tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53139743049475602422024-03-13T09:17:07.707-07:00Inhuman Eating MachineUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-5150344393903956982011-05-17T15:52:00.000-07:002011-05-31T02:43:28.730-07:00IEM Session #16.8<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">official rules and guidelines</a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/05/iem-session-167.html">16.7</a>)<br /><br />Eating Day: March 19, 2011- one final time</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">SATURN CAFE- 2175 Allston Way, Berkeley- 10:03pm- Cobb Salad - $9.50</span></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dAUxy9SkHrQYniUrNu6dujDqcKXU6yEcCdunuu4Qg3I87EoOoTpk4ggKufL7XeWw7ccH2XYCb1HDzd5u6Z1mgFw_x1F5G5-jSHacNRRECzsQ41uOM6V7AS0jka5DVWQuML9AHgViqXQ/s1600/IMG_0104.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dAUxy9SkHrQYniUrNu6dujDqcKXU6yEcCdunuu4Qg3I87EoOoTpk4ggKufL7XeWw7ccH2XYCb1HDzd5u6Z1mgFw_x1F5G5-jSHacNRRECzsQ41uOM6V7AS0jka5DVWQuML9AHgViqXQ/s320/IMG_0104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607826327623987618" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcABQVIjSeu6lwZ8z3Z8uKTKex6dZMFXV9kNBPEjYjOAw-3qQ_6FoUe8sv2mpbGHFGNcALsGpCLZoUhy0lICfmdmh40crKUByX7bU22N2oAcVSiBhhCIHYzZO9iWIBtpbQiO3rdEEpxkg/s1600/IMG_0106.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcABQVIjSeu6lwZ8z3Z8uKTKex6dZMFXV9kNBPEjYjOAw-3qQ_6FoUe8sv2mpbGHFGNcALsGpCLZoUhy0lICfmdmh40crKUByX7bU22N2oAcVSiBhhCIHYzZO9iWIBtpbQiO3rdEEpxkg/s320/IMG_0106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607826492758356562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Except for Herbivore, none of the salad session's stops had catered specifically to the nonsensical sensibilities of vegetarians. Herbivore seems to target Berkeley's affluent meat-free populace. They attract a clientele composed largely of socially-conscious middle-aged women who have undoubtedly paid great sums so they can look natural, yet slovenly. The de facto uniform of most of the diners at Herbivore seems to come straight from Chico's. Saturn Cafe, on the other hand, draws a different class of vegetarian. Herbivore tries to look like an upscale place where one could entertain an important cruelty-free potential business client. Saturn, on the other hand, is cut from the same pretentious bolt of hipster cloth as Rudy's Can't Fail. The merits or deficiencies of Saturn's food notwithstanding, I felt more embarrassed within its confines than if I had gone stag to Chuck E. Cheese on a Friday evening.<br /><br />The polished chrome and naugahyde booths and formica tables at Saturn have become so de rigeur at modern eateries, I can forgive these faux-retro fixtures within their restaurant. In fact, these accouterments have become as run-of-the-mill as the red and yellow color scheme at McDonald's. The look has ceased to invoke any bygone era, the same way the PT Cruiser no longer reminds anyone of a 1930's gangster getaway car. I am less forgiving, however, when it comes to other aspects of Saturn's decor. The walls surrounding the open kitchen are festooned with pro-looking graffiti that was possibly rendered by a dignitary from the local hip-hop culture in an effort to lend authenticity to an establishment that drips with phoniness. To add even more "street cred," another wall at Saturn is emblazoned with a Che Guevara quote, <span style="font-style: italic;">"At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love."</span> Oh brother. That kind of mishegos is just beyond the pale. That dead commie would have taken one look at this place and blown it up by attaching plastic explosives to the dozen or so futuristic, apron-clad mannequin torsos hanging from the wall. To top it off, there are <span style="font-style: italic;">Loteria </span>cards affixed to the surface of the tables; a clear attempt to co-opt "edgy" Chicano culture. If all these gewgaws weren't enough, the wait staff at Saturn looks like the cast of a video for a band that would have sounded dated ten years ago. With the quirky waitresses sporting traditional tattoos and ugly footwear and a clientele heavy on lesbian poseurs, the whole scene is like a bit from <span style="font-style: italic;">Portlandia</span>, but even more unfunny.<br /><br />I could have gladly ignored all of these sickening embellishments, however, if only the salad wasn't such a fiasco. My family kept a kosher home when I was growing up, so the only way I could enjoy bacon or sausage in the house was by eating ersatz vegetarian analogs, usually products of Morningstar Farm. One would have thought that fake bacon technology would have advanced by leaps and bounds since the 1970's, but the counterfeit pork product on Saturn's cobb salad was identical to the abominations I remembered from my days in grammar school. The strips still had the texture and appearance of a manila folder printed with bacon-esque stripes. The taste is a liquid smoke overdose that continues unabated in one's urine for several days after consumption. From eating at vegetarian Chinese restaurants, I know for a fact that artificial chicken need not call to mind the salty foam matchsticks I found on my salad at Saturn. Other than the fake meat on the salad, the rest of the ingredients (avocado, tomatoes, hardboiled egg, and blue cheese crumbles) were unremarkable and the bowl was a little heavy on romaine, as opposed to the mixed greens. For $9.50, the least they could do is use some fancy greens and pilfer quality fake meat from a Chinese restaurant.<br /><br />I slogged through the Saturn salad, but due to its smaller proportions, it required only a fraction of the time I needed to polish off its predecessor at Chick-A-Pea. I even made room to taste some of the Turkish Coffee ice cream Kelly had ordered. That stuff was out of this world. I have heard Saturn makes a great milkshake, too, so I might visit this ridiculous place again when/if I do a milkshake session.<br /><br />When we finally arrived home, Kelly noticed my outstretched abdomen and screamed at me in horror, as if I was suddenly missing a limb. She demanded that I put a stop to this nonsense ASAP, lest I rupture my duodenum. While I understand her qualms with my mission, she must acknowledge my calling- my devotion to you all. Fear not. I will continue this pursuit as long it remains fun and as long as my stomach allows me.<br /><br />When I woke the next morning, my stomach was in pain like after no other session before. For sheer volume, I reckon the salad session was ahead of all previous outings, although most of the salad ingredients were mostly water. My stomach had been stretched beyond its limits and appropriately sore, but it also felt empty. I had clearly aspirated most of the session's contents in my sleep, either via breath or flatulation. Consequently, I was starving the next morning, especially after emitting a rectal spray that approximated a fermenting bowl of Chef Boy-R-Dee ravioli. Completion of this session was never in the slightest doubt, especially since there are a few salad purveyors open late in the evening, but the repercussions I experienced were definitely unexpected. In the post Bin-Laden era, only a fool underestimates lettuce.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >TOP 2 SALADS:<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" >Actual Cafe<br />Chick-O-Pea's</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Coming June 14:</span> Inhuman Eating Machine #17- Bibimbap</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-75522356918790986502011-05-10T10:02:00.000-07:002011-05-10T12:57:11.315-07:00IEM Session #16.7<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine official <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">rules and guidelines</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />(Continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/05/iem-session-166.html">16.6</a>) Eating Day: March 19, 2011- again.</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />CHICK-O-PEA'S- 1926 Shattuck Ave, Berkeley- 8:44pm- Chick-O-Pea's Salad - $7</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBmC4bvUTnwMeLvl7fJ2lJYvHDTG0uQ-LVUXl_A-uI2hRl1tMec2pdRw9yHUkdvc_CknPeILsUrTTP8QiEWKkO8l4bT_1frGTMU2CyoA6NB9tuxMgVTzN9SyZ2BeD-M2lGhvzzD9gSFo/s1600/058.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBmC4bvUTnwMeLvl7fJ2lJYvHDTG0uQ-LVUXl_A-uI2hRl1tMec2pdRw9yHUkdvc_CknPeILsUrTTP8QiEWKkO8l4bT_1frGTMU2CyoA6NB9tuxMgVTzN9SyZ2BeD-M2lGhvzzD9gSFo/s320/058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605135586363362466" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUF_n2dsO7hH_Aj12jHCse6YhIgfOiLbBd2UhUNIWjvj19tEzCXEK57jtjd3opi3vWyu2R-GTT1y_7-8WZTTyAxgkezSRHyG7x_6k2mRJricjoiSVpzNPXnvoeElI_juGig_aOII5zhGI/s1600/064.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUF_n2dsO7hH_Aj12jHCse6YhIgfOiLbBd2UhUNIWjvj19tEzCXEK57jtjd3opi3vWyu2R-GTT1y_7-8WZTTyAxgkezSRHyG7x_6k2mRJricjoiSVpzNPXnvoeElI_juGig_aOII5zhGI/s320/064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605135760119960802" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Photo by Tigerlily</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" >When I started the salad at Herbivore, I ate with almost the same vigor as very early in the session. I slowed down as I worked my way through that disappointment, but I never approached the sensation of distension I had experienced after the Smart Alec's salad. I was now roughly as full as I was prior to the salad at Maoz. This was apt, because I was about to eat at Chick-O-Pea's, a place with a very similar m.o. as Maoz, except in a non-chain package.<br /><br />I have known about Chick-O-Pea's since they opened a couple of years ago, yet I was reluctant to try the place. Something about my perception of their business model had put me off of them. Perhaps it was their cutesy name, which I assume was derived from Jodi Foster's nonsensical wild-child utterances in her role in <span style="font-style: italic;">Nell</span>. Maybe I found all of their grandiose statements about organic <span style="font-weight: bold;">this </span>and eco-friendly <span style="font-weight: bold;">that </span>a bit much for a falafel joint.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">"Chick-O-Pea’s aioli is made fresh daily and we use only free-range organic eggs. We use rice oil for our deep frying and virgin olive oil for our dressings. Chick-O-Peas' mission is to bring an eco-friendly alternative to the disposable foodservice industry and bring social awareness of the need to maintain our environment. Our disposable products such as cold cups, lids, cup carriers, containers, clamshells, cutlery, plates, bowls and lunch trays are currently purchased from manufacturers and suppliers of 100% biodegradable and compostable (disposable) made from PLA (corn), high heat tolerant CPLA, Bagasse ( sugarcane) and recycled paper pulp."</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><br />Don't get me wrong. This stuff is all well and good. It just irritates me when eateries feel the need to blow their green health-horn in my face. It's the restaurant equivalent of a girl who wears a chastity ring just to brag about her virginity. Finally, I think Chick-O-Pea's location adjacent to the Gourmet Ghetto had me convinced that they would be unduly expensive and/or pretentious. I should not have stayed away so long, because the reality of Chick-O-Pea's is quite different than what I had envisioned. Since the salad session, I have eaten here (to go) on half a dozen occasions. I still get embarrassed saying the establishment's name, though.<br /><br />Like Maoz, the Chick-O-Pea's salad is part full-serve, part self-serve. To start, they give you a plastic-like clamshell container that already holds a small bed of mixed greens. After you have paid, they fry up two large, made-to-order falafel balls. You build the rest of the salad at their do-it-yourself salad bar. As with Maoz, the items on the salad bar are Middle Eastern/Mediterranean-inspired, but Chick-O-Pea's offerings are generally far more flavorful than the relatively unadorned salads at Maoz. A few of the items on the Chick-O-Pea's bar are always present, but others seem go in and out on a rotating basis. On the day of the session, I chose a sizable heap of pickled cabbage, pickled peppers, pickled beets, seasoned cucumber salad, and <span style="font-style: italic;">lobio</span>, a garbanzo bean salad in vinaigrette. I looked up lobio on Wikipedia. It apparently comes from the Republic of Georgia and usually contains kidneys beans, rather than garbanzos. Although I don't know how authentic this version is, it was certainly a zingy salad with a good deal of cumin, a little garlic, and maybe some citrus. It would make a great alternative to taboulleh on a falafel plate. All the other salads were equally delicious. Best of all, the falafel here is as good as the balls at Maoz. Once again, they are highly crunchy outside, well-spiced, and moist inside. And they're big. If Chick-O-Pea's has a good pita, the falafel sandwich here is undoubtedly stellar. There are also several squeeze bottles of dressings/sauces available for topping your salad. Unfortunately, they are unlabeled, so I can only guess what the bottles contain. I am quite certain that one of the bottles is a tahini sauce and another is yogurt-based, but I have no clue about the others, except for the harissa (Middle Eastern hot sauce.) I loaded up on harissa, which made the already-vibrant salad even more exciting.<br /><br />About halfway through the salad, I slowed to a crawl. It was a miracle that I was able to finish this thing. I made the salad far bigger than I should have. At one point, I sneezed hard, probably due to the peppery ingredients in the salad. The force of the sneeze was so great, it nearly caused me to projectile vomit all over the restaurant. I had to close my mouth quickly to prevent the chunder. After this episode, I continued to plod through the salad one tiny bite after another until I was finally finished. I was nearly as stuffed as I was after the Smart Alec's salad, but this time, there was no beckoning turd on the horizon. Worst of all, my ears were now stuffed up, as if I had just disembarked from a twelve-hour flight. This sensation lasted until the following morning. Were my Eustachian tubes filled with lettuce? I expected to lose my equilibrium once I arose from the table to walk from the car. Luckily, I was able to waddle to my auto and attempt a final entry before calling an end to this foolish venture.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-85903661703191680272011-05-03T10:00:00.000-07:002011-05-03T11:04:04.910-07:00IEM Session #16.6<span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/04/iem-session-165.html">16.5</a>)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Eating Day: March 19, 2011, duh!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >HERBIVORE- 451 Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley, 7:20pm- Large Green Salad - $7.50 + $1.50 for Grilled Tofu add-on<br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip673W9Y4h8lE8unujQ3Pp6nGW-hhKXe_sRhTV7ghv4pfcBGClaSBUdnPj5xKuT0kIX1cwNA6RrcjXIAGt3ItYWJ_r8vmI34_c9qtVhQjgrpnr1I1_kv-FOP8xXR12_dC30vQZYvEsNP0/s1600/IMG_0089.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip673W9Y4h8lE8unujQ3Pp6nGW-hhKXe_sRhTV7ghv4pfcBGClaSBUdnPj5xKuT0kIX1cwNA6RrcjXIAGt3ItYWJ_r8vmI34_c9qtVhQjgrpnr1I1_kv-FOP8xXR12_dC30vQZYvEsNP0/s320/IMG_0089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602402306292523106" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJf432M0L8kFqfpXMqofxsfqqrMqSpHS6FbA91JxhjAxoW1toy0X8D9HvLl57SMXQUnwGeIUNk4uKHuzv7WjeF7M1WU_-D9Z2XpWJ_MMa9SDFp3WgreoRLI1zqDA3mhOrD0EIJJt8BKDY/s1600/IEM-bigsalad-6herbivore.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJf432M0L8kFqfpXMqofxsfqqrMqSpHS6FbA91JxhjAxoW1toy0X8D9HvLl57SMXQUnwGeIUNk4uKHuzv7WjeF7M1WU_-D9Z2XpWJ_MMa9SDFp3WgreoRLI1zqDA3mhOrD0EIJJt8BKDY/s320/IEM-bigsalad-6herbivore.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602402116219756162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Photo by Tigerlily</span><br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> 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mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">After Smart Alec's colossal salad and the out-of body defecation experience it triggered, I knew a lengthy interlude in my journey was imminent. I drove home somehow, which was probably not a safe endeavor, as the colon explosion I had undertaken at UC left me spent like I had run a triathlon in a kevlar track suit. I was falling asleep at nearly every traffic light. When I finally made it to the couch, I assumed catatonia for several hours straight. When I arose, I felt reasonably ready to resume the session. My distended abdomen had all but returned to its normal state and I even had slight twinges of hunger returning. I would meet up with Lily again in Berkeley for the final few stops of the expedition, accompanied by my wife.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I had only been to Herbivore once before, but exclusively to order a vegan chocolate cupcake from their bakery, which was shockingly delicious. I was a vegan myself in 1980's. Back then, vegan pastries were as dense as a gold brick with the consistency of dry steel wool. Due to some secret cruelty-free technology they've discovered, however, Herbivore has managed to make a cupcake that rivals the real McCoy. The salad here was another story.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I was somewhat surprised that Herbivore had a single salad that qualified for the sub-$10 cost ceiling, because from the outside, this place looks really expensive.<br /><br />In the years since I quit the ranks of vegetarianism, my former cohorts have apparently made more changes than simply acquiring the ability to make edible baked goods. In 2011, it would seem that not only do vegetarians not believe in eating animals, they don't believe in prompt service, either. It took 15 minutes for somebody to take our order and close to half an hour to receive our food- a period they made even more interminable by playing Fugazi "Waiting Room" over their sound system. Are you kidding me? Why is it that Negro Spirituals recorded in the fields circa 1920 sound less dated than 1980s-90s alternative rock? I will take this opportunity to once again disavow any connection I ever had to said music. It is bad and you and I both know it, nostalgia be damned.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The salad looked good. I will give it that. It consisted of bean sprouts, julienned beets, avocado slices, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, and about half a dozen small pieces of grilled tofu. The whole megilla was served on a bed of romaine and mixed greens. I opted for creamy hemp salad dressing on the side. I have never smoked marijuana before for several reasons, many of which are ridiculous. However, if reefer tastes anything like this dressing, I am quite certain that abstaining was a good choice. The stuff tasted like aspirin. Other than the analgesic flavor, I detected no other seasonings. This was easily the worst salad dressing I have ever tasted. I thought I had dodged a bullet by ordering the dressing on the side, but the greens were somehow equally acrid. It was almost a month before Passover. I had no interest in eating bitter herbs. (Look up the reference, goyim!) I saw no spinach in the bowl, but my teeth felt gritty like it does after eating a spinach salad. Most of the other toppings were fine, but the tofu was worthless. The pieces had grill marks, but the tofu possessed none of the smoky flavor you associate with grilled food. In fact, the tofu had no flavor whatsoever.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Kelly and Lily both enjoyed their meals, and all the portions here were larger than I thought a place like this would serve. I just don't see any reason to eat here. If I am trying to eat healthy, I don't need the kind of pretentious vibe a place like this exudes. I'd rather eat a bag of carrots and an orange and spend an hour on a treadmill. Yes, Herbivore have fake meats coming out the wazoo, but they also have a full bar. And you can bet your ass the ersatz meat here is only slightly less deadly than the animal flesh it impersonates after they fry the wheat gluten and add seasonings straight out of a laboratory. Health food, my eye.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />In 1990, I might have deemed Herbivore a godsend, as long as I stayed away from the pharmaceutical-grade salad dressing. However, this was the same period when I was a proponent of the shitty music they played during my session visit here. That can't be a mere coincidence.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-64668287263224912842011-04-26T04:13:00.000-07:002011-04-26T13:54:22.965-07:00IEM Session #16.5<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(Continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/04/iem-session-164.html">16.4</a>)<br /><br />Eating Day: March 19, 2011, of course<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >SMART ALEC'S INTELLIGENT FOOD- 2355 Telegraph Avenue, Berkeley, 1:55pm- Superior Chef Salad - $6.95</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlmbPgcfIWbjzoYKb8_zDdut1Oqs77MoaUquYimV-tb-Sr-CtrxY_75NrlNnfmscQLNafuh6jc7lSoGzEGmedd4bWZ3dQeXhNJNsAcWVRXEA1q7DVJOA5NrDEyJi2uKaBz8546kSyS-g/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlmbPgcfIWbjzoYKb8_zDdut1Oqs77MoaUquYimV-tb-Sr-CtrxY_75NrlNnfmscQLNafuh6jc7lSoGzEGmedd4bWZ3dQeXhNJNsAcWVRXEA1q7DVJOA5NrDEyJi2uKaBz8546kSyS-g/s320/IMG_0082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599850030755100338" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QVZA5T58J-WEcdhvtTzQFmTj4MR9DeRIBCO3L-tLn-dgDn7k4XJgs3TPkvxLkaCNT-69Hpc9WX2sJUCS4kwArdnh1VxFt7-pupbS3bS09eP7ypSSXZfmIeBnTyK-SS4HjEmeYskLJC0/s1600/IEM-bigsalad-5smart.