Roatan Retreat: Barefoot Cay

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We had a rocky landing in Roatan. A cold front had come down from the States and whipped off the coast of Honduras, creating some rough turbulence for our little plane. For some reason, whenever I travel by plane these days I bring along some kind of media about aviation disasters. Last year, when we went to California, I was working on transcription for Sole Survivor. I was working on subtitles for Sole Survivor again when I flew to Chicago. This year I was reading a passage in Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s “Wind, Sand and Stars” about a pilot crashing his plane in the Andes. So far these stories of catastrophe in the air haven’t proven to echo into my life, thankfully. Makes me wonder about my subconscious, sometimes, though.

Our first stop was at Barefoot Cay, a resort on the landward side of the island near French Harbor. Due to a strange layover situation necessitating an overnight stay in Cleveland, Ohio, Anna and I had completely missed breakfast. By the time we reached Barefoot Cay we were famished. Luckily, the kitchen at BFC is open almost all day. But resort food? Yuck. It’s generally the most of tasteless, bland crap that they can get away with, seeing as how you’re already roped in to staying there.

Barefoot Cay, however, is different. They’re not particularly fancy or imaginative, but what they lack in creativity they more than make up for in technical skill. For instance, I had a chicken wrap for lunch. It was the best damn chicken wrap I have ever had in my life. The chicken itself was cooked to perfection, moist on the inside and lightly charred on the outside, the lettuce was fresh and crisp and there was just a hint of gorgonzola sauce drizzled throughout. For lack of trying, I never thought I would categorically announce the best chicken wrap of my life, yet here I am.

Simple, well-executed meals abound on their menu. This morning we had a ranchero breakfast. Succulent beef tenderloin, eggs cooked to perfection (I asked for over-medium, one of the most notoriously difficult egg temps to nail, their cook hit it right on the head) homemade tortillas and a savory ranchero sauce without too much heat on it.

I’ve overheard other travelers say that the food at Barefoot Cay is the best on Roatan. I’m inclined to believe them, but that’s not going to stop me from doing more research.

The Birthday and the Boar

Well, it's happened. Another year down the drain and nothing to show for it but a few fantastic meals, some good stories to tell around the campfire, a wedding and a couple more miles on the odometer. Not bad for a ne'er-do-well such as yours truly. So what should we do to celebrate such a momentous occasion as the anniversary of my glorious introduction to this earth? Some do it with cake, some with skydiving, me, I prefer to do it the old fashioned way, with whiskey and egregious amounts of meat.

Luckily for me, my better half knows when to indulge me. No I am not referring to spending a night home alone eating microwaved hotdogs and drinking Jameson out of the bottle, my lovely and talented wife managed to secure us a table for two at that garden of Earthly delights residing in an unassuming storefront on Hennepin avenue, the Butcher and the Boar.

One thing I look to when giving my own personal snap judgement of a restaurant is their bar. A bar can give you insight into everything from the philosophy of the restaurant to the type of experience you can expect to have. Butcher and the Boar's is certainly a statement. Two tenders behind a dark wooden bar packed top to bottom with rye and bourbon divided by a fairly impressive local, craft tap line. To me this says two things. The breadth of whiskey represented evinces a desire to discover and deliver the best of this specific niche, the locally sourced brews show care for the source, the origins of what they serve. So far, color me impressed.

Then we see the menus. There are almost too many menus at Butcher and the Boar. One for the whiskey, one for the wine, one for the entrees and one for the...well, you know how it goes. It was almost difficult to manage so many menus at once, but Anna and I managed to wrangle them to the point where we were able to order a couple drinks. She ordered a 

sazerac

 and I ordered a Basil* Hayden's neat. I was nonplussed by the sazerac which seemed like lazy lip-service to a classic cocktail, however it's pretty hard to screw up high-rye bourbon in a glass which I enjoyed immensely. 

We ordered grilled oysters which were immaculately prepared, followed by fried green tomatoes and smoked olives (which included pickled caper berries and garlic) nice, delicate, smoky with a nice vinegar bite. 

