Simpson - "in richness and in poorness, in times when flying monkeys..." - in a word, hokey. But love flowed in the words Erin and Ralph shared with each other. As with everything else on Saturday, it was an exactly perfect microcosmic representation of their lives together. And in those words, and in that moment, in that perfect place and time, they created an everlasting bond with each other, and between both of their families and for the new family they will build in the coming years, and one that I am privileged to which I am honored to have borne witness.
We had lots of great experiences. The above are just a few selections. I owe a great debt of gratitude to the entire Bentley family for the experience. And I invite you to check out more pictures on Facebook for more from the California Odyssey.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
New Digs
The intarnets, as we all know, are a series of tubes. And on these tubes is carried information. In some cases, that information takes pictographical form. Here follows some pictures, specifically of my new room in my apartment in Crystal City, Virginia. (Note: If you're reading this on Facebook, the images will probably not push to the RSS feed. Click over to the proper blog to see them.)
Here's my new bed.
But, more importantly, here is my entertainment pavilion.
Anyway, it's a big room in a really nice apartment with my wonderful new roommates, James and Cynthia, in a very swank high-rise building in the heart of Crystal City. I'm excited! Also, you should probably make plans to come visit me soon. I like company.
Here's my new bed.
But, more importantly, here is my entertainment pavilion.
Anyway, it's a big room in a really nice apartment with my wonderful new roommates, James and Cynthia, in a very swank high-rise building in the heart of Crystal City. I'm excited! Also, you should probably make plans to come visit me soon. I like company.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Go Get Your Shinebox
Joey has - mercifully - taken his leave from Top Chef. The Brooklyn-born meathead, who some may have found endearing in the same way Mike was last season, finally let his mule-like obstinacy get in the way of preparing a dish correctly, and it caught up with him. I agree with the judges' decision, but also am keenly aware that apart from Howie, who might just be a more refined form of Joey, each of the contestants at Judges Table could have gone home last night for cause.
Let's start with Sara Mair. For god's sake, Howie's tirade was spot on. She brought nothing to the table last night. And she is obviously not going to win this competition. However, her sins did not loom as large as Joey's by the mere fact that her were sins of omission, not execution. By contrast, Joey executed his dish incorrectly and paid the price. All Sara did was gainsay all of Howie's ideas, to the point where the dish became an unsettled mess. But even her lack of fundamental execution did not rise high enough amidst the chaos and confusion to warrant being second in the line of fire in my view.
That honor goes to Hung and his ridiculous behavior in the kitchen. As Anthony Bourdain would say, Hung displayed an incredible lack of "chefly qualities." When you run a kitchen, if one of the guys you work with is doing something wrong, you beat him with a frying pan until he gets it. Hung, very quietly, said "Gee whiz, Joey, we really oughta freeze things individually." And then when Joey the meathead didn't get it, he shut up and let the dish fail! Had it been my decision to make, Hung's actions would almost have risen to the level of Joey's transgressions and definitely merited discussion about sending him home. He is clearly a very gifted cook, but he is not a chef. Full stop. He can't run a kitchen and that became obvious last night. Now maybe he will learn from these experiences and hone that part of his craft a little finer as he ages and gets wiser, but Hung proved last night that he does not deserve the title of Top Chef.
In the end, however, the dish that sank Joey was doomed from the start. It honestly wouldn't have been very good before it was frozen, especially against masterwork like that presented by Tre and CJ and the extremely surprising effort from Casey and Dale. So Joey's time was up. He went about as far as I would have expected him too, exceeding expectations a few times and only meeting them for the rest.
Let's start with Sara Mair. For god's sake, Howie's tirade was spot on. She brought nothing to the table last night. And she is obviously not going to win this competition. However, her sins did not loom as large as Joey's by the mere fact that her were sins of omission, not execution. By contrast, Joey executed his dish incorrectly and paid the price. All Sara did was gainsay all of Howie's ideas, to the point where the dish became an unsettled mess. But even her lack of fundamental execution did not rise high enough amidst the chaos and confusion to warrant being second in the line of fire in my view.