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QVZA5T58J-WEcdhvtTzQFmTj4MR9DeRIBCO3L-tLn-dgDn7k4XJgs3TPkvxLkaCNT-69Hpc9WX2sJUCS4kwArdnh1VxFt7-pupbS3bS09eP7ypSSXZfmIeBnTyK-SS4HjEmeYskLJC0/s320/IEM-bigsalad-5smart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599850127971827730" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Photos by Tigerlily</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This was the salad stop I was dreading. If anything was going to break me on this session, it would be the salad here. Their entry is almost identical to the salad just up the street at Cafe Intermezzo, but Smart Alec's offers more dressing choices, more protein add-in options, and wheat berries as a default salad topping. Smart Alec's also offers some kind of freebie to students that bring in a good report card. Alec's is not a chain, as far as I can tell, but it somehow has a very chain-y feel to it. This is probably due to the pro-looking wall menu and their emphasis on their air-cooked fries, which seem like the domain of an enterprising multinational bent on capturing students seeking healthy dining options. Unlike Intermezzo, which has a very Berkeley-looking staff that undoubtedly smells of cumin, the counter girls at Smart Alec's always look they could have been extras in an Avril Lavigne video. While the hippies at Intermezzo actually <span style="font-weight: bold;">make </span>the salads, Smart Alec's food is prepared by Spanish-speakers in the back (like at almost every other restaurant in the Bay Area.) It is strange that two establishments that truck in identical food offerings (sandwiches and massive salads) can have such completely different "vibes," even though they are only two blocks apart.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Other than wheat berries, the Smart Alec's Superior Chef salad contains romaine, corn niblets, tomato slices, carrot coins, edamame, alfalfa sprouts (aka "the splooge of the plant kingdom"), an entire hardboiled egg, half an avocado, garbanzo beans, and croutons. Plus, you get your choice of protein from a list that includes grilled chicken, roast turkey, sliced turkey, hummus, a veggie burger, baked tofu, and a hamburger patty. I opted for the burger, as it seemed charred beef might counteract the roughage's imminent digestive "corollaries." The patty was easily a quarter pounder. Although it was overcooked for my tastes, it was relentlessly juicy and flavorful. I considered it a great addition.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> It is hard to tell from the photo, but the salad here is absolutely behemoth. The thing weighs well over 2lbs, possibly 3lbs. Most sane people will make three or more meals out of this concoction. In the Mountain or Central time zone, where cole slaw is considered a health food, the Superior Chef would be enough salad to feed an entire family reunion at a rented picnic area in a city park. While the ingredients of Alec's salad are not up to the organic, seasonal, locally-grown, heirloom pedigree of some of the salads I ate earlier in the day, there is no denying that the Superior Chef is a great buy. Compared to a salad you'd receive at a steak house in the Midwest, it is absolutely a masterwork of modern greenery construction. The multitude of textures belies the fact that you are "just eating a salad." It is beyond comprehension that this salad is thrice the size of some I ate on this session, while ringing up as the least expensive offering of the journey. I don't care if the ingredients on the Tomate salad were grown in a monastery in the San Joaquin Valley and hand-delivered to the restaurant's door by the monks. There is no justification for their salad to cost $2.55 more than the Smart Alec's offering.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">A salad of such proportions is a wonderful gift in most applications, but it was a tribulation during this session. I correctly assumed that finishing this salad would result in the skin surrounding my abdomen nearing laceration. I am sure my midriff has stretch marks with this salad's name on it. What I did not bargain for was the intense jaw pain I experienced eating this beast. All the chewing had left my entire face throbbing, as if I had been suckerpunched. Unlike certain session meals, it would have been ill-advised to try and swallow the salad with only a perfunctory chew. I had to thoroughly chomp every bite, lest I become a Heimlich Maneuver candidate. It took me at least an hour to finish this vegetable leviathan. Smart Alec's would be as far as I could eat for a while.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I was beginning to feel occasional violently effervescent episodes below my belt. Since Smart Alec's boasts one of the only restrooms on Telegraph Ave. accessible to customers, I decided to avail myself of their facilities, even though the urge to discharge had not yet reached DefCon 5. Despite the sign on the bathroom wall admonishing, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Do not use more toilet paper than you need. Toilet has a tendency to overflow</span>," the bowl was filled with a massive mound of TP and excreta. I suspected the assemblage was going nowhere without considerable attention I was unwilling to devote in my condition. Regardless, I jostled the wad a little with the plunger and then flushed, hoping the commode could manage the massive volume of filth. Instead, the accumulation just rose in the toilet, resting millimeters from the rim. Fearing the worst, I fled the lavatory.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This failed attempt at plumbing took quite a few minutes. My fecal necessity was now becoming crucial. First, I bandied the idea of going to Lily's place a few blocks away to sully her bathroom. This notion was dashed, however, because Chris had already lit back there to perform the very same function! Lily suggested we go to Barrows Hall at UC where KALX is located. The building is only a few blocks away from Smart Alec's, but I had tremendous difficulty completing this walk with my contents intact. I had to stop every few steps to clench. This trek was as agonizing as when Christ was led on foot to Golgotha dragging his own cross. This whole affair showed me, though, that my sphincter control seems to have increased at my advance age. In the past, I wouldn't have made it across Bancroft without a leg full of excrement, yet I reached the campus restroom with my boxer briefs relatively unscathed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I flung myself upon the throne and set to work immediately. The job, a conglomeration of pretzel logs marinating in original-flavor Gatorade, was finished almost instantly. I sat there panting from my ordeal. Hunched over, I noticed that there were thousands of ants walking on and around the wall inches from my left foot. Normally, I would have leapt from the stool in terror and burst from the stall without regard for wiping or pants-fastening. In my condition, though, I could do little but watch the ants go about their business and drift closer into a rectally-induced coma.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-40402607096162464032011-04-12T09:00:00.000-07:002011-04-12T11:10:14.383-07:00IEM Session #16.4<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >I<a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">nhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(Continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/04/iem-session-163.html">16.3</a>)<br /><br />Eating Day: March 19, 2011, what else?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">MAOZ VEGETARIAN- 2395 Telegraph Avenue, Berkeley, 1:15pm- Salad Box w/Ice Tea- $8.00<br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxf8bqVrmDI0NhfITP7Mo5DcTU9gXJSBUwxDGOQKXeBLbulZEgGrT0FRMOxneB9Hf0K-DZd2_UrmN_WuCiwDfAg66vIJSnFpHi-iU4mDjNa_xy-pKQfdKnv9zh_P8FuuhRhIHPnXQ89Mc/s1600/040.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxf8bqVrmDI0NhfITP7Mo5DcTU9gXJSBUwxDGOQKXeBLbulZEgGrT0FRMOxneB9Hf0K-DZd2_UrmN_WuCiwDfAg66vIJSnFpHi-iU4mDjNa_xy-pKQfdKnv9zh_P8FuuhRhIHPnXQ89Mc/s320/040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594664529888842146" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiRc1XmentDQx3SS3Eu37sJDiR-iQfRI79G5dhhNTzwe9t35U6NSpT1lts3yh9Fq105o_a4am4NgosIQ9nOa0LYRMp7tI8MNJuCS9aidY7PAUb6Iu6Ml8Z2z_sUCArA7ZlfL2-LIzeJQ/s1600/IEM-bigsalad-4maoz.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiRc1XmentDQx3SS3Eu37sJDiR-iQfRI79G5dhhNTzwe9t35U6NSpT1lts3yh9Fq105o_a4am4NgosIQ9nOa0LYRMp7tI8MNJuCS9aidY7PAUb6Iu6Ml8Z2z_sUCArA7ZlfL2-LIzeJQ/s320/IEM-bigsalad-4maoz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594664710002827826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Photo by Tigerlily</span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Three salads down. Nothing. Combined, the first trio of salads weighed at least 2 lbs., I'd reckon, but I may as well have eaten three pretzels. They just had not registered yet. I knew I had some serious contenders to come, but this voyage seemed even easier than I could have imagined.<br /><br />I had wanted to try Maoz for a while since I spotted the joint while walking from Amoeba to Rasputin's in the midst of a dollar record sojourn. Yes, Maoz is a chain. They're an international chain, even, with stores in both the U.S. and Europe. In most cases, a chain this big would have fallen outside of the scope of the IEM by-laws, but the next closest Maoz to the one in Berkeley is roughly 3,000 miles away. I decided I would allow it in the session.<br /><br />Maoz has kind of a weird system. If I came here on a day when I was in a hurry, I was grumpy, or I didn't feel like dealing with a restaurant's unique food formatting and policies, I might have walked out without ordering. The whole set-up seemed unnecessarily confusing. The "salad box" works like this. You start out with a round plastic bowl, not a box.) The bowl comes with a bed of lettuce (50/50 romaine and greens) and five falafel balls. Then you get a choice of a few different add-ons. I chose hummus and avocado. These steps are assembled by the counter guy. After he finishes this part, he hands you the box and then you can add more things from the salad bar. You can add all that you want into the bowl on a single trip. They make it abundantly clear that this is not an all-you-can-eat buffet-type salad bar a la Fresh Choice. So, you had better pile it on during your lone trip to the salad bar. If I was eating eight salads in a single day, I could have piled on an ungodly amount of salads into that box, but I decided to keep it plentiful but sane. The bowl had no more than a pound of plant matter inside. A fair amount, I felt. To the aforementioned ingredients I added the following salad bar items myself- carrot salad, beet salad, coleslaw, veggie salad (carrot coins, cauliflower, etc.), tomato wedges, sliced onions, and yogurt sauce.<br /><br />If Maoz would have been around during the<a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2008/06/iem-session-4-coldest-winter-i-ever.html"> falafel session</a>, it would have destroyed the competition. Today, only Oasis and another place I stopped later on the salad session are in the same falafel league as Maoz in the East Bay. The balls are extra crispy and seasoned correctly. The falafel were cooked to order here, still hot and crunchy on top of the salad, like the world's greatest crouton. The hummus was okay, but still somewhat out of balance. I've said it before. Getting the perfect garbanzo:tahini:garlic:lemon juice ratio is nearly impossible.<br /><br />The salads from the self-service bar were gorgeous with their vibrant hues, but they tasted like their core vegetable without any zim or zam. And the yogurt "sauce" was just liquid yogurt. I could not taste anything in there other than plain old yogurt. I know they have spices at Maoz. The falafel was a taste explosion. Why dish up such neutral-tasting salads? Perhaps they don't want the falafel to be upstaged. I can understand this line of thinking, but it would take more than a little vinegar and black pepper on a beet salad to overpower these mighty balls. Maoz is worth a return for the falafel alone, but I may have to employ some of their other dressings if I try the salad box again. The falafel stifled its supporting players like Lee Marvin showing up on an episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Hogan's Heroes</span>.<br /><br />After the Maoz salad, I felt only a slight semblance of a trace of fullness setting in. Gas had not even begun to develop in my entrails. I was riding high in the saddle. Unfortunately, the next stop was the 500lb. gorilla in the room.<br /><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-90945512795845334972011-04-05T08:00:00.000-07:002011-04-05T08:00:06.638-07:00IEM Session #16.3<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-162.html">16.2</a>)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eating Day:</span> March 19, 2011, yet again<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NEW AMSTERDAM COFFEE- University Avenue, Berkeley, 12:12pm- The Big Salad- $7.25<br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFjNO6_HI3RC_yLH1PXvwYZD1TXZRdMcDlzHyg-vSmnclSZxGPkf8fqlFUked0-MNosB-78g_kgO3FdeRM0yBKXeSWh8GHyjgSubajV0g2h6ozYq6HXRVHTDa77hmgqZhWq6ul02_Mes/s1600/037.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFjNO6_HI3RC_yLH1PXvwYZD1TXZRdMcDlzHyg-vSmnclSZxGPkf8fqlFUked0-MNosB-78g_kgO3FdeRM0yBKXeSWh8GHyjgSubajV0g2h6ozYq6HXRVHTDa77hmgqZhWq6ul02_Mes/s320/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592012688784954050" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKpul77CQFzax0W6a2E23vX68Pt9GWSmK1LhRuh5zyzwdIQrZ7Ww1Gc_iu3UPXwOGQuQ5EO3SjVOBBBbByatd-M5OEqrMyYcLrfdugYABX9_WjKmt02HV2rm2vz_5H9Qfreq0HUdWUdo/s1600/038.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKpul77CQFzax0W6a2E23vX68Pt9GWSmK1LhRuh5zyzwdIQrZ7Ww1Gc_iu3UPXwOGQuQ5EO3SjVOBBBbByatd-M5OEqrMyYcLrfdugYABX9_WjKmt02HV2rm2vz_5H9Qfreq0HUdWUdo/s320/038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592012759357046546" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjRjtLtYbUBcYsg7ycONxztAc95pnwL9-LPb1YPOIA-ev8cj6OCJWfVntcc0KxAES3WMoj6qphcoT6DNnh-bbN1eafpYA-0sQFHuwzJvq83zqzHwLoueDl5kxUJA16s8ZxZT27FAHJTg/s1600/039.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjRjtLtYbUBcYsg7ycONxztAc95pnwL9-LPb1YPOIA-ev8cj6OCJWfVntcc0KxAES3WMoj6qphcoT6DNnh-bbN1eafpYA-0sQFHuwzJvq83zqzHwLoueDl5kxUJA16s8ZxZT27FAHJTg/s320/039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592012834517746482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" >Photo by Tigerlily</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"><br />After a trip to the ill-conceived Emeryville Target store to purchase batteries, Lily and I ventured to the heart of downtown Berkeley. If Tomate is quintessential old-time Berkeley and Actual is North Oakland personified, then New Amsterdam is a prime example of the sort of establishment so prevalent in the vicinity of UC Berkeley. Tomate was populated by older types with frizzy hair and wide-wale cordurorys who have undoubtedly done time as Cal faculty. New Amsterdam, however, has a grad-school vibe to it. Their key demographic surely consists of teaching assistants who are enrolled in programs that are sufficiently esoteric to make any future career aspirations futile. There is a lot of soccer paraphernalia strewn about the place and there is always some kind of soccer-related programming on the television behind the counter. There are murals on the inside walls that depict what I assume to be the Netherlands. Perhaps the owner is from Holland. Or maybe the soccer theme is naught by a ruse set forth to give the illusion of worldliness.<br /><br />In case you had forgotten, the session took place on a cold, gray, rainy day- the stuff of Natalie Merchant songs. Salads are not a meal that engenders warmth, so I was even more sensitive to the act of pure barbarism delivered upon me by a steady stream of customers who came in and out of the New Amsterdam to place coffee orders. These 20-somethings repeatedly exhibited an utter lack of regard for human life, leaving the front door open several inches. This offense allowed excruciating blasts of storm to enter the room, making me even colder than I was before entering. Who does such a thing? Why not pull the door completely closed? These devils seemed to be perpetrating this deed intentionally. It was not difficult to merely pull the door a few more inches to its rightful resting place. Is this what "acting locally" is all about? This travesty forced me to become fixated on the frequently ajar door, leaping up to close the door myself, when necessary.<br /><br />Luckily, I soon became aware of the two guys sitting in the front table and forgot about my imminent frostbite. I assume these fellows were both video game designers. By their tone, I gathered that they had just met and they were on a business luncheon. They seemed to be trying to one-up each other with their brilliance. In a single sentence, I heard one of the nerds utter the words, "coalesce," "crux," and "gestalt." He seemed astounded when his compatriot appeared to understand the words' definitions. If these future billionaires weren't enough, I was seated across from the least-convincing transsexual/transvestite in history. In his/her early fifties, this character was dressed in Riot Grrrl garb, circa 1992. With the high Doc Martens, torn fishnets, and Abe Vigoda-esque bags under his/her eyes, this tranny made Dame Edna look like Christina Aguilera.<br /><br />I could have sworn that I had told the guy at the register that I wanted to eat my salad in the restaurant. Nonetheless, it arrived in a square cardboard box, similar to a Chinese food container, but without the whimsical Asian characters on the side. New Amsterdam's "Big Salad" comes stock with romaine, seasonal greens, cucumbers, and red onions. Then you get your choice of 3 additional items from a list of about 20 vegetables, legumes, cheeses, etc. Some kind of meat was also available, but that cost extra. I ordered artichoke hearts, avocado, and seasoned chickpeas on mine. I have discovered in my travels that you get far more roughage when you order a big salad to eat-in than you when you get the salad to go. If I was a cheating man, I could have saved myself some agony and ordered all of the salads to-go after New Amsterdam mistakenly gave me my salad in a box. But I do not cheat my readers! The salad was heavy on the romaine, with just a hint of the seasonal greens, but there was a good deal of cucumbers and the add-ins I had chosen. The avocado was at the perfect level or ripeness and the artichoke hearts were tender with a slightly vinegar-y zing. The seasoned chickpeas didn't really seem very seasoned, though, unless New Amsterdam's idea of "seasoning" means salt. I remembered to get the dressing on the side this time. It was a slightly sweet offering, which was surprising for a dressing that was supposed to be smoked paprika. The dressing wasn't bad by any means, but it tasted kind of store bought, even though it probably wasn't.<br /><br />The salad here was definitely acceptable, but I was somewhat disappointed. On my sole previous visit, the salad here made a very positive impression on me. I am not certain what happened, so I can only blame the fact that they erroneously gave me the salad to-go. Perhaps they were trying to send me a message.<br /><br />P.S. Restaurateurs, please stop putting lemon slices into pitchers of water. A fresh slice of lemon on the side of a glass is fine. But when lemon wedges sit for hours in a pitcher of water, the water does not taste of citrus. It just tastes bitter and dirty.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-37034575797317604392011-03-29T09:00:00.000-07:002011-03-29T09:47:08.379-07:00IEM Session #16.2<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-161-you-dont-make-friends.html">16.1</a>)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eating Day: </span>Again, March 19, 2011</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">ACTUAL CAFE- 6334 San Pablo Avenue, Oakland- 10:40am- Real Big Salad- $7.00</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoziI6Fajexm-4_eZ1TxwOzbXG-e8YM43u-iiQERiw-6P3JOUFZ-Anr1cxwlgfcLgBTm4IqvZ6Sa2i8c07mCNHwwU0nH2AWtEf12vlHuLC4_q51zw59IpJDrP35AjaB7o28-rDuXFBoAk/s1600/034.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoziI6Fajexm-4_eZ1TxwOzbXG-e8YM43u-iiQERiw-6P3JOUFZ-Anr1cxwlgfcLgBTm4IqvZ6Sa2i8c07mCNHwwU0nH2AWtEf12vlHuLC4_q51zw59IpJDrP35AjaB7o28-rDuXFBoAk/s320/034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589421943519178594" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6VloNV9qH2BaSJFvYGyL2EZ9gAxI_sf_ptotaMGRszAahcQFJFySOdfLwhyphenhyphensGj_46TD_pPQG301rFJuIjvQ5G8hVJwk3DUnRi1hegQ-ZxhHRtYo-SRZxEtGa6ds0Lc_HENcx37KDh1E/s1600/IEM-bigsalad-2actual.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6VloNV9qH2BaSJFvYGyL2EZ9gAxI_sf_ptotaMGRszAahcQFJFySOdfLwhyphenhyphensGj_46TD_pPQG301rFJuIjvQ5G8hVJwk3DUnRi1hegQ-ZxhHRtYo-SRZxEtGa6ds0Lc_HENcx37KDh1E/s320/IEM-bigsalad-2actual.