The trouble with a la carte menus is that I could order sides all night long, fortunately our server prompted me to order an entree. I opted for the pork chop which I found out was actually the size of a small child. Immaculately cooked with sour cherries and pecan relish, this double-cut chop could feed an entire village of petits gourmands for several days and, indeed, lasted at our household longer than most delicious cuts of meat make it despite the best efforts of my midnight snacks and lunchtime refrigerator sorties. 

So is Butcher and the Boar worth the hype? They clearly think deeply about what they are serving and why. If they continue on this path, you can expect more great things from this shop, there are a few edges that need polishing but by-and-large the Butcher and the Boar gets my wholehearted seal of approval, not simply for catering to my specific love for earthy brown liquor and cooked meats, but for their philosophical interaction with the food and drink that they serve.

Cogito ergo eo e bibo.

This picture does not do justice to how enormous that pork chop was. If I would have fought this pork chop it would have won...

*Pronounced "baw-sil" not "bay-sil" Hayden, for all of you out there in TV-Land who are keeping score, thanks to the effluvious Matt Smith for the professorial pronunciation participation.

Butcher and the Boar

1121 Hennepin Ave

Minneapolis, MN

Pastie Pastorale - Randall Bakery - Wakefield, MI

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Autumn is one of my favorite seasons. The leaves turn and fall to the ground, scarves and jackets come out, Nick Drake and Tom Waits are almost always appropriate for road trips and hearty food abounds to ward off the chill in the air. Recently, Anna and I were driving through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (whose denizens, the Yoopers, have given it the somewhat unfortunate portmanteau of "The Yoo-Pee") where we stopped in the small town of Wakefield where, at her insistence, we went to the Randall Bakery for pasties.

Yep. Pasties. Pronounced "paw-steez" not "pay-steez" the latter being what strippers use to cover their unmentionables in more prudish establishments, the former being a delicious type of meat pie perfect for a chilly October day.

A pastie is a Cornish pastry dish filled with  diced beef, onions, potatoes and rutabaga in a pastry shell that should be, "hearty enough to survive a drop down a mineshaft." In other words, ideal fortification for outdoor activity in a convenient, handheld package.

I've had pasties once or twice before. There's a food truck in Minneapolis called Potter's Pasties that does an updated version of the pastie with all kinds of different meat replacing the traditional beef (Jamaican jerk chicken, mmm) and The Anchor which is one of my favorite restaurants in Northeast Minneapolis does a pastie with pork and curry that, while good, in no way approaches their perfect fish and chips. This pastie, however, was different.

While the other pasties I've had concentrated on building a better mousetrap, Randall Bakery has been making pasties the same way for well over half a century. It's not light or flaky, it's real, hard working food. It weighs as much as a brick and sticks to your ribs, fuel to keep the fires lit. In other words, it's delicious.

If you're ever on your way east through the Upper Peninsula to spend a few days in the Porcupine mountains (and might I recommend the Escarpment trail if you do) Randall Bakery in Wakefield will have a nice, hot pastie waiting for you.

Randall Bakery

505 Sunday Lake Street

Wakefield, MI

Himalayan Restaurant: Sher-pa Be Delicious

Wind whipped around my head as I pushed through the door. The small room was decorated with prayer flags and statues of unfamiliar deities. A small man approached me and bade me sit down as delicate harp music soothed my aching bones. Base camp was far away and the rarefied air still burned in my lungs.

Okay, kidding.

There was a small man, and there was also some harp music and prayer flags. And in my defense, it was raining yesterday. However, Himalayan Restaurant is not quite the Shangri-La I was describing just now.

It is, however, a delicious and affordable spot to grab lunch.

Nestled on the east end of Franklin Avenue in the Seward neighborhood, Himalayan Restaurant dishes out delicious Nepalese cuisine from a seriously unassuming spot.