That honor goes to Hung and his ridiculous behavior in the kitchen. As Anthony Bourdain would say, Hung displayed an incredible lack of "chefly qualities." When you run a kitchen, if one of the guys you work with is doing something wrong, you beat him with a frying pan until he gets it. Hung, very quietly, said "Gee whiz, Joey, we really oughta freeze things individually." And then when Joey the meathead didn't get it, he shut up and let the dish fail! Had it been my decision to make, Hung's actions would almost have risen to the level of Joey's transgressions and definitely merited discussion about sending him home. He is clearly a very gifted cook, but he is not a chef. Full stop. He can't run a kitchen and that became obvious last night. Now maybe he will learn from these experiences and hone that part of his craft a little finer as he ages and gets wiser, but Hung proved last night that he does not deserve the title of Top Chef.
In the end, however, the dish that sank Joey was doomed from the start. It honestly wouldn't have been very good before it was frozen, especially against masterwork like that presented by Tre and CJ and the extremely surprising effort from Casey and Dale. So Joey's time was up. He went about as far as I would have expected him too, exceeding expectations a few times and only meeting them for the rest.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
G-Day
Garnett and Gagne in the same day? In Boston? No way...
Though I'm in the midst of packing (read: SHOULD BE in the midst of packing) to make the move to Crystal City, Virginia this weekend, I felt I needed to take some time out to pass on my thoughts about yesterday in Boston sports. I mean, seriously, the day I decide to leave Boston, the Red Sox acquire the dominant bullpen arm they need for security down the stretch and the Celtics acquire a first ballot hall-of-famer and complete the new big three. Just my luck.
Gagne will hopefully always be remembered as the final piece of the puzzle that brought the Red Sox their second World Series title in four years. Garnett should become a legend in Celtics history as the cornerstone of the new Big Three. I mean, can you even conceive of the fact that this town is now host to the odds-on favorites to win their respective championships in three sports? We haven't even spoken about the Patriots, and all they did in the offseason was go out and get Adalius Thomas, Donte Stallworth and Randy Moss, three of the best players in the NFL. They just opened training camp being picked by everybody and anybody with an opinion on the National Football League to win Super Bowl XLII, and they are a distant third on the sports pages this morning.
First, we have to talk about the Garnett trade. With Pierce and Allen, the Celtics can afford to throw out Rajon Rondo (who looked overmatched during last year's tanking debacle) and Kendrick Perkins to round out the starting five. And as much as I hate Brian Scalabrine, he just became a very important piece. Now that he can be a sixth man and not a starter, he can help shoulder the load when KG and/or Perkins needs a rest. Now, the Celtics still need to go out and sign a veteran defensive presence because not one of this new Big Three plays a whole lot of defense (I'm looking at you, Ray Allen) before they can truly be labeled as Championship contenders. But since the Eastern Conference has gone from bad to worse in the last three years, they have become the immediate favorites to go to the NBA Finals. This from a team that was more focused on lottery balls than winning games last year. Still, bleeding green just came back into fashion in Beantown.
And now, Gagne. My father put it in the best perspective last night as we discussed the trade, "So, essentially, the starter has to go about three innings and we'll have a fighting chance every night?" Exactly. Now when Lester starts losing steam after six, we can go to this combo in the bullpen: Delcarmen/Timlin in the 7th, Okajima/Gagne in the 8th, Papelbon in the 9th. With pitching like that, this team can hit .245 the rest of the way and win more than they lose. Everyone will be rested when they need to be. Everyone will be able to shoulder - no pun intended - the load. Let's also put this in perspective. The Yankees traded the ONLY semi-reliable arm in their bullpen, Scott Proctor, yesterday for Wilson Betemit, knowing they will need a third baseman when A-Rod skips town in about 60 days. That's the best you could do, Brian Cashman? I never honestly thought the Yankees would lie down and play dead. But they have to understand that they cannot keep winning games by 13 runs like last night. Eventually, they are going to start playing real competition, not the White Sox and Devil Rays, and they will need pitching. That, not bats, wins championships.
That said, the Red Sox desperately needed to move Wily Mo Pena before yesterday and they didn't do it. They also need a more reliable bat off the bench and glove in the outfield. Jermaine Dye was not the answer. Bobby Kielty might be, and I can't for the life of me figure out why they didn't take a flyer on him. But Wily Mo Pena does not fit on this team. Despite Big Papi's assurances that Pena works very hard, and I have no doubt that he does, this team does not need a guy who can't hit curve balls. They need a singles guy, with a little pop off the bench, someone who will get on base so we can score runs in the late innings to give our uber-bullpen some breathing room. But who knows, maybe Theo has something else up his sleeve.
In any case, this time in history has been great for Boston sports, and yesterday's G-Day helped solidify those good feelings for times to come.