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589422040689237746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo by Tigerlily</span><br /><br />Like Tomate, this place had a similar rustic, bohemian bent, except it was appropriately more North Oakland than Berkeley. The clientele was younger than at Tomate. There was a framed t-shirt on the wall reading, "Oakland, CA- Dyke City." The counter lady who took my order had a thicker beard than I have. There was a bike rack (bicycle docking station) on the wall <span style="font-weight: bold;">inside </span>the restaurant. As usual, there were lots of sad-looking women who seemed far too mature to have borne the toddlers on their knees. The seating is long, communal, <span style="font-style: italic;">Oliver Twist</span>-style wooden tables and benches. Best of all, there was a sign near the cash register proclaiming weekends as "laptop free." As far as I am concerned, the only thing worse than people loitering at cafes on their laptops is a cafe that tries to appear high and mighty by banning said devices two days a week. In general, Actual Cafe is not the type of place I would normally spend an entire meal on my own volition, but the $7 pricetag for the "Real Big Salad" was a welcome sight. Sadly, I was unable to repudiate this establishment out of hand.<br /><br />True to its name, this salad was almost twice the size as the Tomate salas. It was built on a bed of mixed greens, with nary a leaf of romaine in sight. The greens were topped with a goodly amount of pickled vegetables (I detected cauliflowers and zucchini), currants, avocado, and toasted almonds, plus some shaved parmesan. Actual offered a choice of three different fruit add-ins: pears, apples, or strawberries. I figured that the berries were the best of these three choices, as they are a relatively "high-percentage fruit," with close to 70% of strawberry specimens being of good to excellent quality. Conversely, pears and apples hover around 50% or lower, depending on variety. The mustard vinaigrette was wonderfully zesty and added some bite to the salad. Even though I really enjoyed the dressing, I was glad Actual did not ladle it on with a heavy hand, as I had forgotten to specify to the bearded lady that I wanted my dressing on the side. It was as if they had read my mind and had administered the correct amount of vinaigrette for my taste.<br /><br />Under normal conditions, my distaste for the atmosphere and clientele of Actual Cafe would deter me from spending measurable amounts of time on its premises. Food notwithstanding, I would rather sit unnoticed in a filthy noodle outlet in the Eastlake district while the staff and customers look at me suspiciously for daring to cross their threshold. I am not yet sure whether I love Actual's salad more than I hate their conspicuously "progressive" ambiance. If I am ever able to visit on a day when laptops <span style="font-weight: bold;">are </span>permitted, however, perhaps I can enjoy their delicious bargain salad immersed in wi-fi pornography or an episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Murder, She Wrote</span>, unencumbered by the trappings of North Oakland artisanal chumpitude.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-36739582948217458622011-03-22T09:00:00.000-07:002011-03-28T21:37:22.809-07:00IEM Session #16.1- You Don't Make Friends with Salad<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />I am calling the new format of Inhuman Eating Machine (IEM) a singular success. I published seven entries on seven consecutive Tuesdays- unprecedented regularity in the history of this blog. A couple of naysayers claim that there was more drama in the original format. They feel that the new installment plan eliminates some of the tension present in the previous saga-like configuration. I can understand this assertion, but I have to humbly disagree. The new format is here to stay, my friends. Climb aboard the modern bandwagon of my tales of crapulence, lest ye be left behind.<br /><br />Let me explain why I feel the new format is a good fit for IEM. Firstly, I am a big fan of episodic adventure stories, be it a three-part account of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Brady Bunch</span> in Hawaii, or a season-long story arc about the Ice Princess diamond on <span style="font-style: italic;">General Hospital</span>. Breaking a story up into episodes leaves me coming back for more to see whether or not Vincent Price viciously disembowels Greg, Peter, and Bobby, and whether Mrs. Garret and Natalie get into a nasty three-way with George (Clooney), the handyman. Also, the installment approach is the only possible way for me to publish IEM on a regular basis. It parses my burden into manageable chunks. I have discovered that I can compose one entry per week with little difficulty. I don't want to curse myself, but with the new format, I can sincerely envision publishing a consistent stream of IEM sessions- one stop per week, a new session every 7-8 weeks. If you prefer to get your IEM in one massive dose, I suggest you wait eight weeks before accessing the blog in order to digest the entire session all at once.<br /><br />From the previous 15 sessions of IEM, one might make the supposition that I eschew vegetables in favor of fat-laden-carbohydrate-and-greasefests. Yes, in a perfect world, I would probably eat fried starch and meat 5 meals a day for the rest of my life, possibly "forgetting" about the existence of the healthier fruits of the earth. In reality, though, I actually eat quite a bit of roughage. Between IEM sessions, when I am usually trying to maintain or lose weight, the bulk of my diet consists of vegetables. On some days, I eat enough vegetables to get the USRDA of said food group for an entire city block. Alas, vegetables just do not satisfy hunger the way bread or grain or Hot Pockets do. I could eat an entire farm before reaching the satiety I feel after downing a single 20" pizza. Lest it be said that I eat vegetables only out of health obligations, I want it to be known that I actually enjoy almost every vegetable. There must be a vegetable I don't like, but I can't think of one. I gladly eat vegetables as a side order or as a main course. I will even eat them when they accompany something far sexier and flavorful. I would happily devour a colossal pile of steamed cauliflower, even if it shared a plate with a chicken fried steak the size of a manhole cover. If vegetables are served, I am glad to have them- and do not ingest them as a mere health regimen component. After 15 sessions of eating foods containing enough oil to run a city bus for a week, I decided to do a session paying tribute to salad- vegetables in their most obvious setting.<br /><br />Before I moved to the Bay Area for the third time in 1996, I imagined that people here must be eating salads for every meal. I soon realized that, while there are indeed salads available at many restaurants here, they generally play a supporting role, just like in the rest of the country. The salads here tend to have more exotic ingredients than you'd find in Sheboygan, but in most East Bay locales, you can't really make a full meal out of a salad, especially if you are a disgusting pig like I am. It was actually quite a challenge to compile a sizeable list of eateries who seemed to have an entree-size salad, a "big salad," if you will. If you recall, there are two episodes of <span style="font-style: italic;">Seinfeld </span>where the big salad appears. In the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emWKg4vKLbU&feature=related">"Big Salad"</a> episode, George becomes irate when he doesn't get adequate credit for paying for Elaine's big salad. In "The Soup," Elaine is upset that she can't get a big salad at Reggie's after the gang can't go to their usual hangout (Monk's), due to George's bumbling.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">(Outside of Monk's)<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jerry</span>: We can't eat here anymore, 'cause he took a waitress out for a walk.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />George</span>: What's the difference? Let's go to Reggie’s.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: Reggie’s? I can't eat anything there.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />George</span>: It's the same menu.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: There's no “Big Salad.”</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />George</span>: They'll make you a “Big Salad.” What do you think, they're the only one that makes a “Big Salad”?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: All right. Let's go, to Reggie’s.</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /><br />(At Reggie's)</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Jerry</span>: I'll have the turkey club without the bacon.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />George</span>: And I'll have the bacon club without the turkey.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: Can I have a big salad?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Waitress</span>: A big salad?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: You see?!</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />George</span>: [irritated] Just tell them what you want. They'll make it for you.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: It's a salad, only bigger, with lots of stuff in it.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Waitress</span>: I can bring you two small salads.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: Could you put it in a big bowl?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Waitress</span>: We don't have big bowls.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Elaine</span>: All right, just get me a cup of decaf.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Waitress</span>: We have Sanka.</span><br /><br />With a pedigree like that, how could I NOT devote an entire session to eating salads with lots of stuff in them?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eating Day:</span> March 19, 2011<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TOMATE- 1998 San Pablo Ave., Berkeley- 9:44am- Simple House Salad w/Tri-Tip (Full) $9.50</span><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMZmWSyqV9cUdeEYWD80SYn9X8kQAszGLIy1uUv8chcT_A-gv4w6tN5AKA2Gv8GRraGYDoKOyWPb-TFTmRHz-Gje1QT5kEXymkM7BfTD2N_O1U3LMkj1MKriq2JKLypL6IAI69akMcqQ/s1600/032.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMZmWSyqV9cUdeEYWD80SYn9X8kQAszGLIy1uUv8chcT_A-gv4w6tN5AKA2Gv8GRraGYDoKOyWPb-TFTmRHz-Gje1QT5kEXymkM7BfTD2N_O1U3LMkj1MKriq2JKLypL6IAI69akMcqQ/s320/032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586808361379970066" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_90Zgt36XiQ79WqQVdjastItDLY5pfQzzNnWnnqgPEuQRj0VsmmePlqhkoycc1Y-gew3QGfTljD89bPnAgQEOWoTFshSVQkXGwXs9hfDmwoOILp0izLJjUjcUzKNXxL0usx93dORUAA/s1600/IEM-bigsalad-1tomate.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_90Zgt36XiQ79WqQVdjastItDLY5pfQzzNnWnnqgPEuQRj0VsmmePlqhkoycc1Y-gew3QGfTljD89bPnAgQEOWoTFshSVQkXGwXs9hfDmwoOILp0izLJjUjcUzKNXxL0usx93dORUAA/s320/IEM-bigsalad-1tomate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586810832112434210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo by Tigerlily</span><br /><br />Before I began this session, I found myself more than 10lbs. heavier than usual. I could tell you that I have been eating unwisely lately, due to new obligations at school and work. I could explain that the session occurred only two days after a St. Patrick's Day party where I ate my weight in corned beef and colcannon. Or, I could use the old standby, "I was retaining water because of my period." Unfortunately, the truth is I am just a disgusting individual who finds it hard to stop eating anything that is not nailed down. With my brain more occupied these days than at any time in the last two years, it was very easy for me to take my eyes off the scale and really let myself go, but if I wasn't such a slave to my stomach, I could have kept myself in check. I probably should have postponed this session until I got back to a reasonable weight, but after seven consecutive weeks of posting IEM, I felt I owed it to you all to keep the streak alive. I rationalized my salad gorging by explaining both of the following to myself:<br /><br /></span><ol><li><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >"They're just salads. It's not like I am doing a session on MILKSHAKES!" (Coming soon!)</span></li><li><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >With any luck, 90% of the plant-based food ingested during the session will exit the premises of my gastrointestinal system with 24 hours of the session.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">If the salads don't jettison themselves in the timely manner I predict, I can always starve myself after the session.</span></span><br /></li></ol><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >The session began on what seemed like the 943rd consecutive day of rain in the Bay Area. I know I shouldn't complain about a little inclement weather a week after Japan was destroyed and irradiated, but I live in California, where seven days without sunshine seems like an eternity. People commit suicide here for far less. On a cold and rainy day, salad was the last thing I wanted to eat, but the die was already cast. I had been planning the big salad session for months and had done extensive research on the subject. It was far too late to switch the featured food of the session. I picked up my friend Lily, who had decided she wanted to come along and videotape my sojourn. She had accompanied me with her camera on two previous IEM sessions. The first time, along with Chris Anderson, she created the epic <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOyYj89lhDw">torta </a>video. Next, she shot the pupusa session. Footage from that session wound up in D. Silva's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIfapkUNgw8"><span style="font-style: italic;">Inhuman Eating Machine</span></a> documentary, which recently screened at the SF Indiefest film festival. I am grateful that she has found it worth her while to provide yet another visual document of my mission.<br /><br />Tomate is located in an industrial district not far from the Berkeley Marina, populated by warehouses and the galleries of local artists/artisans. The cafe is very "Berkeley" in both its design and clientele. The majority of the customers were middle aged or older; mostly clad in earth tones and sandals. There was ambient electronic music playing softly in the background. The bulletin board was packed with flyers for various causes and performances, like every other cafe in Berkeley. The ceiling has high exposed rafters, which is a nice design feature, but very hard to heat, so I was shocked to find Tomate so warm inside. I was even able to remove my coat, which would have been a near impossibility at any restaurant within the Oakland city limits.<br /><br />The salad came in an 8" diameter bowl; its contents packed about 2" deep. The base was heavy on the romaine lettuce and light on the fancy mixed greens. The greenery was topped with red onions, cucumber slices, radish coins, shredded carrots, tomato wedges, and alfalfa sprouts. You may remember that I have an aversion to alfalfa sprouts, because they smell <span style="font-weight: bold;">exactly </span>like fresh semen. Under normal conditions, I would have ordered the salad sans-sprouts, but for this vege-centric session, I felt it my duty to eat <span style="font-weight: bold;">everything </span>they gave me. The vegetables were the bed for what I reckon was no more than 3 ounces of grilled tri-tip beef. The meat was juicy, marinated, and still warm, but a little overdone for my tastes. I took the balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side, like I would for all the salads, provided I remembered to make this specification when ordering. Tomate's vinaigrette was quite good- heavy on the balsamic and garlic added conservatively.<br /><br />This was supposedly a full-sized entree salad, but unless you're a Berkeley goofball, Tomate's offering is not large enough to constitute an entire meal for anyone who has reached the age of majority. If I wasn't in the midst of a session, I would have been furious with the relative scantiness of this salad. $9.50 is steep for any salad, unless it is loaded with fried chicken, seafood, or a whole steak, but charging such a hefty sum for a sprinkling of meat atop what is scarcely more than a side salad- that is an atrocity!<br /><br />It would become clear throughout the session that "big" means very little when you discuss the big salad. Unlike a quarter pounder, which must actually contain 1/4 pound of beef (weight prior to cooking), "big" is in the eye of the beholder. A gluten-free Berkeleyite coming to lunch after a high colonic and a game of ultimate frisbee might find this salad substantial, but to the right-thinking people of the real world, there is nothing big about the Tomate simple house salad, other than the price.<br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-8973748734682946572011-03-16T19:59:00.000-07:002011-03-16T20:22:08.825-07:00IEM Session #15.8- The BBQ Beef Wrap-Up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.dorseymeats.com/store/images/bee22.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 359px;" src="http://www.dorseymeats.com/store/images/bee22.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> 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mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Apparently, some IEM readers wanted a list of the BBQ joints I felt were the best. At first, I was gonna say, "Read the damn blog! Which places sound the best to YOU?" I give the people what they want, though, so I have acquiesced and provided you with a Top 3 and Bottom 1 list.</span><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Keep in mind, BBQ around here is inconsistent, especially the meat component of the BBQ. A place with good product today could be iffy tomorrow. And vice versa.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">TOP 3 BBQ Beef Sandwiches</span> (On April 29, 2010)</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">1. <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-153.html">Elve's</a></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">2. <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/inhuman-eating-machine-official-rules.html">Maggie Ray's</a></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">3. <a 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mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><ol style="font-family:arial;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-151-on-que-and-off-cue.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Chef Edwards</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-152.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Uncle Willie's</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-153.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Elve's</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/inhuman-eating-machine-official-rules.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Maggie Ray's</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-155.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Old South</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-156.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Phatt Matt</span></a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-157.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Tomm's/Everett & Jones</span></a></span></li></ol> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-71548575202330467522011-03-15T01:51:00.000-07:002011-03-21T23:24:30.689-07:00IEM Session #15.7<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(<a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-156.html">continued from 15.6</a>)<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Eating Day: For the </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >last </span><span style="font-family:arial;">time, April 29, 2010</span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">TOMM'S- 3446 Market St- 6:54pm- $5.99<br /></span></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0W_uPw05jbbJhjUVp0fF9X4yAmC1drN3pFTpLeihb0lGJisIyjrP9MbvDVx9VhFE76eZY3-6zhbSv0MFlgxTq5iHym0u-wXFOLiZL0OFWzsqZBfTQKX5b5UenLfzLhWbijkNuyN57PyM/s1600/100_1060.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0W_uPw05jbbJhjUVp0fF9X4yAmC1drN3pFTpLeihb0lGJisIyjrP9MbvDVx9VhFE76eZY3-6zhbSv0MFlgxTq5iHym0u-wXFOLiZL0OFWzsqZBfTQKX5b5UenLfzLhWbijkNuyN57PyM/s320/100_1060.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584238510091294578" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMfO9eXTy4R7vT0u03yzX4m4Q-8kUoCxN5NQlCwObtlKjlV_tmFMNNVFz548FAzaiUD49WqDB6ysQpKoiLkiEEJa7taRiOc10WzAhM6wA1gBk_9MCD6RTh2UbM0SwglzgsbswOgnAts8/s1600/100_1081.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMfO9eXTy4R7vT0u03yzX4m4Q-8kUoCxN5NQlCwObtlKjlV_tmFMNNVFz548FAzaiUD49WqDB6ysQpKoiLkiEEJa7taRiOc10WzAhM6wA1gBk_9MCD6RTh2UbM0SwglzgsbswOgnAts8/s320/100_1081.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584238584971297218" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="line-height: 115%; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />EVERETT AND JONES- 3700 E. 12th. St- 7:19pm- $8.60<br /></span></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHd78TUuVEaw4N_7O4RnYF11RQsxv0MG_eMZSAnkxNtRhmFMc3v-f7SLDbrrXgaGNyovb6cKv8099HMhE3LZk2suyqprVAkEmnN6RJ1FE_E_hT4n0gf_pOGsfUg4s5qAP8sHLDl2mXLs/s1600/100_1080.