Nepalese cuisine is a mixture of Indian, Chinese and IndoChinese cuisine with everything from tandoori to fried rice. Plenty of spice, lots of veggies and tons of curry. How can you go wrong?

Still have yet to get my lunch buffet on at Himalayan Restaurant but if it's anything like the entrees I am sold.

Buffet is 8 bucks, entrees around $11 for a pretty huge meal (I actually got an entire meal out of my leftovers) and decently priced appetizers make for an affordable and delicious experience.

Also, they have yak. So if you've never had yak and are curious about ingesting exotic animals from around the globe, Himalayan Restaurant is the spot.

TOURING BANDS: If you're playing on the West Bank (Triple Rock, Cabooze, Nomad, Acadia, god forbid Whiskey Junction) it's an easy walk to Himalayan Restaurant although you probably want to get it out of the way before you play as the neighborhood gets a bit sketchy at night.

Himalayan Restaurant

2401 E Franklin Avenue

Minneapolis, MN

The Oh-God-Summer-Is-Over Patio List

Oh God! Summer is almost over! Where did it go? We never went camping, fishing, tubing or anything fun! All we did was worked and sat around in our air conditioned apartments re-watching Quantum Leap (did you know that they have like five seasons on Netflix?)!

Fear not, dear readers. Summer has not quite yet escaped our grasp, but it slips, like sand through the hourglass, through our tightly clenched little fingers. In an attempt to prolong summer’s glory I have been eating outdoors whenever possible. Here are my favorite places for outdoor chow time.

Top Outdoor Patios (Food)
Target Field
What would summer be without baseball? Hotdogs, beer, peanuts and crackerjacks. When the Twinnies are on a winning streak at Target Field you’d be hard pressed to find a better spot to grab a dog and a brew and watch the action. Good people watching, good baseball and stadium food, if the price tag for admission weren’t so high I’d be there every night!

Grumpy’s Downtown
My favorite spot to hit after the game for a drink and some company, Grumpy’s Downtown sports a sizeable patio, a great Greasy Spoon menu served til 11pm and appetizers until 1am in case of extra innings. Also a great place to drink beer before a day game and feel right at home with everyone else who is drinking at noon on a Wednesday!

Common Roots
One of the most charming patios on the list, Common Roots boasts an ever changing menu of locally grown delights, many of which are harvested from a garden in the back yard. With a couple local brews on tap as well as fresh brewed Peace Coffee all day, Common Roots is one of my favorite places to grab lunch or dinner in Uptown.

Victor’s 1959 Revolutionary Café
Viva Cuba! Although Cuba is far, far away, Victor’s is a great place to catch a few rays and pretend that it’s not going to be negative twenty degrees in a few short months. Whenever I can rouse myself early enough (read: when I end up passing out somewhere in Uptown) I like to catch Victor’s early morning happy hour 8-10:30AM on weekdays and grab myself a mimosa and some yucca fries out on their cozy little patio.

Bryant Lake Bowl
Whenever I find myself in Uptown I quite frequently end up at the BLB. Happy hour apps are a must (mock duck spring rolls, mmmm) and the beer selection is unparalleled in that part of town. Although a new law requires you to actually be sitting down while you drink your beer on one of the narrowest patios I’ve ever seen, BLB’s outdoor seating is some of the best people watching in town. Watch hipster moms try to wrangle fixed gear strollers down Lake street and see how many prostitutes they have to avoid! Ten points!

Barrio/Local
Squeezed in right next to eachother on Nicollet Mall, the patios at Barrio and the Local are no-brainers for this list. The Local’s patio is always hopping yet one seems to always be able to find a seat. Barrio’s shoulder-to-shoulder vibe gives the impression of knocking back tequilas in a cramped bar in Oaxaca. Small plates at both places are the way to go. Try the chicken shots at the Local and the Beef Tenderloin Anticuchos at Barrio while you watch the suits scurry home.