Though I'm in the midst of packing (read: SHOULD BE in the midst of packing) to make the move to Crystal City, Virginia this weekend, I felt I needed to take some time out to pass on my thoughts about yesterday in Boston sports. I mean, seriously, the day I decide to leave Boston, the Red Sox acquire the dominant bullpen arm they need for security down the stretch and the Celtics acquire a first ballot hall-of-famer and complete the new big three. Just my luck.
Gagne will hopefully always be remembered as the final piece of the puzzle that brought the Red Sox their second World Series title in four years. Garnett should become a legend in Celtics history as the cornerstone of the new Big Three. I mean, can you even conceive of the fact that this town is now host to the odds-on favorites to win their respective championships in three sports? We haven't even spoken about the Patriots, and all they did in the offseason was go out and get Adalius Thomas, Donte Stallworth and Randy Moss, three of the best players in the NFL. They just opened training camp being picked by everybody and anybody with an opinion on the National Football League to win Super Bowl XLII, and they are a distant third on the sports pages this morning.
First, we have to talk about the Garnett trade. With Pierce and Allen, the Celtics can afford to throw out Rajon Rondo (who looked overmatched during last year's tanking debacle) and Kendrick Perkins to round out the starting five. And as much as I hate Brian Scalabrine, he just became a very important piece. Now that he can be a sixth man and not a starter, he can help shoulder the load when KG and/or Perkins needs a rest. Now, the Celtics still need to go out and sign a veteran defensive presence because not one of this new Big Three plays a whole lot of defense (I'm looking at you, Ray Allen) before they can truly be labeled as Championship contenders. But since the Eastern Conference has gone from bad to worse in the last three years, they have become the immediate favorites to go to the NBA Finals. This from a team that was more focused on lottery balls than winning games last year. Still, bleeding green just came back into fashion in Beantown.
And now, Gagne. My father put it in the best perspective last night as we discussed the trade, "So, essentially, the starter has to go about three innings and we'll have a fighting chance every night?" Exactly. Now when Lester starts losing steam after six, we can go to this combo in the bullpen: Delcarmen/Timlin in the 7th, Okajima/Gagne in the 8th, Papelbon in the 9th. With pitching like that, this team can hit .245 the rest of the way and win more than they lose. Everyone will be rested when they need to be. Everyone will be able to shoulder - no pun intended - the load. Let's also put this in perspective. The Yankees traded the ONLY semi-reliable arm in their bullpen, Scott Proctor, yesterday for Wilson Betemit, knowing they will need a third baseman when A-Rod skips town in about 60 days. That's the best you could do, Brian Cashman? I never honestly thought the Yankees would lie down and play dead. But they have to understand that they cannot keep winning games by 13 runs like last night. Eventually, they are going to start playing real competition, not the White Sox and Devil Rays, and they will need pitching. That, not bats, wins championships.
That said, the Red Sox desperately needed to move Wily Mo Pena before yesterday and they didn't do it. They also need a more reliable bat off the bench and glove in the outfield. Jermaine Dye was not the answer. Bobby Kielty might be, and I can't for the life of me figure out why they didn't take a flyer on him. But Wily Mo Pena does not fit on this team. Despite Big Papi's assurances that Pena works very hard, and I have no doubt that he does, this team does not need a guy who can't hit curve balls. They need a singles guy, with a little pop off the bench, someone who will get on base so we can score runs in the late innings to give our uber-bullpen some breathing room. But who knows, maybe Theo has something else up his sleeve.
In any case, this time in history has been great for Boston sports, and yesterday's G-Day helped solidify those good feelings for times to come.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Gainfully Employed!
The long and winding road of the job search has finally come to an end. I have been offered and intend to accept a position with Year Up in Washington, DC. I should start at the end of next month. Year Up is a growing national non-profit, originally based in Boston, which conducts a year-long program for urban youths, aged 18-24, helping them to gain access to the corporate world. The organization works with many corporate partners including AOL, Freddie Mac, Bank of America, JP Morgan and State Street Bank just to name a few, and was given a Social Capitalist award by Fast Company magazine (long known for their leadership in identifying key business trends, as seen in their article "Joe Trippi's Killer App") last year solidifying their place as one the country's best and fastest growing non-profits. You can learn more about us at www.yearup.org.