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHd78TUuVEaw4N_7O4RnYF11RQsxv0MG_eMZSAnkxNtRhmFMc3v-f7SLDbrrXgaGNyovb6cKv8099HMhE3LZk2suyqprVAkEmnN6RJ1FE_E_hT4n0gf_pOGsfUg4s5qAP8sHLDl2mXLs/s320/100_1080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584238744429641826" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42fkD3_ySHS4Qo5s3vj6xVM0itijiMSdNUIDVrnGwkmxqOsMayd8QCh5xKWJWymLSdusqz6c5TJP_5hH5pSavVzMWwEplLccdTLyjMK8CxYLW8mVzzOPofmpmlDeRaDYv9Dm9Tf-GjBc/s1600/100_1084.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42fkD3_ySHS4Qo5s3vj6xVM0itijiMSdNUIDVrnGwkmxqOsMayd8QCh5xKWJWymLSdusqz6c5TJP_5hH5pSavVzMWwEplLccdTLyjMK8CxYLW8mVzzOPofmpmlDeRaDYv9Dm9Tf-GjBc/s320/100_1084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584238897348074050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="line-height: 115%; font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >I dropped Vinnie off at MacArthur BART. He had apparently had his fill of watching someone old enough to be his father eat barbecued beef. I think he chose wisely, as I was now filling my surroundings with a veil of gaseous despair. The stench was reminiscent of the time I inadvertently left a Quarter Pounder under the seat of my car, where it sat to ripen for a fortnight. Vinnie is a young man, a bon vivant, a man about town. He has better things to do than subject himself to the odors of a geriatric fellow-traveler with gluttonous tendencies.<br /><br />I was able to complete the Phat Matt's sandwich without too much difficulty, but afterwards, I knew I had to pause again. I was now forced to corral two more sandwiches and take them home to finish later </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > once a modicum of space was freed up in my innards.</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > I had to complete the session before the witching hour, when the only bbq available in town would have been a McRib. I apologize that this method has become a staple of most of the sessions. I realize that taking meals to go, rather than eating them in the restaurant where they were purchased, reduces my chances of witnessing the life-changing scenarios that often occur within a restaurant. But what choice do I have? I am but a man; mere flesh and blood and stomach acid. I can only eat so much. When tasked with the completion of eight meals in one day, I am exposed to the same mortal shortcomings that you are. I simply cannot put away food non-stop while on these excursions. I gorge and I rest. Gorge and rest. These resting periods can last for hours, depending on the day, the food, and portion size. But as I rest, my options start to shrink. Due to the East Bay's hatred of nocturnal dining, at a certain point, ALL of my choices for a featured food will disappear entirely. At 10pm, my appetite may be fully restored, but the point will be moot, because at that hour, there are close to zero options afforded to Oakland gourmands. One can only stockpile during the daylight hours like the Ant in Aesop's <span style="font-style: italic;">Ant and the Grasshopper</span>. Otherwise, come the wee hours, there will be no food available. Starvation will ensue, and the session will be lost. For true comparative purposes, I always try to take at least a taste of each to-go meal immediately after ordering, to ensure that I can experience the food in ideal conditions. I will not penalize an establishment's food for becoming coagulated before I am able to finish it.<br /><br />If you recall, I had stopped at Tomm's around 10am. It was supposed to be the first stop of the day. Unfortunately, they had no bbq beef available at that time. I wasn't holding my breath when the girl behind the counter said they would have brisket later in the day. I had recently tried Tomm's for the first time. On that visit, I ordered the Jumbo Pork sandwich. It was a god-send. It was huge. It was cheap ($4.69 for a massive sandwich.) It was very Memphis-esque. From that visit, I had high hopes that Tomm's would be a major contender in the bbq beef sweepstakes.<br /><br />When I returned to Tomm's, almost nine hours after my visit in the morning, I was pleasantly surprised when the girl behind the counter recognized me and said, "We finally have brisket!" Other than the flagship Everett and Jones near Jack London Square, Tomm's is the largest bbq restaurant in Oakland. But it is haphazardly decorated with a lot of space gone to waste. For no apparent reason, there is an old cruiser-style bicycle perched over a massive bank of soft drink coolers- coolers that are only 1/4 filled with drinks. There are also some motel-style paintings here and there and a plastic plant, which a friend described as, "The only plastic plant I've ever seen that looked like it was about to die." Yes, the inside of Tomm's is drab and uninspired. The shop's appearance belies no trace of effort. It has the kind of look you'd expect at a wholesale operation where customers don't come around. But I didn't come there for the atmosphere or to impress gentiles.<br /><br />The brisket here is as consistent as the pulled pork. I opened up the yellow wrapper and I found a massive pile of beef topped with an even larger pile of coleslaw. I was distended beyond comfort, but I took a single bite of the sandwich so I could sample the creation while it was still warm. The slaw would have been too soupy served a la carte, but it complemented the meat perfectly, soaking into the beef and adding a nice level of tangy creaminess. The meat was a thing of beauty- smokey with lots of crispy ends throughout and a good degree of oily juiciness mingling with the slaw dressing. The bun was a pedestrian store-bought sesame burger bun, but at least it was fresh. The bbq sauce isn't exactly a showstopper here. It's neither sweet, nor hot, nor highly-seasoned. But it doesn't get in the way, either. <span style="font-style: italic;">En toto</span>, Tomm's sandwiches are in the upper echelon of the East Bay bbq world, but the iffy sauce keeps it from reaching perfection.<br /><br />Everett & Jones, on the other hand, are sauce masters. And they know it. E&J's sauce is sweet and smokey with notes of paprika throughout and just the right amount of garlic. The hot bbq sauce is actually quite spicy on occasion. The sauce is so renowned, that they even sell the stuff at area supermarkets. But they rest on the laurels of their sauce the way the New York Yankees rub their 27 championships in the faces of the world, even during the years the Yankees have a lousy season. There is absolutely no consistency among E&J branches and not much of it within the same location. There is no pulled pork here, but the beef and ribs here are a crapshoot. (Mitch claims that the E&J hot links are always stellar, but I never order those at a barbecue joint, as they don't seem to require the pit expertise needed with pork or beef or ribs.) E&J seems to think that we should just be grateful for their sauce, even if they give you rubbery pieces of what could have been a Pomeranian, along with stale wheat bread. They could at least provide bigger portions of the mysterious offal-like meat, but they generally serve a mere few sinewy strips swimming in the famous sauce. Yes, the sauce is a world-beater, but even it was unable to disguise all of the connective tissue in the Styro container they gave me during this session. My mandible had to work overtime after I took a small bite in the car on the way back home. One might think you'd be more likely to receive low-rent meat at E&J outposts in the hinterlands, but I've had some funky-ass gristle from both the "fancy" location in Jack London and the E&J on San Pablo in Berkeley.<br /><br />When I arrived home, I was still stuffed, but I knew I'd be able to eat soon. And with less than a pound of sandwiches remaining to polish off, failure was out of the question. After about an hour, I returned to the toilet and produced a single offering- an oblong scat sculpture in the shape of a souvenir mini-football. With the sauce fused with the cold meat and slaw on the Tomm's sandwich, the whole congealed affair was easy to eat- firm like an individual pecan pie. It was gone in less than a minute.<br /><br />The E&J sandwich, however, was a little more work. It wasn't really a sandwich, but the commonly-seen meat-with-a side-of-wheat bread swimming in sauce. There wasn't much meat, but the excess fat and cartilage was rough work to finish. (I think E&J may be getting their meat from the same place where Pho restaurants get their adventurous cuts.)<br /><br />My hunger was back, but for how long? Gristle be damned, I had to seize the opportunity. After it became too arduous a task to chew many of the challenging pieces of "meat" I had received, I devised a brilliant strategy. I began taking spoonfuls of sauce and small pieces of the tendon-y stuff and swallowing the whole thing whole. This was how my mother used to get me to take aspirin as a kid, except she used grape jelly instead of barbecue sauce. In a few minutes, the whole unappetizing thing was gone. I didn't even choke to death, due to the lack of chewing. My apologies to the many E&J devotees I know, but I refuse to talk about E&J in the hushed tones you seem to feel it deserves. Until the meat at E&J is as consistent as their sauce, they get no special treatment from me.<br /><br />The food was gone well before 10pm. I probably could have put down at least three more sandwiches before midnight- if only such a possibility existed in the East Bay. On an Inhuman Eating Machine gorging session, I went to bed not fully satiated! A travesty! New Oakland Mayor Jean Quan needs to get on the stick and create some sort of business incubator that enables me to make a pig out of myself after 9pm. A single IEM session would stimulate the economy so much, an entire elementary school could provide Reading is Fundamental (RIF) for a week.</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NEXT WEEK-</span> IEM #16 begins- The Big Salad!<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-32402995813492056672011-03-08T08:00:00.000-08:002011-03-08T08:00:02.253-08:00IEM Session #15.6<span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</span></a></span> <span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(continued from</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/03/iem-session-155.html">15.5</a>)</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Eating Day:</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Yet again, April 29, 2010<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">PHAT MATT- 3415 Telegraph Ave.- 6:20pm- $8.00</span><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHnwv7z2xyBi6lEMZjQ8Fy0vfDz0_hmCCrKJM2mJoYae7Qn05llsZaiXdntWVAIhXN2J_HQ-8CimlX2AmgjYb6VuAqQnucgtscZ7yqcp69C4ckrPG-_3-0ATBudlZNH2Wmf8fVwuPsUcQ/s1600/100_1078.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHnwv7z2xyBi6lEMZjQ8Fy0vfDz0_hmCCrKJM2mJoYae7Qn05llsZaiXdntWVAIhXN2J_HQ-8CimlX2AmgjYb6VuAqQnucgtscZ7yqcp69C4ckrPG-_3-0ATBudlZNH2Wmf8fVwuPsUcQ/s320/100_1078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581180715403675698" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrepUhTOT4rMe7Pd-v_l-TC16itZBqwnZ9LWcuhmeyvwJ3T4B1FWwIZSEFngIOHBCXf7jCnUDKx1woyTpF_KqCirkDnibsOyE33y8XGOO78XrikjEElrZhksOWxocYYGN2N0pmhiXu6Y/s1600/100_1079.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrepUhTOT4rMe7Pd-v_l-TC16itZBqwnZ9LWcuhmeyvwJ3T4B1FWwIZSEFngIOHBCXf7jCnUDKx1woyTpF_KqCirkDnibsOyE33y8XGOO78XrikjEElrZhksOWxocYYGN2N0pmhiXu6Y/s320/100_1079.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581180890185995218" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">I took the remains of the Old South sandwich back to Mitch and Clark's place. Vinnie, Mitch, and I sat on the couch watching a marathon of <span style="font-style: italic;">Tool Academy</span>. As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I kept wondering, "Why can't they bring back <span style="font-style: italic;">The Pick-Up Artist</span>?" We sat in silence for close to 3 hours in total when I began to get antsy to return to the session before every bbq joint in the East Bay closed its doors before I had a chance to visit eight establishments. Unfortunately, I was still quite full and in no condition to eat additional sandwiches. After another few minutes, kismet sent a shockwave through my guts. It was as if I had swallowed a taser set to "auto-fire." I was doubling over in pain. I rushed to Clark's bathroom, disengaging my belt and pants as I ran.<br /><br />I began my bombardment before I could fully mount the seat. A mix of brown foam spewed forth like the Red Sea drowning the Egyptians in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Ten Commandments</span>, along with a trio of graven images. The resulting product brought to mind three self-immolated Russ© troll dolls drowning in roast beef gravy. This was a fecal spectacle to behold, but its slushy nature did little to relieve the pressure in my internal beef bag. I was slightly less stuffed than before I had initiated my onslaught, but I knew I would be unable to eat with much vigor. Regardless, I had to take advantage of this brief interlude from utter agony.<br /><br />Phat Matt's recently took over a space with a long bbq pedigree. For many years, this storefront was the site of an Everett and Jones location. I ate at that particular E&J branch a mere three times or so, but it always struck me as one of the weaker E&J outposts. In addition to some very inconsistent meat, the place was almost always empty. Oakland had clearly decided there were far better E&J restaurants to visit. After Everett and Jones had left the building, the place was vacant for a couple of years. For a few months, it was the home of Smokey Blues, a bbq spot that tried to go "upscale." Like the Jack London Everett and Jones, Smokey Blues had a full bar and live music on some nights. On my sole visit to Smokey Blues', the meat was cold and incredibly fatty and the sauce was unremarkable. I intended to give them a chance to redeem themselves, but they closed before I could return.<br /><br />The space was empty again for a year or so before Phat Matt came in. Apparently, Phatt Matt's modus operandi is to provide many different regional bbq styles. They have Memphis-style pork ribs, "N. Carolina- style pulled pork," "marinated tri-tip" (California), and Texas-style brisket. On the surface, this concept seems a noble undertaking, but it is usually a bad idea to try and do too much in the bbq biz. It's hard enough to get one style of bbq right, let alone four. According to their menu, Phat Matt's is run by a couple who have been married for 20 years and partners in barbecue for six. The dude (Matt) runs the smoker and the wife (Charlotte) runs the front of the house. Charlotte, who calls everybody "sweetheart," seems genuinely glad to be running this business. If you live anywhere outside of Oakland, it might seem strange to mention this fact. In Oakland, though, many mom-and-pops are staffed by people whose demeanor says, "I'd rather have a root canal than converse with and serve food to strangers."<br /><br />I greatly appreciated Charlotte's sunny disposition, but the brisket sandwich she brought me was a letdown. The sauce was cold and tasted mostly of garlic. I like garlic in bbq sauce, but it shouldn't be the predominant flavor. Next, I noticed that the thick-cut brisket was dry and not juicy in the least. It was gamey-tasting and lacked any trace of smoke. It was so gamey, in fact, that the gaminess even overwhelmed the garlic-laden sauce. The whole mess was served on a flattened hamburger bun that looked as if it had spent time in somebody's back pocket. If they last long enough, I will eventually give this place another chance. The proprietors are too enthusiastic to be dismissed out of hand. Perhaps they're just getting their sea legs. My next visit might yield better beef and sauce. And it's possible they excel with the other regional bbq styles.<br /><br />But what if Matt's is a victim of a barbecue curse particular to 3415 Telegraph Avenue? They may never figure out how to make stellar barbecue in that building if it was built on the site of an ancient Indian burial ground or a vegan outhouse. If a curse precludes them from success in this building, they might consider a move elsewhere in order to excel at their craft. I suggest the next tenants of this address consider opening a nail salon, a weave shop, or a Korean restaurant. It would take a lot more than a common curse to stop these Telegraph Ave. stalwarts.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-57967846625781847982011-03-01T08:00:00.000-08:002011-03-01T08:05:30.111-08:00IEM Session #15.5<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a><br /><br />(<a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/inhuman-eating-machine-official-rules.html">continued from 15.4</a>)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eating Day:</span> April 29, 2010, yet again<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">OLD SOUTH- 4115 Concord Blvd, Concord- 2:22pm- $6.50</span></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqPUCrAgONsFl1qFc1j-PLRrueOHx5nJSx-ivYurtHCkQ-E0LlaOxNDkNjnERbluM-KEgmpSeWocTd94sOb3qzipHGMqbRyKTMwdwJKXXeO_jVYxxjhHXMkwf-2i_y6k1lVuq5inran8/s1600/100_1075.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqPUCrAgONsFl1qFc1j-PLRrueOHx5nJSx-ivYurtHCkQ-E0LlaOxNDkNjnERbluM-KEgmpSeWocTd94sOb3qzipHGMqbRyKTMwdwJKXXeO_jVYxxjhHXMkwf-2i_y6k1lVuq5inran8/s320/100_1075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577974639842383362" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJJjLForrEcMl0j6lAdITe-kWzttBOkVQRL961zWthIRGUBpp6f2ZIZYp7laz1iwRpRHjut_mE8PqVe0qNqGoxxt5nurrShT1Oc-L1y3JmZw91cZXoUGTh3Jzs4JughYex83DV64Eols/s1600/100_1076.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJJjLForrEcMl0j6lAdITe-kWzttBOkVQRL961zWthIRGUBpp6f2ZIZYp7laz1iwRpRHjut_mE8PqVe0qNqGoxxt5nurrShT1Oc-L1y3JmZw91cZXoUGTh3Jzs4JughYex83DV64Eols/s320/100_1076.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577975868891388354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">My gut was seriously taxed, yet I felt I had least one more portion of meat in me before I would be forced to take myself out of the game for a while. Concord is not geographically far from Alamo, but it is a world away from Alamo and its fancy-pants counterparts, San Ramon and Walnut Creek. Concord is full of trashy girls and tweakers and heshers and middle class families dressed without flair. There are plenty of "ethnics" here, too, so the prospects for good bbq here didn't seem as unlikely as in Alamo.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Old South is in an older strip shopping center. In urban settings, you generally don't expect much from eating establishments in strip malls. In the 'burbs, though, strip malls are everywhere, so you're as likely to find interesting grub in a strip mall as in a free standing eatery with "character." In fact, a lot of suburban strip malls are now so old and decrepit, they're starting to become "vintage" themselves. Old South is a clean, orderly place, with dated (not vintage) decor. The proprietors are black folks. They were playing good R&B. The brisket sandwich was the second cheapest I encountered. All of these elements boded well for an "authentic bbq experience," but if this is what authentic bbq entails, you can keep it, because this was some shoddy meat. It was cut too thin. It was more like a Steak-Um than brisket. And it came on a french roll that was far too crusty for this super-thin meat. You couldn't tell where the bread ended and the meat began. Old South's sauce was the hottest I ate during the session. I like my bbq sauce ludicrously spicy, so this should have been sufficient to garner some serious points from me, but with barbecue sauce, you should be able to taste something other than hot- even when the sauce is excruciating. Where was the garlic and paprika? Where was the sweetness?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />A few bites into this sandwich and I was stopped in my tracks. I simply could not eat another bite. Beefy daggers were impaling me from within. This lackluster barbecue did nothing to spur me on to conquer my fullness. When I felt what I thought were nascent fecal twinges, I availed myself of Old South's clean, one-person restroom. I was hoping to clear enough space to allow me to finish the sandwich here and maybe even make one more attempt in Concord. I strained as I read an old copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Jet </span>with Steve Harvey featured on the cover. With Steve's help, I coaxed out roughly one tablespoon of a substance that was the color and consistency of store brand strawberry preserves. This minor seepage did nothing to allay my fullness. In fact, the stress exerted on my exhaust pipe made me feel even more miserable than before I had tried to take care of business. Clearly, I would have to take the Old South sandwich back to Oakland and work on it later.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />During my sojourn to Contra Costa, the whitest of white barbecue joints soundly beat a place that seemed as genuine as any spot I might encounter in the depths of East Oakland or Memphis. This incident is proof that great barbecue is not the provenance of any race or class. It can be produced by anybody with the love of the meat. The most translucent of Caucasians is capable of making great barbecue if he has a mind to do so. Conversely, a bbq shop in the ghetto is not afforded any advantage in the game. If they do a half-assed job, people will know about it. There is no affirmative action when it comes to smoked meat. Rosa Parks did not move from the back of the bus so she could eat second-rate barbecue. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-62132425447497744202011-02-22T09:00:00.000-08:002011-02-22T10:58:50.161-08:00<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >IEM Session #15.4</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WruKh7he7gM9S_f6xwDvv7TZy7EsNhMUh5k9PNtBg3NZFZcevfQLc_plva9qR0YBaVeaWKsdI6HvI4En4sTh8Y8DOdAmd4WNOeoDPAFTJOWGWuUHWHqih_quBKXnB9WPETvXrENy7Yg/s1600/100_1071.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8WruKh7he7gM9S_f6xwDvv7TZy7EsNhMUh5k9PNtBg3NZFZcevfQLc_plva9qR0YBaVeaWKsdI6HvI4En4sTh8Y8DOdAmd4WNOeoDPAFTJOWGWuUHWHqih_quBKXnB9WPETvXrENy7Yg/s320/100_1071.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576274393229566898" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjri0kGVh72-daofeYE_xFGWpJ59kCBoGQi6Y22uRDwlKM6g6crdb2nw13fWp5mJU517RJccTvgRKtq6Xt63gJqpgn5Jw434vISlsEU76MDB20YCnKqcLECkg-5b9Fv257GxHfcvIS-2mg/s1600/100_1074.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjri0kGVh72-daofeYE_xFGWpJ59kCBoGQi6Y22uRDwlKM6g6crdb2nw13fWp5mJU517RJccTvgRKtq6Xt63gJqpgn5Jw434vISlsEU76MDB20YCnKqcLECkg-5b9Fv257GxHfcvIS-2mg/s320/100_1074.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576274610241961362" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</span></a></span> <span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />(continued from <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-153.html">15.3</a>)</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Eating Day</span><span style="font-size:130%;">: Yes, STILL April 29, 2010<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTE</span>: All locations in Oakland unless specified otherwise.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >MAGGIE RAY'S- 3206 Danville Blvd, Alamo- 1:45pm- $8.95</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">I was starting to get somewhat full- a little earlier than I had expected. My unemployment pants were straining to hold in my gut, but as of yet, I was not in any considerable pain. It was no time to slow down. We arrived at Looney's new location on MLK and even exited the car, but when we got to the door, I decided I wanted to give myself a brief respite and take the drive out to the Contra Costa suburbs. I was hoping that 30 minutes on the road might clear a little space in my beef-hole. <span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTE</span>: As of today, I still have yet to try Looney's. Let me know if you think it's worth a visit.<br /><br />Alamo is the richest, whitest, suburb in very rich, very white, south-central Contra Costa county. My hopes for quality 'que in this town were slim. I imagined sauce pilfered from Chili's baby back ribs ladled over sliced beef inspired by an elementary school cafeteria. It is true that I have a penchant for food made by the oppressed masses of America. This is mostly because it's a good way to get a cheap meal. My reverse snobbery obscures the fact that it is <span style="font-weight: bold;">occasionally </span>possible for Whitey to make delicious "real" grub within spitting distance of a booming metropolis. Maggie Ray's is clean- too clean- for a bbq joint. It looks more like a bistro, complete with al fresco dining and a smooth jazz soundtrack on the back patio. I decided to forego this scene and get my food to-go from the counter in the front of the building and eat it on the sidewalk. The decor in the front room had a lot of contrived, distressed, old-time kitschy replicas- the kind of accoutrements you'd find at a Cracker Barrel or T.G.I. Friday's- including a faux-retro poster advising that meatless diets are dangerous. It was all geared to look funky, yet safe, for the locals. I anticipated this set-up a harbinger of imminent crumminess.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRz8_JB8yd6N3jPGXqdw1PuYhlCMc94WWx7l85kBDz3u4fnW0KDDmP7E6tIsOfGjBnJfe2i7d0kPJYmarq2dWjKMOzKU_b2Aq5ybmJpbRXazRQYFcMcXdL5PDlJGbHJ1vDH1edlt52aQM/s1600/100_1073.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRz8_JB8yd6N3jPGXqdw1PuYhlCMc94WWx7l85kBDz3u4fnW0KDDmP7E6tIsOfGjBnJfe2i7d0kPJYmarq2dWjKMOzKU_b2Aq5ybmJpbRXazRQYFcMcXdL5PDlJGbHJ1vDH1edlt52aQM/s320/100_1073.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576274481943598610" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Maggie Ray's barbecue was expensive, but it cost no more than Uncle Willie's in "gritty" downtown Oakland, so the price shouldn't be seen as a reflection of Alamo's sickening affluence. And the meat came with a romaine lettuce salad and a corn cake (with real Niblets inside!) You would not find either of these high-end sides at an urban barbecue establishment. But authenticity be damned, since both of these items were delicious. The corn cake was moist with just the right amount of sweetness. And the salad had a tangy vinaigrette. I ordered the "sandwich" portion of brisket (rather than the "barbecue specialties" portion), but the sandwich came with neither sliced cheapo bread, nor the sandwich roll they usually provide here (they were out.) Hence, I received the corn cake. The meat is what really shocked me here, though. The brisket was cut in long slices and resembled the thick, hand-cut pastrami one finds at Katz's and other kosher-style delis in New York. And they did not skimp on the portion. There was no hot/mild sauce option, but what they served was a good mix of sweetness and slight heat. Ladled sparingly, the light saucing was the perfect complement to the stellar brisket. It provided just a touch of added moistness without interfering with the taste of the meat, which would have been excellent on its own. The meat was juicy, tender, and perfectly smoked, requiring zero gnawing.<br /><br />I was flummoxed. Stuffed to near misery now and experiencing near-deafening <a href="http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/borborygmos">borborygmos</a> , I could not believe that I had received bbq beef of this caliber in such an enclave of assholery. I had contact with only one person at Maggie Ray's- a pretty, well-scrubbed blonde. For all I know, however, the place may be run by former sharecroppers who use generations-old recipes to create these carnivorous delights. This is all immaterial. I don't care if Maggie Ray's is run by a Mormon CPA from Idaho. Whoever is cooking that meat knows what s/he is doing. There IS a time for keeping it real, but when you want good barbecue, your mouth is the only arbiter of quality- even when the experience seems less then genuine.<br /><br />I don't see myself making too many trips all the way out to Alamo just for brisket, even delicious brisket. It's a bit of a drive from Oakland and the stuff does cost a little more than I want to pay. But if I'm ever hungry in this part of Contra Costa and I have some money burning a hole in my pocket, I can think of few places in the region where I'd rather eat.</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-77360534901448716102011-02-15T06:00:00.000-08:002011-02-15T10:17:19.333-08:00IEM Session #15.3<span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</span></a><br /><br /><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-152.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">(continued from 15.2)</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Eating Day</span>: STILL April 29, 2010<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />ELVE'S- 3214 Martin Luther King Jr Way- 12:42am- $7.99<br /><br /></span></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-s7l6HwLUPd7zaM90HwGpPj1TKIzJbJ5t2_CJAD1BRJrycme3crNUExJbesWi8-rcy9pjOEtY2N5dc0f4s7WKugVK71c0ccxCDzPtUt8j7UCtvLrj7gBMhs_PHbPv1TBwtOJNbZucao/s1600/100_1068.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-s7l6HwLUPd7zaM90HwGpPj1TKIzJbJ5t2_CJAD1BRJrycme3crNUExJbesWi8-rcy9pjOEtY2N5dc0f4s7WKugVK71c0ccxCDzPtUt8j7UCtvLrj7gBMhs_PHbPv1TBwtOJNbZucao/s320/100_1068.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572273676114523986" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEN6bigV75MgVn3VVwLkB7hRMacgDPaiBm49Yx8sySPUyM0y1vcxN1wO77ijcZYNw1SR1feo3iAuuIOh7PqueMSJlMKByxMVchFMv6WXihEs5jWttmFUWMsz6-F8S2ch9LL_71luJhJI/s1600/100_1070.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEN6bigV75MgVn3VVwLkB7hRMacgDPaiBm49Yx8sySPUyM0y1vcxN1wO77ijcZYNw1SR1feo3iAuuIOh7PqueMSJlMKByxMVchFMv6WXihEs5jWttmFUWMsz6-F8S2ch9LL_71luJhJI/s320/100_1070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572273764963357282" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Two sandwiches down and I wasn't the least bit full. I was looking forward to going to the new Double D's. Located at the very beginning of International Blvd., Double D used to be housed in what can be best described as an office for a hoarder who works from home in his own filthy chaos. There were stacks of junk and paper everywhere and lots of faded pictures on the wall. The owner would pass you your order through a slot in the metal door without any revelation as to where the food actually came from. The bbq in that place was consistently good; it was served in large portions and everything cost $5. Recently, Double D moved around the corner into the long-abandoned Casper's location on 1st Ave. Double D, formerly a take-out window only, now boasts a counter, tables, and an expanded menu. Prior to the session, I had eaten at Double D once or twice after they had relocated. The meat, although gristly, was still quite good and still $5. When I came here during the session, however, I had a rude awakening. The owner had instituted some ridiculous changes. Gone are the $5 orders. He now sells all the meat by the pound. No plate meals. No sandwiches. All meat is now sold by the pound. "Like a deli," the guy said. It sure as hell isn't $5/lb, and unlike a deli, he wouldn't sell less than a pound of meat. This restriction may have been instituted temporarily because the owner didn't have a scale yet, but it's ludicrous notwithstanding. People want meat, man! Eyeball it or something until you get a goddamn scale. If this is how Double D is going to operate, I don't need them anymore. I can understand why the guy might have to raise his prices, due to the increased overhead, but I don't need to go through all of that rigmarole just to get a little meat and sauce with a couple of slices of crummy wheat bread.<br /><br />With Double D's off the table, I went and picked up Mitch to accompany Vinnie and me on some stops in Eastern Contra Costa County. He suggested that I first try Elve's. I was completely in the dark about Elve's. I had driven by hundreds of times and had no idea it was a bbq place. I guessed that it was a soul food joint specializing in overpriced fried chicken, like Nellie's in a smaller space and a crummier neighborhood. Elve's does have fried chicken and fish and some other soul food classics- all priced much more reasonably than Nellie's or that fancy-pants "California" soul food place on Mandela, which I want nothing to do with. Although they have a rather expansive menu (burgers and corn dogs, too!), Elve's specialty seems to bbq. How could this place have existed for so long without me knowing about it? I felt ashamed.<br /><br />The proprietor at Elve's is a happy sort who moved much faster than your average Oakland bbq proprietor. This, paired with a couple of old video game machines, made me even more disappointed in myself for being ignorant of Elve's for so long. It's a small space and primarily a take-out establishment, but there are a few tables to eat-in, too. For 50 cents more than the cost of the lunch special at Chef Edwards, I got a big pile of saucy beef, beans, AND potato salad. And instead of the usual crap-slices of Dollar Tree 2/$1.00 wheat bread, Elve's serves their meat with buttered, griddled bread that approaches Texas toast territory. The meat was deeply beefy; seasoned, but not so much that it detracted from its corpse-like delectability. And there were little to no excess fat formations or connective tissues to be found. The sauce was thinner than the first two entries. While it wasn't as sweet or spicy as Edwards', the sauce complemented the beef perfectly and it tasted great on the bread and potato salad.<br /><br />It takes a brilliant person to get the right balance between meat and sauce. One must not upstage the other. The two components must exist in a perfect symbiotic relationship. Where one has a weakness, the other must excel. The perfect sauce:meat duo works together as well as Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Burns and Allen, and Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. Elve's knows the secret. On their own, neither the meat nor the sauce here would be remarkable, but together, they harmonize to form something magical. I anticipate many future visits to Elve's to atone for my former ignorance of its existence.<br /><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-53164114064916029372011-02-08T06:00:00.000-08:002011-02-08T09:57:36.361-08:00IEM Session #15.2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_NdaxSiq9LZWg4kPh-wShrLoCphXwVN1b2LyHeatvTFGf8Cxm9nTJGxtqDwcuuzoLGXbch6Kg7XaHKUwBPIPJAyp7OM85T05gFX52KWKXDefMJaTpYLSzV6EUP-uRYvlQ8CAC-rPAFE/s1600/100_1064.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_NdaxSiq9LZWg4kPh-wShrLoCphXwVN1b2LyHeatvTFGf8Cxm9nTJGxtqDwcuuzoLGXbch6Kg7XaHKUwBPIPJAyp7OM85T05gFX52KWKXDefMJaTpYLSzV6EUP-uRYvlQ8CAC-rPAFE/s320/100_1064.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570410205296146306" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9SjrZVD9qQm7j3yBW1ZtXqNgTB5mapVSDZpKCSAU2VH-P-6Ypfr7ydQ1okRitz-lT-5aL22x7cR74m4b0H68WfGyExzzASMAlZTH_FgKuP7lv9uX9ixCM62QWitptws7Ke4aupuoUGY/s1600/100_1065.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9SjrZVD9qQm7j3yBW1ZtXqNgTB5mapVSDZpKCSAU2VH-P-6Ypfr7ydQ1okRitz-lT-5aL22x7cR74m4b0H68WfGyExzzASMAlZTH_FgKuP7lv9uX9ixCM62QWitptws7Ke4aupuoUGY/s320/100_1065.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570410068265063762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine official rules and guidelines</a></span><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/ANDREW%7E1/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />(<a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2011/02/iem-session-151-on-que-and-off-cue.html">continued from 15.1</a>)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >UNCLE WILLIE'S- 614 14th St.- 11:37am- $8.95</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />Willie's opened while I was working downtown, but their lunch prices were much higher than Chef Edwards, so I never bothered checking them out. The old decor was something to behold. One of the walls had murals that featured crudely-painted likenesses of both Martin Luther King, Jr. and Ronald Reagan. Those masterworks were rendered either by a mental patient, or by somebody born without arms. Willie's has long since been renovated, possibly after undergoing a management change, as the word "Texas" used to appear in the name of the restaurant. These days, the interior is appointed with a big-screen TV (tuned to ESPN) and a painting that blatantly rips off Ernie Barnes' "Sugar Shack," a piece best known from the credits of <span style="font-style: italic;">Good Times</span>.<br /><br />Here's Barnes' original:<br /></span><a href="http://rogallery.com/_RG-Images/Barnes/Barnes-Sugar_Shack.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 611px; height: 450px;" src="http://rogallery.com/_RG-Images/Barnes/Barnes-Sugar_Shack.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Here's the knockoff (not by Barnes):</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85u740dYSeUzqYx9QkgesPzjcTWmlv6gR97pTk5BVpjqZqaYXlGjAOQw67xNmUtWWhAxqfsrJHAq6Rwv36hLz5BztLusMgoM2nnvAdbpq6wPkEb4SVdVX80OFWXjWQln3Bp9uxO8Wes4/s1600/100_1066.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85u740dYSeUzqYx9QkgesPzjcTWmlv6gR97pTk5BVpjqZqaYXlGjAOQw67xNmUtWWhAxqfsrJHAq6Rwv36hLz5BztLusMgoM2nnvAdbpq6wPkEb4SVdVX80OFWXjWQln3Bp9uxO8Wes4/s320/100_1066.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570410275415018930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We were here mere minutes before the lunch hour, so I was shocked to find Willie's deserted, save for one woman eating solo. The prices are no longer out of step with Chef Edwards, so Willie's should have been more crowded than this. The lack of clientele didn't seem promising, but the meat was actually decent. The brisket was shredded in long pieces, rather than the small chunks I received at Chef Edwards, and there were a lot of crispy ends. The portion was slightly smaller than Chef's, but the meat was somewhat leaner than Chef's, so it definitely a mixed blessing. The sauce was a touch non-descript. Neither as hot nor as sweet as the Chef's sauce, Willie's sauce was simply less flavorful in general- totally acceptable, but not noteworthy. If the meat was richer and more deeply-seasoned, the subtle sauce would have worked, but Willie's meat was also on the understated end of the spectrum. A bolder sauce would have provided a better compliment. I ordered a side of collard greens. They were the star of the show here- heavy with bacon/pork flavor and absent the grittiness or bitterness often present in this dish. I have one other qualm about this meal. The ubiquitous 2-slices-of-whole-wheat-bread-in-a-baggie included the heel from the loaf! Yes, the heel! From some crummy off-brand loaf you'd buy at a liquor store or find in the cafeteria of a nursing home. I realize the heel tastes exactly the same as all the other crappy slices in a cheapo loaf, but nobody wants the heel of shit quality bread. It is just bad form. Throw the heel away, for chrissake. You will not miss it. If you truly think that serving heels is what will keep your business afloat, you've got a faulty business plan, chum.<br /><br />I have no problem with this place, per se, but I see no real reason to eat here or at any unmemorable BBQ joint, for that matter. Bay Area BBQ is just too expensive to settle for mediocrity- unless the joint has an "outsider artist's" rendering of Ronald Reagan on the wall next to MLK's calming visage. I can excuse a lot of missteps in the midst of that kind of genius.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-22052820571445827762011-02-01T06:00:00.000-08:002011-02-02T01:43:45.679-08:00IEM Session #15.1- On 'Que and Off Cue<span style="font-size:130%;">I am through making grandiose excuses for publishing so infrequently. The long and the short of it is, I am just a slothful, lazy, individual with little motivation to write. I do not have a burning need to write about myself. When I finally finish writing up the account of an Inhuman Eating Machine (IEM) session, I feel relieved to be done writing, but I don't NEED to do it to achieve emotional catharsis. In that aspect alone, I am unlike a 13 year-old girl. I do, however, feel that I have a calling to share with my fellow man my experiences dining on a shoestring; and to describe my travails of overeating. I wish there was an easy way for me to telepathically transfer to my readers the accounts of my journey. I suppose there is some way I could get a camera and videotape the sessions, but let's face facts. I am a mushmouth. A fomfer. I speak like Bob Newhart with a mouthful of marbles. And I am a jittery type with less than photogenic qualities. Alas, IEM will remain a written-only exploit for the foreseeable future until I am able to find "people" who can make me look presentable to the camera.<br /><br />It has been almost nine months since I last posted an IEM session. If I am going to continue this endeavor, I NEED to post on a regular basis. You, dear readers, deserve it! But what can I do to get my ass in gear and write? I figured out that part of what keeps me from writing is the fact that these sessions are LOOOONG. When I look at the scribbled notes of a session, I procrastinate when I mull over the prospect of turning these notes into long-form descriptions. I know it will take days to churn out the finished product. This apprehension keeps me from ever getting started. It just seems like too much. It reminds me of when my parents would force me to clean my room before they would allow me to watch TV. (I assure you, this happened very seldom.) The pile was so massive, I would sometimes stare at the heap for what seemed like hours before lifting a finger.<br /><br />Lucky for both of us, I recently came up with a brilliant idea (with the help of my wife) that will slightly alter the format of an IEM session, but should enable me to release sessions on a very regular basis. Here's the plan. As you know, each IEM session is comprised of at least eight stops within a single day. In the revised IEM format, I will still eat all eight meals within the same day, but I will now simply PUBLISH ONE STOP PER WEEK, until the entire escapade has been posted. It will now take eight or more weeks for a single session to be fully posted. In this serialized format, you will have a little bit of IEM each week to satiate you until the thrilling climax, which will inevitably end with me in gassy agony. By reducing my writing load to one stop per week, the chore should seem much less daunting. Even an inveterate layabout such as myself can piece together a mere one thousand words on a weekly basis, rather than having to come up with the word diarrhea needed for the full session. If I cannot produce a weekly blog under these constraints, it is clear that I have no business in the blogosphere. In fact, I have no business associating with other homo sapiens. I make no promises. I have failed you before. This new path seems walkable, though. I think I can do this. I hope I do not let you or myself down. Starting with this installment, keep an eye out for IEM postings every Tuesday, unless I inform you otherwise. With your encouragement and/or hassling, I see no reason that we cannot eat together every week.