Psycho Suzi’s
In my neck of the woods when you think “food” and you think “patio” one name springs to mind, “Psycho Suzi’s.” With a big ol’ fenced in patio, drinks in tiki mugs and a pizza menu as long as Johnny the Shark’s rap sheet, this kitschy, rockabilly themed joint has a lot going for it in the outdoors department. Bonus points for attractive, tattooed staff and clientele.

Bulldog NE
Late night happy hours, tater tots and truffle oil, oh my! Northeast’s premier burger joint has a decent sized patio, cheap appetizers at night and just so happens to be on my way home. Do I spend a lot of time on this patio? You betcha! Grab a Tilburg on tap and sit yourself down with a basket of tots and try to imagine winter, I dare you.

Pracna/Vic’s
Probably the fanciest and/or schmantziest patio on the list, Pracna affords a great view of the Mississippi and her bridges. Bring a date and a full wallet and you just might get lucky, son. If Pracna’s patio is full slip over to Vic’s just down the block and catch a great deal on some wine.

Brasa
Voted number one by my readers and friends, Brasa may not have the best view, but they arguably have the best food. If you’re not hip to the Brasa vibe it’s all South American home cookin’. The patio fills up quick but the garage door windows open up and even if you’re sitting inside you’re basically outside. The cornbread is a must, but really, you can’t go wrong with that menu.

Mill City Café
Probably the most idyllic patio on the list, the Mill City Café is tucked away up here in Nordeast in the California building. It’s a great place to take a date or just to rub elbows with the obscure and artsy but don’t show up too late as MCC is only open for breakfast and lunch. Good food, great ambiance and Mill City holds the distinction of being the only two-tiered patio on the list! Yeah!

Honorable Mention:
Uptown Bar
You will be missed, old friend. When I lived on the south side of town the Uptown Bar was my stomping ground. You can’t beat big ass bloody marys, beautiful people and crazy bums mingling in the street and a hamburger that would make your arteries slam shut in fear. Hopefully the New Uptown Bar can hold on to some of that magic for us.

Iron City Eats: Primanti Brothers, Pittsburgh, PA

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I woke up feeling great on Thursday morning. The birds were chirping, sun was shining and far off in the distance, a lone jackhammer hummed into the concrete. I was in Steven’s Point, Wisconsin, more specifically on the front porch of a house, in an inflatable rubber raft.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Several hours later myself and the boys from Battlefields (in my opinion the best doom/prog metal in the Midwest, hands down) arrived in Pittsburgh, sans inflatable raft.

I’d been in Pittsburgh once before, although my only food related experience was witnessing an argument in front of a place called “Tony’s Pizza” in which a man dressed in stereotypical pizza-cook garb (I’m assuming this was Tony, although I have no proof) berated a guy with a long ponytail, bedecked from head to toe in Pittsburgh Steelers paraphernalia.

This time, however, I arrived with my appetite in tact. We leisurely strolled down Penn Avenue past block upon block of empty warehouses until suddenly we came upon a big neon sign reading: “Primanti Brothers”.

We were completely unprepared for the sandwiches we were about to receive. An old, grumpy Pittsburgher in a paper hat appeared, inquiring lackadaisically if we wanted a “sammidge”* before sloughing off to bring us some bottles of Iron City lager. Though tempted by the “Colossal Fish” sandwich and their “#2 Seller” the cheese steak sandwich**, I ordered the capicola. I have never been more pleased with a decision not to order a sandwich with “colossal” in the name.

Stacked high with big slices of meat, a pile of coleslaw and an armload of homemade fries, my sandwich bore a closer resemblance to a freight car from Pittsburgh’s stockyards than to a sandwich. It was heavenly.

Primanti Brothers began serving up sandwiches for iron workers with powerful appetites during the Depression and have continued their tradition of quick and hearty meals ever since. If you’re ever in Pittsburgh, I recommend you get yez down to Primanti and get yez a sammidge an’at.

*I discovered, through my research, that “Pittsburghese” is an actual linguistic dialect with its very own wikipedia page.