As for me, I'll be filling the role of Apprenticeships and Grants Coordinator, which means I will be interfacing a lot with our corporate partnerships, helping to secure placements for the students we enroll in the organization, as well as liaising with alumni and also mentoring a few students along the way.
If you can't tell, I am thrilled to death by the prospect of joining such a wonderful organization and moving to a great place like DC. (On that note, if anybody needs a roommate, let me know!) I'm sad to leave Boston, especially at the height of a pennant race, but am ready for and excited by what's next.
As for me, I'll be filling the role of Apprenticeships and Grants Coordinator, which means I will be interfacing a lot with our corporate partnerships, helping to secure placements for the students we enroll in the organization, as well as liaising with alumni and also mentoring a few students along the way.
If you can't tell, I am thrilled to death by the prospect of joining such a wonderful organization and moving to a great place like DC. (On that note, if anybody needs a roommate, let me know!) I'm sad to leave Boston, especially at the height of a pennant race, but am ready for and excited by what's next.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Camille...Sorry, Have We Met?
I have one question after last night's Top Chef.
Who was Camille? I really didn't know she was on the show until she went home.
Seriously, the reason she went home is that she finally distnguished herself. Poorly. Her idea of miniature pineapple upside down cakes fell about as flat as Sara's uninspired "Semifreddo" the difference being that Camille had never done anything of note on the show, good or bad.
I will say this, the pineapple idea was really solid, combining fruit and dessert in that setting was a good idea. However, every idea that flowed from that kernel of goodness was completely off base. There is so much that they could have done with pineapple, including lots of things that did not involve having pastry chef experience, that would have been both inventive and tasty, and they went in exactly none of those directions. They thought they'd be able to cry foul at the judges table and limp away becuase they had no experience. Not in this competition, baby.
On another note, while Casey's dish was probably fairly weak, I think it came about as a product of environment as opposed to lack of skill or mailing it in. Working with the hair-brained scheme twins, Howie and Joey, must have been exhausting. Finally knowing she could not go home her distracted mess of a creation didn't seem so bad in the final analysis. Hopefully next week, we'll get back to mano a mano cookoffs rather than the team aspect.
Who was Camille? I really didn't know she was on the show until she went home.
Seriously, the reason she went home is that she finally distnguished herself. Poorly. Her idea of miniature pineapple upside down cakes fell about as flat as Sara's uninspired "Semifreddo" the difference being that Camille had never done anything of note on the show, good or bad.
I will say this, the pineapple idea was really solid, combining fruit and dessert in that setting was a good idea. However, every idea that flowed from that kernel of goodness was completely off base. There is so much that they could have done with pineapple, including lots of things that did not involve having pastry chef experience, that would have been both inventive and tasty, and they went in exactly none of those directions. They thought they'd be able to cry foul at the judges table and limp away becuase they had no experience. Not in this competition, baby.
On another note, while Casey's dish was probably fairly weak, I think it came about as a product of environment as opposed to lack of skill or mailing it in. Working with the hair-brained scheme twins, Howie and Joey, must have been exhausting. Finally knowing she could not go home her distracted mess of a creation didn't seem so bad in the final analysis. Hopefully next week, we'll get back to mano a mano cookoffs rather than the team aspect.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Independence
Since I read the news last night about President Bush's commutation of the 30-month sentence levied by a jury on I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, I have been literally consumed by anger. I wanted so desperately to get my feelings on this matter out to you. I haven't been able to think of the words.
Keith Olbermann did.
Read every word that he wrote and spoke on tonight's "Countdown" on MSNBC. Then read it again. Then search for it on YouTube and watch it. The visceral anger in both Olbermann's words and the tenor of his voice give even greater depth to his words. Here is a man who stands up. Here is a man, quoting from a lexicon of Americana so broad and deep as to include James Madison and John Wayne and who steadfastly and passionately demands of the President of the United States to come to the same conclusion many of us already have, that it is time for him to go. Here stands a patriot, a man who loves his country so deeply that he is nearly brought to tears by the actions of a government with utter distaste for the people they are meant to govern.
Let me be clear. I stand with Keith Olbermann. I stand with every word he spoke and with the power of his voice like a clarion call crying out in the wilderness. The time has come for patriotic Americans to demand better of the government in whom a thin plurality of us have twice called to serve. What happened to Scooter Libby was not a miscarriage of justice, it was the complete undoing of justice in America. We are barely thirty years from Watergate and we have allowed ourselves to be duped again by mad charlatans who crave only power, nothing more and nothing less. This country needs more brave men and women to proclaim that they are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
They must no longer be allowed to question my patriotism, my commitment to this grand idea of America, simply because we disagree. What kind of arrogance is that? What kind of cowardice is that? And they must not be allowed to subvert the laws which hold this country together.