<br /><br />As one may suspect after reading <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2008/12/iem-session-6-something-aint-kosher.html">IEM #6</a>, In Memphis, you cannot throw a rock without hitting a barbecue joint, most of which are better than anything the Bay Area has to offer. While the Bay Area does have its fair share of BBQ joints, they are nowhere near as ubiquitous as in the South, they are often overpriced, and very few carry pulled/chopped pork. By neglecting to serve this dish, Southern BBQ purists might go as far as saying that these establishments do not sell BBQ at all. Down there, many say that "barbecue" is seasoned smoked pork shoulder with or without sauce. All the other stuff sold at BBQ joints may be delicious, but it is NOT BBQ. Well, this is not the South. Here, as in much of the non-South, we call burgers and hot dogs on an outdoor grill, "having a barbecue." And we will put BBQ sauce on any meat and admit it into the BBQ family. The word has a completely different meaning here and is much less restrictive.<br /><br />But what's the deal with the lack of pork BBQ here? Why is beef king in California? I did a little poking around a few years ago and found three main reasons:<br /><br /></span><ol><li><span style="font-size:130%;">The Central Valley of California is a huge beef producer (evident to anyone who has ever driven to LA on the I-5.)</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">California is not a major pork producer.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">The majority of African American families (the people who run most BBQ places) in the Bay Area originally came from Texas. Texas, unlike the rest of the Southern states, primarily uses beef brisket in their BBQ. </span></li></ol><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Rather than lament the lack of pork BBQ here, I decided to investigate the BBQ beef options in the East Bay. I chose the beef (usually brisket) "sandwich" portion, when offered, which usually consists of sliced smoked beef with sauce, some kind of bread, and a small side order. If there was no "sandwich" available, I chose the small brisket plate. (I would be required to eat the meat and bread only.) I still wish there were more quality traditional pork BBQ sandwiches available around here. Along with cemitas, Italian subs, pork tenderloins, and kosher-style pastrami, BBQ pork forms "The Big 5" sandwiches of my fantasies. These are sandwiches you cannot get in their correct form in the Bay Area, no matter what the proprietors and local idiots purport. I would not let the lack of pork BBQ deter me from enjoying the East Bay beef, though. BBQ in its truest sense may be virtually unavailable here, but you can get saucy beef without too much effort. And that is nothing to cry about- in theory.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Eating Day:</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> April 29, 2010<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >CHEF EDWARDS- 1998 San Pablo Ave.- 10:52am- $7.49</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdm3Od4gR1h2kP7VxHS-3f-ezVSw5Y2LMC3C8jNo5AeFtf8GutGU8Y62PBYKNzUTJiMW9OEei3-PqoLnSj1R3LaU57XtDZTzouvglpnLS5B05or0WePkCQvmUWP7aViCNhrEsQIH53q5w/s1600/100_1061.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdm3Od4gR1h2kP7VxHS-3f-ezVSw5Y2LMC3C8jNo5AeFtf8GutGU8Y62PBYKNzUTJiMW9OEei3-PqoLnSj1R3LaU57XtDZTzouvglpnLS5B05or0WePkCQvmUWP7aViCNhrEsQIH53q5w/s320/100_1061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567766012831212594" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10RTGQUXk0Z6LPmgqzIb_M0bUkCwQDPZdsQ-2nyV6vmsjTbwWeylQSy8sHc7_MtXhFVvy0er8S0-cVpApjDCvIqs4-bGV_WkL9kLwN7LnmXegUOOe0kzvybwTsGoMg1S2vJFedWfdC1o/s1600/100_1062.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10RTGQUXk0Z6LPmgqzIb_M0bUkCwQDPZdsQ-2nyV6vmsjTbwWeylQSy8sHc7_MtXhFVvy0er8S0-cVpApjDCvIqs4-bGV_WkL9kLwN7LnmXegUOOe0kzvybwTsGoMg1S2vJFedWfdC1o/s320/100_1062.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567766149607992290" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I rose at 9am. There was no reason to get up any earlier than that because nobody serves BBQ any earlier than 10am- and it would be against my principles as an unemployed person. After producing a fecal disappointment that resembled the handle on an alligator briefcase, I left for Tomm's, the only BBQ place in the East Bay that opens pre-10:30. I arrived there shortly after ten, but the counter girl informed me they did not have any beef ready. "Come back later. We should have some this afternoon." Things were not looking up.<br /><br />When I worked in downtown Oakland, Chef Edwards' old location was my favorite place in the vicinity to eat lunch. In those days, Chef's was a mere lunch counter with about eight stools and a couple of tiny tables on the side. Chef did most of the work, but he had a few elderly and/or confused staffers there to take (and then forget) your order and slooooowly place wheat bread slices into styrofoam containers. Occasionally, one of these characters would even be allowed to hack at the smoked meats, which usually resulted in a hail of fat shrapnel. The old place was only a block from the Greyhound station on the opposite side of the street. The clientele were generally office/city workers, though, rather than aggressive derelicts from the neighborhood asking for handouts- at least during daylight hours. There was often a line during the lunch rush, so it could take well over an hour to eat there. It was best to visit the original Chef Edwards on days when your boss was out of the office, so you could eat at a leisurely pace. Most bbq places in the East Bay have brisket, chicken, links, and ribs only, but Chef's is one of the few places here that specializes in BBQ pork sandwiches. At the original location, you could get a heaping pile of pork or brisket, 2 slices of bread, potato salad, and a canned soda for $5 during lunch hours. Or you could get a smaller portion of pork topped with coleslaw on a hamburger bun for about $3.50. That sandwich, known as the "Piggly Wiggly," was as close to Memphis BBQ as you could find in the East Bay. Chef's pork was always tender; sliced, rather than pulled or chopped. The sauce was divine; sweet, but not overly so and well-seasoned. And the "hot" version of the Chef's sauce was actually hot every time, unlike certain places where the sauce varies by thousands of Scoville units on each visit.<br /><br />About 5 years ago, Chef closed the doors of the original store to make room for the "urban renewal" going on in that area. The entire block is now comprised of condos and office buildings. Before he closed, Chef Edwards announced that he would soon reopen in a new location on San Pablo Ave., two blocks towards City Hall from the old place. The new place didn't appear for at least a year after the demise of the original locale. When it finally opened, it was met with mixed feelings (at least by me.) I was certainly glad to have the Chef back, but I wasn't crazy about the new decor. It has a "fifties diner" theme that is even more forced than Johnny Rockets. This move was obviously taken to make the place seem more upscale. Gone were the mental defectives working behind the counter. They would not fit in at the new and improved establishment. There was still a lunch counter, but there were now several more tables at which to eat and table service was now provided. These cosmetic changes were fine, I decided, as long as Chef's quality 'que remained. The lunch specials and Piggly Wiggly are still on the menu, albeit at a significantly higher price than before the closure. Despite the price increase, everything seemed okay with the Chef in his new digs.<br /><br />Once the store re-opened, I ate there about 3 times in a one-month period. The first time, they were out of pork. The second time, the pork was cold (some of the inner pieces were actually a little frozen.) The third time, the pork was back to the greatness of old, but there was much less of it than before. Not a good omen. I went back a couple months after that, and they were now serving pulled/chopped pork instead of the sliced. This change would have been fine with me, but the meat was fatty. After that point, I didn't go there too frequently. When I did, however, I was usually satisfied. Chef seemed to have found his way back to where he used to be, but there were occasional slip-ups that would never have happened in the old dilapidated shack of yore. I never knew what to expect when I visited. There just was no quality control anymore. While the sauce was still a constant, the pork was always prepared a little differently than the previous visit and the portions varied considerably. At a Mel's Diner wannabe, you expect a little bit more than these kinds of shenanigans. I never gave up on Chef's, mostly because I did not know of a suitable substitute, but I was clearly disappointed with the results of his "upgrade."<br /><br />It had been almost a year since I had last eaten at Chef's when I embarked on the IEM BBQ beef session. While I almost always order the pork here, I will occasionally get the brisket and have been generally pleased. I had high hopes that Chef Edwards might reign supreme once more- in the beef category- when I arrived at Chef's before 11am, accompanied by Vinnie from Pittsburgh. The new Chef Edwards also serves breakfast, so I expected the restaurant to still be crowded with patrons eating eggs and pancakes, but the place was practically empty. Just to be sure, I asked if I could get barbecue this early. I was in luck. The lunch special, which is now $7.49, still includes meat, bread, and a soda. There have been some changes to the special's parameters, though. You now get your choice of a side, rather than a default cup of potato salad. The sandwich is now on a buttered sesame hoagie roll, which is topped with slaw. The slaw is fluorescent yellow and seemingly mayonnaise-less like the slaw at Payne's in Memphis. And the soda is a bottomless fountain soda, rather than the 12oz cans they used to provide. These were all changes I could live with. While the terms of this session would not require me to eat the sides, I decided I would eat at least some of the side dish I received whenever stomach space allowed. I opted for beans, thinking the fiber might advance the bread and meat to a propulsive exit. I received a rather large cup of them and ate at least 2/3 of the portion. They were quite spicy with a goodly amount of ground meat and onion mixed in. They seemed like something you might eat on a camping trip. The hoagie bun was an acceptable change, I guess, but I suspect the extra breadiness was a ploy to serve less meat- while still giving the illusion of offering a "big sandwich." I'd rather just have a big pile of meat along with plain old sliced bread or a standard hamburger bun. At least the slightly toasted roll tasted fresh. The hot bbq sauce was sweeter than I remembered, but still pretty spicy. The brisket was cut into large chunks, rather than the shreds I remembered. The meat was fattier than optimum, but flavorful and not overly-smoked, and with a substantial bark to it.<br /><br />Overall, Chef Edwards' brisket sandwich was good. I don't have any significant complaints about it. There was nothing mind-blowing about this sandwich, though. It wasn't transformational. Every meal at the old place was memorable. I would dream about those sandwiches- pork or beef. But this sandwich was merely mortal. I have no issue eating here on an occasional basis, but the Chef has a way to go if he wants to become my default barbecue stop again. The holy grail of East Bay barbecue was no longer a certainty for me.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-10736982641997995102010-05-30T12:15:00.000-07:002010-05-30T13:37:55.194-07:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 14; Issue 1<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">May 30 status:</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />WEIGHT</span><span style="font-family:arial;">: 178.4 lbs. I have been semi-fasting all week so I could meet my monthly Weight Watchers "Lifetime" goal. I weighed-in this morning and made the goal with 2.6 lbs. to spare- just in time for Memorial Day barbecues. If I weigh less than 190 on Tuesday, it will be a miracle.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />CONSUMED ON 5/29:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> All I ate yesterday was a 40 oz. Coke Slurpee and a standard-size Baby Ruth. This is what a diet looks like.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />DEFECATION</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> (what my turd looked like):</span> </span><ol style="font-family: arial;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;">A "Prince." Named for IEM donor, Guy Prince, "The Prince" is a single jumbo loaf with a 30% taper. A thing of beauty.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Overcooked Chicken with mole complete with sesame seeds.<br /></span></li></ol><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />EXERCISE:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I ran around the neighborhood for 30 minutes. I covered a little over 3 miles, I reckon. Later, I walked from the apartment to the wife's salon in the Berkeley Gourmet Ghetto- 6.8 miles according to Google Maps. Other than a blister on the sole of my left foot and some crotch chafing , I felt fine afterwards.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />LISTENING:</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gene and Debbe</span>- </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >"Playboy"/"<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57wX9PuaD-Y">I'll Come Running</a>"</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> 45- </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(1968)</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> $2.00</span><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://helium.lunarpages.com/%7Efunky4/pictures/ironleg/genedebbe.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 322px;" src="http://helium.lunarpages.com/%7Efunky4/pictures/ironleg/genedebbe.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I debated whether I should get this 45, as the vinyl looked a little rough in the store. Plus, $2.00 is twice what I like to pay for a 45 in this (or any) economy. The record plays passably, though, so I'm very happy I chose to buy it. I heard "I'll Come Running" for the first time a few months ago on an awesome comp that Jason Morgan had burned. Instantly, it became one of my favorite songs ever- top 25 of all time. Really. I have no idea why this song isn't a household fixture. It should be all over oldies radio. The melody is instantly memorable, the boy-girl vocals are gorgeous, and the groove is insane. I'm not sure whether this song was marketed as a country song (Gene Thomas had cut some solo country records earlier in the 60's) or a pop song. There is some twang here, as both vocalists are Texans, but it sounds a lot more Memphis than Nashville to me and there is no steel guitar to be found. Gene's voice sort of reminds me of a Box Tops-era Alex Chilton (more "Soul Deep" than "The Letter"), while Debbe's girlish vocals would fit Brill Bldg. material perfectly. I cannot imagine ever getting tired of this song. This song needs to be played at weddings.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The flip (I'm actually not sure which is the A-side), "Playboy," isn't as powerful, but it is still pretty great. While Gene and Debbe sing together throughout "I'll Come Running", on "Playboy" they take turns, coming together on the choruses. This song is less groove-laden than the flip and is more sophisticated and adult-sounding, so maybe it was meant to appeal to squares as well as teens. It has a somewhat "exotic" feel, opening with swelling organ and a Hawaiian-esque guitar lead. The whole approach of the song puts me in the mind of a Broadway musical soundtrack, which makes me love it more than I probably would have otherwise.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />DONOR UPDATE:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I got $10 (<span style="font-style: italic;">Man, You're Awesome</span> donation level) from Rebecca Grunewald. Thanks so much.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Please continue sending donations via PayPal at: <span style="font-weight: bold;">alincolnlevy@yahoo.com</span></span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-44388775251790600062010-04-27T13:00:00.000-07:002010-04-27T14:03:28.140-07:00IEM Session #14- My Stomach Liked it Better When She Hated Me- Special Ex-Wife Eating Expedition<span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/07/official-iem-rules-and-glossary.html">Inhuman Eating Machine Rules and Guidelines</a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />When you regard my youthful visage and infantile demeanor, you may find it hard to believe that I have been married, not once, but twice. It's true. Back in Iowa, where I spent most of my teens and twenties, I was married to a woman with whom I had spent a lengthy relationship. Prior, to "getting involved," we were the best of friends, yet somehow, the romantic relationship didn't turn out as planned. We wed in Iowa in 1993 and moved to Oakland together in September 1996, thanks to a job she had found in Hayward.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I won't go into the details of the 1998 dissolution of this marriage. I will say, however, that I acted like a clichéd male shitbag who went through a mid-life crisis about fifteen years too early. I left my ex with very few friends and no family in the area. (I will call her "Wilda Ablett" here henceforth- she knows why.) She was understandably both hurt and furious with me. I saw Wilda only a couple of times after I had removed my stuff from the apartment. After that, I had zero contact with her, until a few months ago, when she "friended" me via Facebook- our first communiqué in a decade. Wilda moved to another part of the country around 2000. She is now re-married, seemingly very happily, and appears to be better off than she would have ever been with a bum like me shitting in her punchbowl. Since she initially contacted me online, we have kept in touch via very pleasant e-mail conversations. It looks like she really has absolved me from my heinous acts towards her, which occurred almost 13 years ago. Though I still feel terrible for the way I conducted myself back then, I am truly grateful for the forgiveness she appears to have granted me.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Wilda said she enjoyed Inhuman Eating Machine and had a great suggestion for a future IEM session. How about I go around the area eating meals she loved at places she used to like to eat here? She made several meal and restaurant suggestions. Some of her top picks had to be eliminated because they now exceeded the $10 IEM cost ceiling, but we were able to come up with a list of eight meals that were close to her heart for one reason or another. While she is happy where she is now, she said she misses Oakland. The session would enable her to live vicariously through my journey.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Indeed, this session is a little different than normal. I ate a different food at every venue, rather than the same thing at eight places throughout the day. Other than that, the rules were the same and I encountered some of the same obstacles. While most of the restaurants were at places I had previously eaten at one time or another, some of the dishes were unfamiliar, so I didn't always know what to expect.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Thanks to Wilda for helping to make this happen. You remain a classy lady in my book.</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />Eating Day:</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> January 20, 2010 (All locations in Oakland, except where specified.)</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />1. PHO ANH DAO- 280 E. 18th St. @ 3rd. Ave.- 10:29am- Bun Bo Hue w/Shrimp- $6.95 & $1 for the Shrimp</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-0a-j0913fxESeLShgV8oEyiwQtftKRvOAjjk69wYR4hcDn19Z3Ua3-RNb_JwbotMca_I79rB8AGrMWrFpGpqoqrJThyphenhyphen6woPxuOY1wpHE7Udh2iFdVl9pAZZoAuViXEVbDfkKnkR2_I/s1600/100_0932.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-0a-j0913fxESeLShgV8oEyiwQtftKRvOAjjk69wYR4hcDn19Z3Ua3-RNb_JwbotMca_I79rB8AGrMWrFpGpqoqrJThyphenhyphen6woPxuOY1wpHE7Udh2iFdVl9pAZZoAuViXEVbDfkKnkR2_I/s320/100_0932.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464534175435523634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs0B8qWhSoDnTYrGwQPTBA5oyUH-PIW10lrencPv6qjBYE_r-JOsmBURZ6PloXQSQcvW5k-E50keBXLy22EoouOPSGeE7aFK1mVDluVr2HaF1LYCP9WRD1fyOGWO48xJrN0XBh-Nu7wQ/s1600/100_0933.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs0B8qWhSoDnTYrGwQPTBA5oyUH-PIW10lrencPv6qjBYE_r-JOsmBURZ6PloXQSQcvW5k-E50keBXLy22EoouOPSGeE7aFK1mVDluVr2HaF1LYCP9WRD1fyOGWO48xJrN0XBh-Nu7wQ/s320/100_0933.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464534328789245986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Before I left the house, I produced an array of turds that looked like a half dozen mahogany lightning bolts surrounding a chocolate cat skull. The whole scene brought to mind a post-apocalyptic fecal-based Grateful Dead logo. In previous sessions, I would have pronounced such a massive output as a good omen, but I have finally learned that evacuation is not always a barometer for a session's degree of difficulty.