**I wondered aloud what the #1 seller was at Primanti Bros., our waiter hollered from across the room, “Iron City Beer!”

Allons Enfants de la Patrie: La Jour De Gloire in the land of 10,000 Lakes

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Those of you who know me can attest to my crushing if not frequently thoroughly embarrassing Francophilia. I have drunk cheap wine on the Champ de Mars, a Gaulois lit between my lips, "Du Côté de Chez Swann" under my arm, swinging a baguette and leering heartily from behind a lusty moustache. Stripy shirt and flatulent bulldog and all.

So what's a pauvre grenouille like myself supposed to do stranded in the middle of America when the quatorze juillet arrives?

Do I make a replica guillotine, re-enacting my own Terreur on some watermelons dressed like Marie-Antoinette? Or perhaps I should put some Piaf on the stereo and quote loudly from Rousseau's "Contrat Social"?

Nay, gentle reader, as I write this I am listening to "The Stroke" by Billy Squier, eating a mediocre bacon cheeseburger, drinking Budweiser and watching the MLB Allstar game at a bar which seemingly exists for no other reason than it happens to reside at the intersection of two county highways.

Vacantly staring from the northeast corner of the intersection of Becker County highways 6 and 11 "The Pit" occupies a bizarre section of highway which is pretty damn close to the middle of nowhere (the Pit claims to be in Audobon, Minnesota which takes up about 45 seconds of your time on highway 10 on the way to Detroit Lakes, although it is a good four miles from the Audobon, Minnesota I know with a lot of blank space in between) and also boasts two houses and, you guessed it, a church.

The Pit is not a great bar. Hell, it is not even a good bar, but it has beer and baseball, and sometimes that's enough...

Well, not really, however the bar that I was going to go to was struck by lightning this afternoon and none of its TVs were working when the game started.

So the Pit may not bee a great bar. Hell, it's not even a good bar. But it has beer, burgers, baseball and happened to not get struck by lightning on Bastille Day and that's what I call the four Bs of good livin on a Tuesday afternoon.

Aux Armes Et Cetera mes enfants!

It's Always 11:45 PM in Chicago: The Skylark

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If ever there was a bar that made me want to spiral off into a Bukowskian barfly bender, slouched in the corner writing poems about flies, making derogatory comments about women and attractive people and drinking cheap whiskey, the Skylark is it. It’s not that the Skylark is covered in dirt and grime, or packed with bar sluts and Johnny Ginblossoms, it’s simply the atmosphere. It's always 11:45pm in the Skylark. Were Chicago a city that still allowed smoking, the Skylark would be in a perpetual fog of nostalgic cigarette smoke. However, appearances can be deceiving as, hidden behind the half burned out 10 watt lamps and cracked linoleum floor is an excellent, always changing selection of beers and one of the best kitchens in Chicago’s shabby-chic hip-kid haven, the Pilsen neighborhood.

While there is a set menu at the Skylark including some of the best burgers the south side of Chicago has to offer, the real treat is their ever changing specials menu which runs the gamut between Moroccan lamb stew, ahi tuna steaks and my personal favorite, t-bone steak.

As a self proclaimed master of the grill, it has been my mission, nay, obsession to perfect the t-bone and, while I have gotten rather good at it, there is no substitute for the Skylark’s t-bone. Juicy, with just the right amount of fat to keep the flavor in-tact, not too much salt and just enough pepper, this steak is like the cover of “Kings of Metal” by Manowar, standing atop all its competitors, sword in hand, lightning crashing down. Epic.

While the kitchen is a pleasant surprise, the integral function of the Skylark is a dive bar. Dark, cavernous booths yawn along the wall as you enter, a few dim lamps and some neon from behind the bar provide the only illumination. Towards the back of the bar, a lonely pinball machine stares down a photobooth. During the day you can usually find some shabby scholar reading Giles Deleuze through precariously perched bifocals as he takes down his third pint.

At night, Pilsen’s good looking art kid population shows up. James Brown and Wilson Pickett go on the record player (yes this bar has a record player, no juke box, just a record player) and tables get cleared for dancing, most of which consists of that old hipster classic: “slightly swaying while spilling PBR all over the floor.”