This president, this administration, and this government have failed to serve the American people. It is high time they consider their misdeeds. And if they will not, then the Congress must do what is right and begin drafting Articles of Impeachment against Messrs. Bush and Cheney.
Happy Independence Day.
Keith Olbermann did.
Read every word that he wrote and spoke on tonight's "Countdown" on MSNBC. Then read it again. Then search for it on YouTube and watch it. The visceral anger in both Olbermann's words and the tenor of his voice give even greater depth to his words. Here is a man who stands up. Here is a man, quoting from a lexicon of Americana so broad and deep as to include James Madison and John Wayne and who steadfastly and passionately demands of the President of the United States to come to the same conclusion many of us already have, that it is time for him to go. Here stands a patriot, a man who loves his country so deeply that he is nearly brought to tears by the actions of a government with utter distaste for the people they are meant to govern.
Let me be clear. I stand with Keith Olbermann. I stand with every word he spoke and with the power of his voice like a clarion call crying out in the wilderness. The time has come for patriotic Americans to demand better of the government in whom a thin plurality of us have twice called to serve. What happened to Scooter Libby was not a miscarriage of justice, it was the complete undoing of justice in America. We are barely thirty years from Watergate and we have allowed ourselves to be duped again by mad charlatans who crave only power, nothing more and nothing less. This country needs more brave men and women to proclaim that they are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
They must no longer be allowed to question my patriotism, my commitment to this grand idea of America, simply because we disagree. What kind of arrogance is that? What kind of cowardice is that? And they must not be allowed to subvert the laws which hold this country together.
This president, this administration, and this government have failed to serve the American people. It is high time they consider their misdeeds. And if they will not, then the Congress must do what is right and begin drafting Articles of Impeachment against Messrs. Bush and Cheney.
Happy Independence Day.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Stoking the Fires
I feel like I never write about the Red Sox. I mean, to be fair, there's not much to write about when you're 11 games ahead in the AL East, with the hated Yankees fading quickly into the morass of sub-par franchises yet again. And trust me, as I sit here in New York, that fact is not sitting well. Driving in yesterday with Megan for a week of dipsaluscious vacation and job interviewing, I caught the end of the Giants-Yankees matchup on 880. John Sterling and Suzyn (or however the hell you spell that worthless tramp's name) Waldman were practically apoplectic at the sight of this once proud franchise dropping five games out of six - including a sweep by the Colorado Rockies - in increasingly poor fashion. Sterling, who I truly believe is actually an elaborate macro rather than an actual human being, was shooting his mouth off about how bad this team was, and how much they needed pitching and all the rest of the things Yankee fans lean on when the team is down. How much they actually believe that it's everybody else's fault that they're losing.
It's disgusting.
But it does mean one very important thing, which is why I'm here to talk about the Red Sox. The Yankees are, as always, big buyers at the trade deadline, which is a scant 36 days away, according to the Buzz Blog over at Boston.com. This year presents a particularly interesting scenario because so many teams are so bad, but in the American League, the two teams to watch are the White Sox and Rangers. Both teams look to be sellers coming towards July 31. Now, traditionally, the Yankees make waves at the Deadline with one big-name signing and some smaller signings, usually pitchers, that always seem to pan out. Here's the problem. These are some names of seemingly available players.
Mark Buehrle.
Mark Teixiera.
Eric Gagne and/or Akinori Otsuka.
You add any or all of those guys to the mix over in the Bronx and all of a sudden that 11 1/2 games back third place team fading into indignity becomes a force to be reckoned with in August and September. And with this Red Sox having missed the injury boat thus far, it could be a late season hiccup that sends this team into a tailspin. But does that mean that the Red Sox should be buying at the Deadline?
Ironically, yes.
They have several important pieces that could make a difference for middling teams. They do have the prospects to ship out of town as well as veteran players. Here are some players whose names I think you'll see mentioned and why.