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Rather than pay to park on E. 18th St., I parked on 3rd. Ave alongside the recently-renovated Lucky supermarket. As I walked in the rain, I passed a grimy "admiral of the streets." He was wearing a torn black parka that had faux-down filling coming out of every nook and cranny. He was singing "Dixie" in a timbre borrowed from Yosemite Sam.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The area around East 18th Street and Lakeshore function as the de facto gateway to East Oakland. Despite its proximity to beautiful Lake Merritt, I don't see this neighborhood ever gentrifying significantly. There are still too many colorful characters around to scare away the stroller moms. I have a fond memory of a gent shuffling westward on E. 18th with his pants around his ankles, his withered brown member fluttering like a wind sock. This was interesting enough, but the capper was when I noticed he was defecating while he walked. He left several huge logs on the sidewalk in front of what is now the Out of the Closet thrift store. Granted, this was close to a decade ago, but I assure you, the neighborhood has not "gone Rockridge." Last month, while I stretched prior to running around the lake, I spied a toothless woman urinating in the bushes on the 2nd. Avenue side of the Merritt Bakery Restaurant. This occurred about 11am on Saturday morning- a time when the area is teeming with people walking the lake and shopping at Lucky. She smiled at me while she urinated and waved at passersby as she squatted, making no attempt to hide what she was doing. The tradition of public elimination is alive and well in the Eastlake district. Hopefully, kooks like these will keep undesirables from San Francisco from emigrating here.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Pho Anh Dao is the first place I ever tried Pho. Other than the Merritt, Anh Dao was the closest restaurant to our apartment at 1800 Lakeshore. We had no idea what pho was then, but by default, we wound up trying it, rather than venturing too far into the unknown hinterlands of Oakland. For years, Anh Dao was virtually the only place I ever ate pho. The pho here is still good, but the portions have decreased and the prices have increased. In the old days (1996-97), you paid $6 for an extra large bowl at Anh Dao. That size was appropriate only for gluttonous freaks such as myself, as it was large enough to bathe a toddler. In 2010, their extra large bowl is now suitable for consumption by most hungry mortals and it now costs more than $8. Plus, I discovered recently that there is better pho to be had nearby (e.g. Kevin's Noodle House and Ao Sen.) I still have a soft spot in my heart for Anh Dao, though, and was glad when Wilda assigned me to eat here. She picked it mostly because her late step-father really enjoyed eating Anh Dao's pho with tripe on his visits to Oakland. I was not to eat pho on this session, though. I would be eating bun bo hue, which I also ate for the first time at Anh Dao.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />For the uninitiated, pho (pronounced like "fun" without the "n" on the end) is a bowl of clear-ish beef broth filled with rice noodles and your choice of various beef and beef by-products. It is probably the single most popular dish in Vietnam and is eaten at any time of day, particularly breakfast. If one chooses a pho variety with flank steak, meatballs, or brisket, pho is quite non-threatening. However, many "Round Eyes" will find some of the other pho offerings on the menu a little disconcerting. I have tried a few of the choices with various offal and other funny-business, and I have to say that I prefer the more pedestrian choices. I recently tried pho with tendon (at Pho Hoa Loa) and I was not into it. The tendon was like eating a beef-flavored </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3agOKXSlSbw">Jell-o Jiggler</a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Bun bo hue (pronounced "boon-bo-way") is also a Vietnamese noodle soup, but it is quite different from pho. Firstly, bun bo hue broth is darker and spicier than pho broth. Secondly, the vermicelli noodles used are made from wheat flour, rather than rice flour. Thirdly, there is a stock collection of meatstuffs used in bun bo hue, rather than a checklist of items from which you can choose. Generally, you will find thin strips of beef and pork in bun bo hue. Sometimes you will also see pig knuckles. Finally, bun bo hue usually comes with a congealed cube of pig's blood.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Because of some of the non-Western elements in bun bu hue, I don't think many non-Asians order this soup. When I ordered it at Anh Dao, the waiter asked me, "Have you had it before?", as if he wanted to ensure that I didn't send it back when I discovered a bunch of weird stuff in the broth. The same thing happened to me a week earlier when I ordered it at Bun Mam Soc Trang (go eat there now!) As usual, the service at Anh Dao was gruff but speedy. My soup arrived in less than five minutes. It was a decent-sized bowl, but only about as big as a medium bowl of pho here. It's possible the richness of the broth makes an enormo-bowl unnecessary. In addition to the usual sprouts, basil leaves, and sliced chili peppers, the condiment plate came with cabbage. The broth was slightly spicy and had all kinds of deep flavors going on that I could not possibly identify. There has to be close to 40 ingredients in this broth. It's like Vietnamese mole. Luckily, it was not too salty. This was my first experience with a pig's foot in this soup. It was a little gristly and there wasn't much meat on the foot, but the taste and texture was not at all unpleasant. The vermicelli was more al dente than what I am accustomed to in this soup and I preferred the noodles in this chewier texture.<br /><br />The last time I had bun bo hue, it came sans-blood cube. Apparently, Anh Dao sought to right this wrong. They served me a bowl of soup that came not with a blood </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >cube</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">, but with 2 pieces of coagulated blood the thickness and size of a diagonally bisected Kit-Kat bar. The blood Kit-Kat was a little less iron-y than other morsels of coagulated blood I've had before, but it still skeeved me considerably. I broke it up into about 5 pieces, so I could swallow the blood whole without chewing it- allowing it to slither down my throat with little contact with my taste buds. The meat slices were excellent. The pork was mild, like the roast pork you find on a Cuban sandwich, and the beef was very corned beef-esque. The add-on shrimp I had been instructed to order were huge and tender. Five massive shrimp for a buck is not too shabby. As I said, the ingredients of the broth are largely a mystery to me. However, I did detect some anise. This was confirmed when I bit into a seed and got a concentrated dose, which almost caused me to leap from my chair. Whole aromatic spices such as anise, cardamom, and ginger always make me crazy when I bite into them.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The soup was very rich and warming- perfect for a rainy day. I was not too bloated by the broth, but this would have been pretty satiating stuff under regular eating conditions. Wilda had given me free reign to sequence the meals on this session. Alas, soup might not have been the best choice for meal #1. There must have been a ton of MSG in this soup, because I had the makings of a serious eye-ache.</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />2. EAST OCEAN SEAFOOD RESTAURANT- 1713 Webster St., Alameda, CA- 11:45am- Siu Mai and Char Siu Bao- $2.20 each; Har Gow- $2.80</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" > (Plus 2 pieces bonus bacon-wrapped shrimp)</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoc8VCew7eJYEJqsmQi4xlrSvMWH8iK_uKd79X2opqIOP4vZM0Vo6PSBn9MM6MaG4eyTZQlkNovVK5RCVf7az8s_fX_xyabG6Qhf1qG7vCdTCD4-B7SSMrs89XtA8GjwlPeV3FK7nqEE/s1600/100_0936.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYoc8VCew7eJYEJqsmQi4xlrSvMWH8iK_uKd79X2opqIOP4vZM0Vo6PSBn9MM6MaG4eyTZQlkNovVK5RCVf7az8s_fX_xyabG6Qhf1qG7vCdTCD4-B7SSMrs89XtA8GjwlPeV3FK7nqEE/s320/100_0936.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464535282102684882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNqrO4OGkzA_TNz5fbl4UrhYo7t3uDgZAQdhky8ZI9aFPzsjazMWnDBg_VUJVoTW-xe3SBoxDs5Otce39FvuGqdhyAWG-msKQoPIzH4l7oVEMvSO-Y5EEm54VkaRVmEE1er4l6RIgsuM/s1600/100_0937.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNqrO4OGkzA_TNz5fbl4UrhYo7t3uDgZAQdhky8ZI9aFPzsjazMWnDBg_VUJVoTW-xe3SBoxDs5Otce39FvuGqdhyAWG-msKQoPIzH4l7oVEMvSO-Y5EEm54VkaRVmEE1er4l6RIgsuM/s320/100_0937.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464535427358685650" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnhIYnuC7nP6ZV64Zen7FpC0YSHIgDbLN5vQoB9yRKAs9XJIKAcf1OiORdIIff-a26awufVC_zCgSvyPuQb9oxLnuNzzHvB4UUCIokp632NKopJ-jedyLD4vRFzMGNJeDNS5ASDTPTng/s1600/100_0938.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnhIYnuC7nP6ZV64Zen7FpC0YSHIgDbLN5vQoB9yRKAs9XJIKAcf1OiORdIIff-a26awufVC_zCgSvyPuQb9oxLnuNzzHvB4UUCIokp632NKopJ-jedyLD4vRFzMGNJeDNS5ASDTPTng/s320/100_0938.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464535543281206946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When Wilda and I were married, we used to eat dim sum with my parents, who then lived in San Francisco. Dim sum is my father's main non-work-related life interest. He would eat it 3 meals a day if he could. To this day, when he comes to visit, his first stop is generally Yank Sing or Ton Kiang, where he is still recognized by some of the staff more than a decade after he left town. I was pretty shocked when my parents announced they were leaving SF for Florida. How could my father willingly give up so much quality dim sum? The Early Bird Specials of South Florida do not include steamed pork dumplings. Wilda and I would generally eat dim sum with my folks in SF, but when we wanted it in the East Bay, I recall us going to Tin's Teahouse in Oakland Chinatown (now relocated to Walnut Creek.) It appears that, even after years of separation, Wilda and I were still eating at the same places, as East Ocean had also been my Oakland dim sum parlor of choice after Tin's moved to the other side of the hills.</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >I picked up Clark and we headed to Alameda. East Ocean is a cavernous room on Webster St., but on weekends around brunch time, the place is completely packed and many people wait on the sidewalk and in the parking lot in the back. This was a Wednesday, a little past dim sum prime time, so it wasn't as busy as on a weekend, but it was still pretty crowded. The carts were still coming, but not as furiously as they would have come at 10am. I only needed three orders to fulfill my eating requirement here, but it took close to half an hour for all of the items to arrive. The siu mai (ground pork and shrimp dumpling) were delicate and not at all greasy. The pork flavor had a slight garlic taste with undercurrents of ginger. I am not a big fan of ginger, but the amount used in these siu mai was very agreeable. These dumplings were as good as their counterparts at the major league spots in SF. I could have eaten them all day- like peanuts. The har gow (shrimp dumplings) were also excellent and apparently very fresh. It doesn't take more than a few minutes past steaming for har gow to turn the consistency of shrimp-flavored bubblegum, but East Ocean's wrappers were not in the least bit gummy and the shrimp was still tender. As expected, the seasoning was very subtle, so it tasted mostly of plain steamed shrimp. The char siu bao were decent, but not even close to the quality one finds in some of the top places in SF. The bun itself was doughy, rather than fluffy; they were too small; and the ratio of filling to bun was quite low. At least the filling was delicious- sweet, but not like candied pork. I suppose I should have been grateful to get such slight bao on an eating session, but I couldn't help but crave the bao I used to get on Clement at a take out place around 10th Ave. Those bao were the size of a Big Mac and they were jam-packed with pork.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >The orders of har gow and siu mai both came 4 items per order. The char siu bao basket came with 3 buns. Therefore, the dim sum didn't leave me much fuller than when I arrived. I jonesed for the shrimp-stuffed bell pepper, but it never came by on a cart. It was probably too late for that. I considered ordering it off the menu, but it seemed unwise. But then I saw it: bacon-wrapped deep-fried shrimp. I had to try these, even though they were out of the scope of the session and purely a bonus food. I split the four-piece order with Clark. These things were one of the greatest snacks in the history of mankind. Every bite was an explosion of seafood and bacon. These treats deserve to be mandatory on the pu-pu platter of the new millennium. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The bacon-shrimp pushed me over the edge into something approaching fullness, so I knew the going would be slow now. I have zero regrets about eating those morsels of loveliness, though. My experience eating them for the first time must be similar to what childbirth is to a mother.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:12pt;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">3. PHO 84- 354 17th St.- 12:37pm- Dau Hu Xao Lan- $10</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DgQ4XmacFp-__xipPE1D1BaEgOxNz4lfbM-YoQOTM-gxis3veXNG8t31I9yrNMkPX4a-5g5mUKtwZ4qD8GzNhNZfLzAcCx4OhIQIX5_yMnisrm_rvKC_VSDoEhvqapQzBdKasAQE7IA/s1600/100_0942.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_DgQ4XmacFp-__xipPE1D1BaEgOxNz4lfbM-YoQOTM-gxis3veXNG8t31I9yrNMkPX4a-5g5mUKtwZ4qD8GzNhNZfLzAcCx4OhIQIX5_yMnisrm_rvKC_VSDoEhvqapQzBdKasAQE7IA/s320/100_0942.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464547079547956658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ4mY9ONg4KMn8dgluXgCQazDlCQ32NV7axgcQwYZRneH79UdhwhLChb3EU9iJ_M7m8Mdl5dZBjlXRr4eUBAVYigLmKVVcJ22Ooqy_A3iG-1Mnd38UDh_hbOPUQhHAJesbwdATXjas5k/s1600/100_0944.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ4mY9ONg4KMn8dgluXgCQazDlCQ32NV7axgcQwYZRneH79UdhwhLChb3EU9iJ_M7m8Mdl5dZBjlXRr4eUBAVYigLmKVVcJ22Ooqy_A3iG-1Mnd38UDh_hbOPUQhHAJesbwdATXjas5k/s320/100_0944.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464547329334030418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Something is amiss with this particular entry. Pho 84 was the #1 place that Wilda wanted me to include in the session. She said she used to eat here often when she worked in downtown Oakland and this dish was her favorite. I almost didn't get to use this place, though. When I checked the regular menu, the dish she chose far exceeded the $10 maximum. I later realized that Pho 84 has a lunch menu with a version of the dish that squeaks by under the price ceiling. I think I may have eaten here a very long time ago, but have no recollection of what I ordered. The menus and decor here are fancy-ish and they charge more than $10 for a bowl of regular pho. How can anyone justify prices like that for a bowl of broth, some noodles, and a sprinkling of meat? Pho 84 is open in the evening and on Saturday, but since it's Downtown, where few people seem to go at night or on the weekends, they seem to do most of their business during weekday lunches, serving hoards of office workers from nearby buildings. I suppose people working in the Kaiser Bldg. or adjacent structures don't have time to walk to Chinatown for a $6 bowl of pho on their lunch hour- but still- why pay $10 for a bowl of soup at lunchtime? Luckily, Wilda picked something other than pho for me to eat here. I couldn't pay that much for soup in good conscience, even during a session.<br /><br />As this was a made-to-order dish, rather than a bowl of pre-made soup, I didn't immediately grimace at paying the IEM maximum. The main ingredient in Dau Hu Xao Lan is tofu. I can see you snickering already, thinking I would automatically discount the dish, due to its bean curd content. Well, you're wrong. Remember, I was a vegetarian for many years and still enjoy tofu to this day- when it is prepared correctly. If the stuff is firm or crispy and seasoned properly, I am a huge champion of tofu. However, I have no fondness for the soft or silken tofu variety, except maybe in miso soup. When soft tofu is cut in large chunks and stir-fried, it's vile. And that's what Pho 84 did with this dish. There were a few big slices of onion, unidentified greens, and a mild yellow curry sauce, but the bulk of the plate was covered with dreidel-sized chunks of white tofu. The sauce didn't have the <span style="font-style: italic;">cojones </span>to cover up the fermented soy taste. When cooking tofu, I find it best to let it simmer a long time to allow the flavor of the seasonings to soak into the bean curd. In this case, that never occurred. And since they were using soft tofu, the texture was super-slimy and difficult to swallow without invoking some gag reflex. Frankly, I found the tofu harder to stomach than the coagulated blood Kit-Kat in the Bun Bo Hue I ate at Pho Anh Dao. And it was far more disagreeable than the tendon in the pho I tried a few months ago. At least the tendon had some beef flavor soaked into it. Adding some of the hot sauce and reducing the chunks of tofu to small morsels made it somewhat more palatable, but this dish really was a wretched experience. There were a couple of times while eating it where I thought I really might chunder, due to the sliminess of the tofu. In fact, I would probably pronounce this the most unpleasant thing I have eaten since the inception of IEM.<br /><br />This brings up a conundrum. Was this REALLY Wilda's favorite dish? We had similar tastes in food. It seems odd that she would enjoy something so unappetizing. Was she pulling a revenge gag on me by making me eat this horrific entree? Or did Pho 84 change their formula for Dau Hu Xao Lan? That is entirely possible. There is very little quality control in stir-fried Asian dishes- even when ordered repeatedly at the same establishment. I think it has a lot to do with who is cooking, what ingredients they have in stock, and the chef's mood. Really, you can order the same dish at the same place on 3 separate occasions and get 4 different things. And if you order the same dish at a different restaurant, you might get something that is as different from what you expected as a hamburger is from a rutabaga. Sorry Pho 84, but you have been Pho 86'd from my repertoire. Your prices are bad enough, but for serving a dish like that, you should be publicly reprimanded.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. SWEIS'S GYROS & PITAS- 5800 Shellmound St.- Emeryville, CA- 1:43pm- Hummus ($3.95) and Pita (.90)</span><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1q4dxVmBC0dWlazzoM6_2M3JwpU4FXW2KdfyIbZhACGvdx1pQ7EfW_SHEjO6mdDw9JDaNdVD7eDLu_HqHXxpzZJBWaihBzyXrj34Z7l1tmWcWS9GYMmTqr7Z15vMC2o_cVx9_L9cbh0c/s1600/100_0945.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1q4dxVmBC0dWlazzoM6_2M3JwpU4FXW2KdfyIbZhACGvdx1pQ7EfW_SHEjO6mdDw9JDaNdVD7eDLu_HqHXxpzZJBWaihBzyXrj34Z7l1tmWcWS9GYMmTqr7Z15vMC2o_cVx9_L9cbh0c/s320/100_0945.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464555747163651874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTq6tD2yQBCAkceMzAXe6QkBJljp2GiaG_rF6Hr-8N00l5ZDEf8_KchPhizccESzxG0qyL2v26cgsCsBvGc2v58etwwniNsiEC8LYYCWO-2mPJuov_qx5DhwpHhaJEcHhOmh_vDf-FdH4/s1600/100_0946.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTq6tD2yQBCAkceMzAXe6QkBJljp2GiaG_rF6Hr-8N00l5ZDEf8_KchPhizccESzxG0qyL2v26cgsCsBvGc2v58etwwniNsiEC8LYYCWO-2mPJuov_qx5DhwpHhaJEcHhOmh_vDf-FdH4/s320/100_0946.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464555842160832434" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> dropped off Clark at home after the Pho 84 debacle. Even he didn't like watching that tofu abortion. When I arrived at the Emeryville Public Market Int'l Food Court, I went straight to the toilet. I had stabbing pains in my abdomen. I was certain I was about to experience explosive diarrhea, spurred on by the greasy tofu. Instead, the result was fully-formed. 'Twas a dead-ringer for an order of Applebee's chicken fingers covered in Thai peanut sauce, complete with a half order of curly fries. This relieved some of the pressure that had mounted after eating all of the tofu and its large rice accompaniment. (The rice was the only thing that allowed me to swallow the entire tofu dish without gagging.)<br /><br />Emeryville Public Market sounds like it should be a Third World-style marketplace where local growers and vendors sell their wares on tables and blankets. Nope. It's really just a food court. But instead of featuring Sbarro, Orange Julius, and Panda Express, like you find in a mall food court, the Emeryville Public Market has restaurant stalls selling ethnic food from all over the world. There is crappy pizza and Chinese food to be had here, to be sure, but you can also get decent Indian food, workmanlike taqueria fare, serviceable Korean BBQ, so-so Afghan food, mediocre Vietnamese, Jamaican, and Thai food, and a few other things not worth mentioning. There is plenty of seating in the middle of the food court, but eating here is usually not a good idea. The place is cavernous. With 50-foot ceilings and doors on all sides, it's like a wind tunnel. It's freezing to eat in that room, except on the warmest of summer days. Luckily, I had on my heaviest winter coat, a toque, and several layers to protect me from the Nor'easter blowing through the door closest to the movie theater. Occasionally, somebody would walk through that door along with an explosion of wind and rain, even though it was only drizzling outside. Somehow the design of the building amplifies all weather situations tenfold.