Perhaps one of the best things about the Skylark is something it lacks, rather than something it has. No televisions blare in any of the Lark’s darkened corners, one feels as if one might have stepped through time back to an era when people went to bars to have conversations, or a quiet drink, without being distracted by the outside world. Also conspicuously absent from the Skylark is the air of pretension which generally accompanies dives where good food meets the art set. The bartenders are laid back but efficient, the patrons, from what I have noticed, seem to simply mind their own business instead of trying to prove something about their wardrobe to the rest of the bar and the mood is always one of affable drunkenness.

The Lark is as close as I’ve come to finding a Gold Standard for dive bars. And believe you me, I’ve seen a lot. From the food to the booze to the crowd to the music, the Lark has got it figured out on all fronts.

DBRS

NAME OF BAR

The Skylark

2149 South Halsted

Chicago, IL

BEER

Tap: PBR plus a rotating selection of good stuff (Lagunitas specials, Great Lakes, etc.)

Bottle: Seems decent.

FOOD

One of the best dive kitchens I’ve ever seen. Moroccan lamb stew, great burgers and, of course, T-Bones.

ENTERTAINMENT

TVs: None!

Bar Games: Pinball, Photobooth

CLIENTELE

Attractive art kids, old men reading books, lots of ties.

MUSIC

Jukebox: No jukebox, just a record player and a bunch of bartenders with taste.

Live: Apparently there is live jazz on Saturdays, I have yet to verify this, though, perhaps I will have to make another trip.

DÉCOR

Bukowskian Chicago Dive

BANG FOR YR BUCK

Seems pretty decent, PBR’s cheap, generally have beer specials, food is about average for Chicago.

OVERALL RATING

9.5

CLOSING THOUGHTS

The Lark is, as I mentioned before, one of my new favorite bars in the world. Dark and drunk and fun. Check it out in the afternoon for a quiet pint or at night for the crowd.

Springfield, IL: You Can Take Our Land, But You Can Never Take Our Freedom Sandwich

One of the highpoints of travel has to be eating local specialties. Any time I am at a bar or restaurant I make sure to ask if they have some ridiculous food or drink item that is their specialty. Generally if you find a local to take you out they will automatically take you to the restaurant that makes shots in a flaming coconut or has a scale model of the Eiffel tower made out of French fries and cheese.

Or a giant pile of heart attack.

Springfield, IL is home to many wonders. The capital of the great state of Illinois cuts an imposing figure in the skyline which appeared, to Jack and me as we were driving in to the city, to be a giant hand flipping us the bird. Ahh southern Illinois.

Springfield, for some time, was also home to one of the most amazing people I know, Ms Abby Rae Lacombe who is responsible, in some fashion, for the excellent Front Porch Sitters blog and is also a dear, dear friend of mine. Abby, being an ex-Springfieldian, joined us for our show in Springfield and, consequently, introduced me to a sandwich which may, some day, be directly related to me necessitating open heart surgery.

I use the term sandwich very, very loosely. The Horseshoe, which is so famous it has its own Wikipedia page is more of a pile of delicious heart-attack on some Texas toast. The ingredients, from what I can remember are: one huge slab of Texas toast topped by a couple of hamburger patties, covered in French fries and then smothered in some kind of white cheese sauce. There were also some onions in there, I believe. In any case it is an imposing heap of bar food which even I, who fears no burger, could not finish in one sitting.

The best Horseshoe (which, according to Wikipedia, is also known as the “freedom sandwich”) as per Ms Lacombe, is to be found at D’Arcy’s Pint. A relatively unremarkable bar, save for the heaping piles of cardiac arrest they serve on a regular basis, I will blame D’Arcy’s Pint on my death bed as my arteries finally give up the ghost, shaking my fist in futile rage at the Horseshoe for being so damn delicious.

(I should mention that I recently found this website where the Horseshoe should definitely hold a place of distinction if it does not already.)