Mike Lowell: He's 32. He's got an expiring contract. He's having his best hitting year in a while. And as much as he has become an integral part of this Red Sox team, and as much as he is a stand up guy who I would personally hate to see leave the community, teams like Minnesota, and even the White Sox - who may still be able to make a late season run in an oversold Central - need a solid corner infielder who plays incredible defense. And we can move Kevin Youkilis back to his natural position if we were to go hard after Teixiera, which we would need to do.
Coco Crisp: We're going to talk about Jacoby Ellsbury in a second, he being the heir apparent to the vast expanse of Center Field at Fenway. Coco is not hitting. Yeah, he's starting to turn it around, which is good from a trade perspective. And he has a year left on his contract which means the team that got him would get the best year of his career next year (Contract year + Prime of Career + Something to Prove = SuperCoco!). The kicker is this: if Coco stays he will have to fight for his job next spring against Ellsbury who looks like a world-class baseball player at the AAA level. Why not ship him out of town? Move Drew back to Center and get Ellsbury (or Murphy/Moss if they want to coddle their burgeoning star) up to be the 4th outfielder behind Wily Mo in his audition to play DH somewhere else next year.
Craig Hansen: This guy is going to be either an All-Star setup man or one of the league's best closers. He just isn't going to do it in Boston. The Okajima/Papelbon combination looks like it has cemented itself in the 8th and 9th innings for the foreseeable future. Hansen is going to be highly prized, especially in Chicago for what he will bring to the table. I hate trading pitching, especially young pitching, but where Hansen does not fit, don't you have to use him to get that one extra piece that brings another world championship to Boston?
Clay Buchholz/Jacoby Ellsbury: These two are the futures of this franchise. They should be untouchable. In two years, Buchholz will be the best young starter in the league and Ellsbury will singlehandedly bring back the Go-Go Red Sox. Not even Buehrle and Teixiera would be worth losing either one of these guys.
And finally here are the trades I would like to see:
CHICAGO (AL) gets:
Coco Crisp
Craig Hansen
Abe Alvarez
BOSTON gets:
Mark Buehrle
or maybe...
TEXAS gets:
Mike Lowell/Coco Crisp
Craig Hansen
Abe Alvarez
David Murphy
BOSTON gets:
Mark Teixiera
Eric Gagne
or maybe...nothing at all.
It's disgusting.
But it does mean one very important thing, which is why I'm here to talk about the Red Sox. The Yankees are, as always, big buyers at the trade deadline, which is a scant 36 days away, according to the Buzz Blog over at Boston.com. This year presents a particularly interesting scenario because so many teams are so bad, but in the American League, the two teams to watch are the White Sox and Rangers. Both teams look to be sellers coming towards July 31. Now, traditionally, the Yankees make waves at the Deadline with one big-name signing and some smaller signings, usually pitchers, that always seem to pan out. Here's the problem. These are some names of seemingly available players.
Mark Buehrle.
Mark Teixiera.
Eric Gagne and/or Akinori Otsuka.
You add any or all of those guys to the mix over in the Bronx and all of a sudden that 11 1/2 games back third place team fading into indignity becomes a force to be reckoned with in August and September. And with this Red Sox having missed the injury boat thus far, it could be a late season hiccup that sends this team into a tailspin. But does that mean that the Red Sox should be buying at the Deadline?
Ironically, yes.
They have several important pieces that could make a difference for middling teams. They do have the prospects to ship out of town as well as veteran players. Here are some players whose names I think you'll see mentioned and why.
Mike Lowell: He's 32. He's got an expiring contract. He's having his best hitting year in a while. And as much as he has become an integral part of this Red Sox team, and as much as he is a stand up guy who I would personally hate to see leave the community, teams like Minnesota, and even the White Sox - who may still be able to make a late season run in an oversold Central - need a solid corner infielder who plays incredible defense. And we can move Kevin Youkilis back to his natural position if we were to go hard after Teixiera, which we would need to do.
Coco Crisp: We're going to talk about Jacoby Ellsbury in a second, he being the heir apparent to the vast expanse of Center Field at Fenway. Coco is not hitting. Yeah, he's starting to turn it around, which is good from a trade perspective. And he has a year left on his contract which means the team that got him would get the best year of his career next year (Contract year + Prime of Career + Something to Prove = SuperCoco!). The kicker is this: if Coco stays he will have to fight for his job next spring against Ellsbury who looks like a world-class baseball player at the AAA level. Why not ship him out of town? Move Drew back to Center and get Ellsbury (or Murphy/Moss if they want to coddle their burgeoning star) up to be the 4th outfielder behind Wily Mo in his audition to play DH somewhere else next year.
Craig Hansen: This guy is going to be either an All-Star setup man or one of the league's best closers. He just isn't going to do it in Boston. The Okajima/Papelbon combination looks like it has cemented itself in the 8th and 9th innings for the foreseeable future. Hansen is going to be highly prized, especially in Chicago for what he will bring to the table. I hate trading pitching, especially young pitching, but where Hansen does not fit, don't you have to use him to get that one extra piece that brings another world championship to Boston?
Clay Buchholz/Jacoby Ellsbury: These two are the futures of this franchise. They should be untouchable. In two years, Buchholz will be the best young starter in the league and Ellsbury will singlehandedly bring back the Go-Go Red Sox. Not even Buehrle and Teixiera would be worth losing either one of these guys.
And finally here are the trades I would like to see:
CHICAGO (AL) gets:
Coco Crisp
Craig Hansen
Abe Alvarez
BOSTON gets:
Mark Buehrle
or maybe...
TEXAS gets:
Mike Lowell/Coco Crisp
Craig Hansen
Abe Alvarez
David Murphy
BOSTON gets:
Mark Teixiera
Eric Gagne
or maybe...nothing at all.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Poached Lobster Is Not A Barbecue Food, There, I Said It.
Ah yes, Top Chef is bringing the heat from week to week. Last night was no exception, as the contestants took their culinary wares out of doors for an upscale barbecue event. And for the most part, the chefs-in-waiting brought their "A" games. I thought the judges' decision on making Brian the winner of last night's challenge was on point, his seafood sausage hit all the high points needed, and fulfilled the expectations of the judges, as it was both upscale and barbecue appropriate. Sara Nguyen impressed as well, if only by accident, with her Vietnamese Ribeye creation. She definitely got a lot of points for accessibility of food, which can be of particular desirability when standing and mingling under the hot sun.
There were definitely some losers last night. Sandee, of course, was chief among them. Just because you manage to poach lobster on a grill does not mean it's barbecue food. As the other 13 contestants prove, there are myriad ways of finding new and interesting barbecue creations and textures and flavors. She chickened out or lost the plot, and deserved to get canned. But Howie and Joey were almost bigger problems. Howie lost more points with the judges on execution, this time not realizing that if you cut pork and leave it out, it will get dry and inedible. This man is a chef for crying out loud! He's not a line cook, he runs a kitchen. That kind of mistake is absolutely a failure of Culinary Skills 101. Joey on the other hand - who by the way, is the worst kind of New Yorker (the one who believes the world ends West of the Hudson, and for Joey, perhaps we shrink that to outside of Brooklyn) - made chicken wings! And not even good chicken wings, just run of the mill things he would make for a block party in Prospect Heights. These two have to raise their games immediately - though I don't think Joey can hack it - if they want to survive much longer.
One more note on Tre. He was brought to judges' table for a very good reason. They don't want him turning into Cliff. They don't want him to be another guy with a lot of promise and competitive drive, who gets a little bit to arrogant after some early victories. Tre is going to be there at the end, unless his head gets the better of him. He just needed a little spanking from the judges to clarify that.
There were definitely some losers last night. Sandee, of course, was chief among them. Just because you manage to poach lobster on a grill does not mean it's barbecue food. As the other 13 contestants prove, there are myriad ways of finding new and interesting barbecue creations and textures and flavors. She chickened out or lost the plot, and deserved to get canned. But Howie and Joey were almost bigger problems. Howie lost more points with the judges on execution, this time not realizing that if you cut pork and leave it out, it will get dry and inedible. This man is a chef for crying out loud! He's not a line cook, he runs a kitchen. That kind of mistake is absolutely a failure of Culinary Skills 101. Joey on the other hand - who by the way, is the worst kind of New Yorker (the one who believes the world ends West of the Hudson, and for Joey, perhaps we shrink that to outside of Brooklyn) - made chicken wings! And not even good chicken wings, just run of the mill things he would make for a block party in Prospect Heights. These two have to raise their games immediately - though I don't think Joey can hack it - if they want to survive much longer.
One more note on Tre. He was brought to judges' table for a very good reason. They don't want him turning into Cliff. They don't want him to be another guy with a lot of promise and competitive drive, who gets a little bit to arrogant after some early victories. Tre is going to be there at the end, unless his head gets the better of him. He just needed a little spanking from the judges to clarify that.
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