Right in the Breadbasket: Lawrence, KS pt. II: the Mad Greek

Nursing is a particularly handy skill when you’re on tour and broke. Not taking care of the elderly and infirm although theoretically that could come in handy at some point as well, but nursing as in “nursing a coffee for two hours while using a coffee shop’s free wifi” or “nursing a beer because you only get two free ones from the venue and you’re gonna want the other one for when you get onstage”.

Another time nursing comes in handy is when the people who drunkenly offered their couch to you at the show last night wake you up at 8am, frantically shooing you out the door as they try to pull their work clothes on. Then it is time to nurse your hangover with a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle.

Massachusetts Avenue in Lawrence is replete with coffee shops in which to waste time, leer at the college girls walking by and nurse said hangover. I can’t recall the name of the coffee shop Jack and I found, however I do remember that they had free refills on coffee which was brilliant and that they were playing Amadou & Miriam’s Dimanche a Bamako. Both positives for me.

After finishing two crosswords, drinking numerous cups of (free) coffee, it was time to get back on the street, maybe find something to eat and peruse the main drag of Lawrence. Much to our surprise a random guy walked up to us on the street and said, “Hey, you guys played at the Replay last night! You were awesome!”

This has never happened to me before, not even in towns where I have lived. For years. I was floored and even more so when we walked by the Free State Brewing Company and someone shouted from the smoking porch, “You guys rocked at the Replay last night!”

At this point I was pretty much ready to cancel the rest of the tour and settle down in Lawrence. Not only did we randomly play at the Replay the night before but we couldn’t have gone on before midnight so the sheer fact that anyone in Lawrence was sober enough to remember us playing at that point is nothing short of Herculean.

Lightning never strikes the same place twice and certainly not thrice, however, lo and behold Jack and I sat on the patio of the Mad Greek and our waiter said, “Hey did you guys play at the Replay last night?” Unbelievable. Apparently our waiter’s girlfriend had seen us last night, picked up a CD and told him about us. How he arrived at the conclusion that we were the musicians about whom his girlfriend was speaking, I’ll never know, nonetheless he was a nice guy.

The Mad Greek is mad delicious. Lots of big Greek-style plates full of gyro, souvlakia, dolmas smothered in tzatziki sauce. Nice big portions (they also have some, delicious looking Italian food but I was on a mission for gyro and dolmas, yum!) and pretty cheap if you can order off of the lunch menu. They also have nice outdoor seating if you happen to be there during the spring or summer. I recommend the gyro.

The Things We Do: Superbowl Edition II

As I mentioned before, drinking beer all day has long been one of my favorite parts of Superbowl Sunday. And, being the eminently responsible fellow that I am, I am usually placed in charge of securing the beer for Superbowl Sunday.

Now, beer for a football game, sounds easy right? Not on Sundays in Minneapolis. For those out there who have not lived in the great state of Minnesota, it is illegal to sell offsale on Sundays. Why? I haven't the foggiest. Minnesota isn't particularly religious, it's denizens LOVE football AND beer, and yet, for some reason, no dice on buying it on the day when the Lutheran God rests, kicks up his feet in some Minnetonka moccasins, cracks open a cold Premium Grain Belt and watches the Vikings lose. That is, assuming he didn't drink the last of 'em on Saturday night.

In fact, one year I was actually responsible for HIDING a case of beer so that we didn't drink it before the Superbowl. But All Superbowls' Eve was a little too much fun and...

I failed.

No beer, Superbowl Sunday morning, what's a boy to do? Well our only option was to drive to Wisconsin, so, in the freezing cold of early February, we bundled up, packed ourselves into my car, turned up the Metallica and headed for the border.

Roughly an hour later we were back in Minneapolis with a casefull of the Champagne of beers, and Superbowl Sunday was complete.

In honor of this journey, today I am shoving a beer can in a chicken and cooking the hell out of it.

Beer Ass Chicken

1 Chicken (Imagine that!)

1 can of delicious, delicious beer.

Salt&Pepper

Olive Oil

Garlic Salt

Preheat oven to 375

Take long, satisfying drink of beer.

Open can of beer, take long, satisfying drink of beer (leave about half the can full)

I am experimenting, crushing up garlic and putting it in the beer. We'll see if that works.

Oil that sucker up, rub it down with some salt, pepper, garlic salt and any other seasoning you think might make the tasty meats.

Stick-'er on in the oven for an hour to an hour and a half.

Now we'll see if I pulled this off in about a half hour... Updates to come...

YJ's Snack Bar - Kansas City, MO

YJ’s Kansas City, MO

Welcome, new readers, most of whom, I’m imagining are touring musicians. This one’s for you guys:

If you are ever in Kansas City, Missouri, YJ’s is a must. Local, organic food at a good price. Great coffee. Interesting crowd. Definitely one of the best hidden spots I have seen so far.

I was first turned on to YJ’s by a guy named Ed who was booking our show in KC in October of 2008. Jack and I had some time to kill. Jack and I killed a lot of time in Kansas City due to our severe lack of funds at that particular juncture. After a considerable break in shows we played one almost impromptu show at a bar in Columbia, MO. No amps, standing next to the old drunks at the bar. We felt like the Blues Brothers just showing up with our instruments and saying, “Hey, we’re the band.” At which point all the rednecks in the bar did that slow head turn, as if to say, “We don’t take kindly to you young’ns.” The crone behind the bar gave Jack a verbal dressing down when he asked her to turn off the jukebox. I was pretty confident that we were going to get beat up and die in a ditch in the middle of Missouri, which is not my preferred way to go, especially after we played a Hank Williams song and one of the kindly bartenders was unaware that Hank Williams, Jr had a famous father. Now THAT’S redneck.

Anyhow, we managed to squeeze a couple of free beers and about 25 bucks outta the joint (mostly thanks to the crone who gave a similar verbal dressing down to the bar patrons when they wouldn’t put money in our tip jar, thanks lady!) After spending a night on the floor at a house which had far too many people sleeping on the floor (I got the last floor space, Jack got the confusingly still available couch?) Jack and I headed for KCMO.

Kansas City is an alright place to kill time. Downtown KC is a nice grid, plenty of free parking, lots of old abandoned buildings to wander around as well as a pretty cool open space by Union Station which is also worth a quick walkthrough if you’ve got the time.

YJ’s tucked in a little corner on the outskirts of downtown on 18th and Wyandotte (it’s there, although it requires a bit of maneuvering to locate it, I assure you, it’s worth it.) Roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes, YJ’s can only seat about 10 people at one time, although it was still nice enough to sit outdoors when Jack and I visited which just about doubled YJ’s capacity. The food was fantastic and, relatively cheap. The great thing about YJ’s is if you order off of the menu, which is generally comprised of one lunch item and one dinner item, you get an entire meal. The first time we ate there, we got a North African dinner complete with hummus, couscous, lamb kebab and a salad for somewhere around eight bucks.

The staff at YJ’s is also extremely cool. Very laid back folk usually playing interesting music. There is a bit of a library in one corner full of weird magazines, books on interesting subjects and local poetry. There is also generally a cadre of interesting kids hanging out at YJ’s and, if you talk to them you could get them to come out to your show (by the time we left Jack and I had about half the café and the girl behind the bar coming to our show).

The greatest thing about YJ’s, though, specifically for those of us who are broke and traveling, is that if you ask them if they have leftovers they will usually whip you up something delicious to the tune of about 5 bucks. So, if your wallet is hurting and you don’t have enough to pony up for the actual dinner menu (which will be delicious and a lot of food) there are other options to get a little food. YJ’s is also open 24 hours (I believe) so if you are just passing thru town in the middle of the night and need a cup of strong coffee before you drive all the way across Kansas it’s also a good pit stop.

Quirky atmosphere, good food, great value. If you’re traveling through Kansas City I highly recommend checking out YJ’s.