<br /><br />Despite its shortcomings, Wilda and I loved the Emeryville Public Market when we first moved to town. Coming from Iowa, it seemed very exotic, as we had very little perspective to tell which of the stands excelled within their own cuisine. Sweis' was the first place I ate a falafel after we moved here. It wasn't as good as some of the falafel I'd eaten in NY, but it was completely adequate. Their gyro was also decent, even though it was really shwarma and not a gyro at all. I also remember loving their hummus in those days. I already considered myself a maven of hummus. I had learned that it was no easy feat to strike the perfect garlic:tahini:lemon juice ratio. 95% of the time, one of these ingredients is out of balance- in <a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5539613947839465921#docid=5001573460277092555"><span style="font-style: italic;">Koyaanisqatsi</span></a>, if you will. Unfortunately, times have changed at Sweis.<br /><br />It was good I was doing a session, because otherwise, I would have been disconsolate at the size of the portion I received for $4. During casual eating scenarios, I would tend to eat at least five times as much hummus as I received- even as an appetizer. And then I discovered that they have clearly meddled with the formula. Technically, I suppose the crucial ingredient ratio <span style="font-weight: bold;">is </span>still "in balance." It is true that none of these elements overpowered any of the others, but that was because I couldn't taste ANY of them. The hummus tasted like plain mashed-up garbanzos with a little salt. It wasn't unpleasant. I like garbanzos by themselves just fine. But that's not what I ordered. The so-called hummus just tasted unfinished. In Sweis' favor, they still use a quality soft pita, not dry or stale like you often find at Middle Eastern eateries in this area. And they actually grill the pita over the open flame where they cook their burgers and kebabs. That bread was fantastic. It would make a great snack on its own with just a bit of olive oil. An order of pita is a mere 90 cents here. And I think that means 2 whole grilled pitas. That's a fair price, but it doesn't make up for such lazy hummus. Who the hell wants to eat lazy hummus while seated on a plastic chair bundled up like they're part of Admiral Byrd's maiden expedition to the South Pole?<br /><br />Certainly, I have matured somewhat and the luster of the Emeryville Market food court has waned for me considerably since those heady days. Regardless, is it so hard to keep your hummus consistent? Sweis, your new hummus is like "New Coke." Please bring back your "Classic" formula at once.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. MEXICALI ROSE- 701 Clay St.- 5:49pm- Chilaquiles- $9.05</span><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsii-0gA2I8X2u0FevaqmDhYY6lrRwXvDTxBOLpC8iX0FNw8kpqKVdXe9rWEeiyI2TWyhq6q0-VMkRVfZE1VN4cI0jllAs8YhpMzB3HIKPlscyfZqseFugqn1i1R_fLvDOT8CNwH5q4JM/s1600/100_0948.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsii-0gA2I8X2u0FevaqmDhYY6lrRwXvDTxBOLpC8iX0FNw8kpqKVdXe9rWEeiyI2TWyhq6q0-VMkRVfZE1VN4cI0jllAs8YhpMzB3HIKPlscyfZqseFugqn1i1R_fLvDOT8CNwH5q4JM/s320/100_0948.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464587305790101218" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpIsoAn2npEps9csmRv3psOUIeOkIt4GHfVya5VgsRkNoa7fOSuenSy2pcCc5NfIOLz0m5J5FWNfcWXXNoRhpk8jlec5O7aROvAMSuJOMHS4Ps9SWoCBBr28XC889K4aYGNV187evILA/s1600/100_0949.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpIsoAn2npEps9csmRv3psOUIeOkIt4GHfVya5VgsRkNoa7fOSuenSy2pcCc5NfIOLz0m5J5FWNfcWXXNoRhpk8jlec5O7aROvAMSuJOMHS4Ps9SWoCBBr28XC889K4aYGNV187evILA/s320/100_0949.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464587443134009250" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I could have eaten some more after Sweis', since the portion was so measly, but I was tired of schlepping around town. I figured I should allow more hunger to return, as I knew I had some heavyweight meals yet to contend with. When I finally left for meal #5 of the day, I was terrified. I think I have eaten at Mexicali Rose once since my split with Wilda. Mexicali Rose was the first Mexican restaurant we ever tried in Oakland. In those days, I appreciated their huge portions, even though the food just tasted "heavy" without a flavor punch. Even then, I knew this was not "good Mexican food," but the place had a lot of plusses then. It was open until 4am and the portion:price ratio was superb. I would not go home hungry. After I returned to Oakland in late 1999, however, Mexicali Rose fell off of my radar. I learned that I could get just as much food at a taqueria for less money and with far more flavor. And if I insisted on sit-down Mexican food, I could go to Otaez and pay somewhat less for a place closer to home with similar-sized portions. Hell, even Guadalajara is better than this place. Also, the prices at Mexicali Rose have increased in recent years. What's worse, it's now only open until midnight. Where is somebody supposed to eat now after they procure a bail bond at 3:38am? I don't care if this place has history and it is the oldest Mexican restaurant in Oakland (open in 1927.) In 2010, I see no reason to eat here. The cuisine seems more dated than classic. Yes, it is kind of interesting to eat in a Mexican restaurant downtown where there are zero Mexican patrons and almost the entire clientele is black, but the food at Mexicali Rose just isn't very good. I would go as far as calling it the "Black La Piñata" or the "Indie Chevy's." It's just another place to sit down and get big portions of bland, rube-friendly Mexican-ish food and drink margaritas with the girls from the typing pool. At Chevy's, you might at least get a free sombrero, a cactus garnish made out of a red tortilla chip, and endless flour tortillas from "La Machina."<br /><br />The tortilla chips I received were warm, which is always a nice touch, but these chips were stale. They were probably <span style="font-weight: bold;">very </span>stale, because you can usually bring a stale-ish chip back to life with just a few seconds in the microwave. Kelly called me just before my entree arrived. I usually don't answer the phone inside a restaurant. It's gauche. However, since almost everybody inside the place was on their phones and talking very loudly and profanely, I decided to break my rule. Kelly had planned to meet me in the midst of the session after she got off of work, but I advised her to meet me at the next stop instead, rather than wasting her hard-earned money here. Chilaquiles is a Mexican dish that does not appear on menus that often, which is strange, as it's a simple and tasty meal with little overhead. It's far less common than, say, enchiladas or fajitas. It is mostly a eat-at-home dish that your mom makes- if your mom is Mexican. Unless you get a meat add-on, chilaquiles is usually just eggs, red sauce, fried tortilla strips, and cheese. At Mexicali Rose, the first thing I noticed was they went berserk with the melted cheese- probably Monterey Jack. Then I noticed they didn't use fried tortilla strips and opted instead for the same stale chips they had brought earlier. I discovered there wasn't any sauce to speak of. Either it wasn't included or it cooked off entirely. In essence, the chilaquiles were like a massive plate of super nachos with scrambled eggs and some fried onions and peppers. The dish was not inedible by any measure, but it was a pretty weak entry in the chilaquiles sweepstakes. The stuff at Otaez is far, far superior for $3 less. The refried beans were very creamy, but they lacked salt/seasoning. They couldn't possibly be from a can (or could they?), but that's how they tasted. And the rice was a little too chicken-y for my tastes. I guess when no Mexicans eat at your establishment, you don't have to make the food taste very "authentic" (hate this term!), even if the owners and staff are all Mexicans.<br /><br />There was a ton of food. And I ate all of it. If the chilaquiles had followed a heavy predecessor, it might have been enough to do me in, but luckily, I had rested a while and consumed a mere child's portion of hummus the previous meal. The waitresses at Mexicali Rose are either 4'8", fifty-plus years old, or both. If the food was good, that would not bother me in the least, but the food was NOT good. I need <span style="font-weight: bold;">something </span>to work with here, people!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Highlight of the meal:</span> a 20-ish guy who looked exactly like Kajagoogoo's <a href="http://www.kissmusica.com/Imagenes_Cantantes/limahl.jpg">Limahl </a>came in with two women who seemed as if they were straight off the set of a video from 1983. Wilda, I wager that you would have enjoyed this sight far more than the chilaquiles on this outing. I regret to inform you that Mexicali Rose ain't what it used to be- and it wasn't much to begin with.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. MERRITT BAKERY/RESTAURANT- 203 East 18th St.- 7:05pm- 1 Chicken Breast & 1 waffle- $8 (weekday special)<br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhui7SV6tB8YrROh40CrgjDqfPpRRIHjI6CNeDg-VXKRsdT1qrOpxHY3IiXJoja9HqN9eWuoGaEa5LPo31l5SMGuK37ovLjaSDhhS-dRFnkWspKsfc3T0BjscYWOilhxsuHNhZby_xpIYY/s1600/100_0950.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhui7SV6tB8YrROh40CrgjDqfPpRRIHjI6CNeDg-VXKRsdT1qrOpxHY3IiXJoja9HqN9eWuoGaEa5LPo31l5SMGuK37ovLjaSDhhS-dRFnkWspKsfc3T0BjscYWOilhxsuHNhZby_xpIYY/s320/100_0950.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464598658115456050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDSF2Mp8ifx8TCyIruY-iISpule6LxGwhPQukelWh8QbiyM3RJXR-bdYjJkLM4HUiIEx4wWeEXGLbULD8Fao97lVxxRTHd_3r5nGY6gFG4nrS5dmIFROLVgfIdO8fY2Oqem253xy6lzY/s1600/100_0952.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDSF2Mp8ifx8TCyIruY-iISpule6LxGwhPQukelWh8QbiyM3RJXR-bdYjJkLM4HUiIEx4wWeEXGLbULD8Fao97lVxxRTHd_3r5nGY6gFG4nrS5dmIFROLVgfIdO8fY2Oqem253xy6lzY/s320/100_0952.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464598758937514242" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><span>I went home and picked up Kelly, who had recently returned from work. Clark called and asked to meet up with me again. Apparently, some people just can get enough of watching me make a voracious buffoon of myself. I've written about the Merritt before. Wilda and I lived practically across the street from the place when we moved to Oakland. We were there constantly. We mostly got their cheapo day-old cake slices to go, which were something ridiculous like 3 massive pieces for $1.00. We would occasionally eat inside the restaurant, get an ice cream cone, or bring home some fried chicken, but it was mostly a place where we got "used" cake. Back then, pretty much everything on the menu was reasonably priced and was consistently adequate or better. And they were open 24 hours. Now, the food is generally hit or miss, everything is at least $2 more than it should be, and they close at 10pm, except on Friday and Saturday, when they stay open until midnight. Despite the kitschy low-budget local commercials they've foisted in recent years ("Meet me at Merritt. Your favorite restaurant."), it seems the whole place has just fallen down a few pegs. Outside of IEM eating sessions, I have seen little reason to frequent the Merritt in the 21st century. Other than paying to park, the bane of my existence is paying white tablecloth prices for paper napkin food. Please save your, "<span style="font-style: italic;">There are much more expensive places to eat breakfasts with even smaller portions in the East Bay,</span>" remarks. I am well aware of that fact and respond to your idiocy with a simple, "Fuck those places, too."<br /><br />Despite my naysaying, I was very pleasantly surprised when I ate here for the breakfast session back in <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/2009/04/iem-session-9-two-eggs-every-style-v2.html">IEM #9</a>. They served quality, thick-cut bacon, expertly-seasoned home fries, and Texas-like toast cut from a quality loaf of bread. But was it worth $9? Hardly. That breakfast <span style="font-weight: bold;">WAS </span>excellent, but I still find great difficulty rationalizing a $10+ breakfast once tax and tip is calculated. Hence, I hadn't eaten here since then.<br /><br />I don't expect a terrible meal at Merritt. I merely predict overpriced middle-of-the-roadedness and aloof service. Well, I will be damned if Merritt didn't blow my expectations out of the water again. First, the meal Wilda chose just happened to be a "Weekday Special." $8 for a chicken breast and a waffle still seems somewhat absurd, but when this meal is not on special, it'd be $10, so I felt some relief that I planned this session on a weekday. And then the food arrived. Holy! The chicken breast was massive- at least a DD cup. The skin crust was perfectly crisp with a peppery seasoning. The meat inside was beyond juicy- almost unheard of for white meat chicken. The waffle was large and thick with a slightly sweet egginess about it. I expected it to go down very heavy, but it tasted very light. It accompanied the chicken perfectly, especially when a little maple syrup was added. This chicken and waffle combo was far superior to what you get at that House of Chicken and Waffles place by Jack London Square. These items, ordered at HOCW, will weigh a ton in your gullet and render you useless for the rest of the day, even though they use standard issue breasts and waffles. Also, HOCW is even more expensive than Merritt!<br /><br />For the second time in less than a year, the Merritt greatly exceeded my expectations. The special was so good, in fact, that I would go as far as bestowing it with the Zagat-esque comment: "worth the money, despite the steep price tag." It is still unlikely that I will come to the Merritt for breakfast, unless you are paying, but when I yearn for fried chicken, I can really see myself eating here and even footing the bill. Certainly, I could get good chicken at Popeye's for much cheaper, but the Merritt weekday special holds its advantages, especially for me. If you recall, I have determined that fried skin is my Achilles Heel. If I consume it in quantities to which I am accustomed, I feel lousy for at least a day. Eating half a dozen pieces at Popeye's would make me want to hang myself and would probably yield little more actual chicken meat than a single Merritt breast. Plus, eating the Merritt chicken along with their waffle may have a neutralizing effect that serves to settle my "fried skin condition."<br /><br />I had eaten a large chicken and waffle dinner after consuming five other meals, yet I felt better than the last time I polished off a mere 2-piece box from Church's. I am shocked to admit it, but I have no objections to eating (and paying for) the Merritt Weekday Special as long as the price remains steady. Look at me! I'm eating $8 chicken dinners like a billionaire!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. TAQUERIA EL FAROLITO- 3646 International Blvd.- 8:00pm- Carnitas Super Burrito- $5.45</span><br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnahyphenhyphen4uNFQvP8fkV4ZFaKtDX6pN7rv-BWF2klIFhqhNzZ-_LOhiEnzlLGRlAZDC1xoK4IhyphenhyphenLDIyQN56cn0tKhR0HrEvPW_Tk6sy_dspZluqEkkqLiK8kdDTMCm_yKZ3Z_chECuiZSxx8/s1600/100_0954.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnahyphenhyphen4uNFQvP8fkV4ZFaKtDX6pN7rv-BWF2klIFhqhNzZ-_LOhiEnzlLGRlAZDC1xoK4IhyphenhyphenLDIyQN56cn0tKhR0HrEvPW_Tk6sy_dspZluqEkkqLiK8kdDTMCm_yKZ3Z_chECuiZSxx8/s320/100_0954.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464608670918264530" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZbVYBmsVUb0OlhpA1Vwx0w0FsWl3myoJPUuDEfEny7JDjdWCra3Gz8NGFZFd7aGx1Qmc3AR-XCxK6YTTb1aOu_PeNZ0pQ0OHFae6Jrf59HtAs3DY6hTWfz6UYzKcERNj0RyqeDcxc4k/s1600/100_0962.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZbVYBmsVUb0OlhpA1Vwx0w0FsWl3myoJPUuDEfEny7JDjdWCra3Gz8NGFZFd7aGx1Qmc3AR-XCxK6YTTb1aOu_PeNZ0pQ0OHFae6Jrf59HtAs3DY6hTWfz6UYzKcERNj0RyqeDcxc4k/s320/100_0962.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464608813875791394" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwFMeKXnGbynZofAjtO2nxwK153eDfYIDyiNbyCc0ifsf7zvpKN6ujL4J4rMAoP6xDn50gFzP3Ca76rB3SYF9cfo8LpPPkRUb0X4rrrjDy4KRW_GjKsxOXx1lWYdvvnolSlUhX98r-zg/s1600/100_0963.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwFMeKXnGbynZofAjtO2nxwK153eDfYIDyiNbyCc0ifsf7zvpKN6ujL4J4rMAoP6xDn50gFzP3Ca76rB3SYF9cfo8LpPPkRUb0X4rrrjDy4KRW_GjKsxOXx1lWYdvvnolSlUhX98r-zg/s320/100_0963.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464609071228624178" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBsTtr699ueWyY8NXrk87A8CYliMGcZonGwOIg_lguVAUuXTxvYSbq-R0bFffI-Yj0oq0g5Dfwsa6lu5D12tnLGSDcbvzomWWe-0sQIDdp-0GAufu7OFlqrTXutESqF2Uu-8p5qj0FIs/s1600/100_0961.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBsTtr699ueWyY8NXrk87A8CYliMGcZonGwOIg_lguVAUuXTxvYSbq-R0bFffI-Yj0oq0g5Dfwsa6lu5D12tnLGSDcbvzomWWe-0sQIDdp-0GAufu7OFlqrTXutESqF2Uu-8p5qj0FIs/s320/100_0961.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464608966659714162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. COLONIAL DONUTS- 3318 Lakeshore Blvd.- 8:26pm- Glazed Old Fashioned. Glazed Raised, Sugar Raised- .90 each<br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciSlJMnrD2d4R6vdal9XU2mfZa4icWaTVgiKO_hUklcsC2AcegKiu93dS2LzaB9s39lwqngCby5QQwdAPJ3h3PiJepi2fGDK_CnnYBKQheLY26r58OhlZnb_9m8ZOQohwLWJbzrFK6tM/s1600/100_0956.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciSlJMnrD2d4R6vdal9XU2mfZa4icWaTVgiKO_hUklcsC2AcegKiu93dS2LzaB9s39lwqngCby5QQwdAPJ3h3PiJepi2fGDK_CnnYBKQheLY26r58OhlZnb_9m8ZOQohwLWJbzrFK6tM/s320/100_0956.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464610441641263938" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jpkr9C2CWidnqqZuyrG3DGonTlC4C_IjjhfiZH_5I-p1w6TDhksly3rpzqed7nMtSUpCDEdt_4YAxdHdnwrI5Unr_8aXM1A_Mgm-DWAnAvnvPLo264VU88NrRV-dzDV44dXDBTJtuxg/s1600/100_0966.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jpkr9C2CWidnqqZuyrG3DGonTlC4C_IjjhfiZH_5I-p1w6TDhksly3rpzqed7nMtSUpCDEdt_4YAxdHdnwrI5Unr_8aXM1A_Mgm-DWAnAvnvPLo264VU88NrRV-dzDV44dXDBTJtuxg/s320/100_0966.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464610561183728210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In what has now become a IEM tradition, due to the waning hours of open restaurants, I knew I'd better get the final two items to go and eat them at home. Unlike the El Farolito in San Francisco, which is open late to cash in on the afterhours post-bar crowd, the one in Oakland closes at 9pm-ish. In this town, late night tacos are almost a strictly truck-only endeavor. That's fine when the weather is nice, but when it's rainy or cold, it would be nice to eat a taco or burrito in a warm place, without being exposed to the elements and aggressive panhandlers.<br /><br />When we arrived at El Farolito at 8pm, both of their lighted El Farolito signs and their neon beer sign were dark. Additionally, some of the interior lights were off. I feared that they may have closed early- not an uncommon occurrence among East Oakland eateries. Many local proprietors' posted business hours serve only as "suggestions." There's a good chance they might be open during those times, but perhaps they might not be. Luckily, El Farolito was indeed still open, although it is possible they didn't want too many people knowing this fact.<br /><br />El Farolito was the first Oakland taqueria Wilda and I discovered. I always enjoyed this place, but eventually found others I liked better. So, I haven't eaten here often in recent years. I have thought of El Farolito Oakland as a place that serves completely adequate tacos and burritos with quesadillas that are usually well above average. I always felt, though, that there are many other places that are both closer to home and even tastier, so El Farolito has become a benchwarmer on my taqueria line-up. Service here is usually quite fast, even when they are busy, and they are one of the very few places left in Oakland where sesos (brains) is still a meat choice. And there is seldom as much "action" at El Farolito as you sometimes encounter while waiting at Sinaloa late at night. I think the lighting is too bright for crackheads and would-be muggers at El Farolito. The worst thing you'll probably have to bear are vendors selling silk flowers or bootleg DVD's.<br /><br />I have spoken out in IEM and elsewhere against the tyranny of the Mission-style burrito many times- the super burrito in particular. To review, I think they put too much goo and starch into one package. I like rice and crema just fine. I just don't want them inside a massive flour tortilla. The rice overpowers everything, the cream turns to a splooge-like substance after steaming inside its wrapper, and the meat gets pushed to the back of the line. It's just an unnecessary experience when there are tacos and tortas to be had. But Wilda instructed that I get a super carnitas burrito here, so that is what I ordered. It had been a very long time since I had eaten an El Farolito burrito, so I could not recall how literally they took the "super" in their super burrito. Was there a paddy's worth of rice? A boatload of crema? Or did they exercise some subtlety? As suspected, this thing was NOT subtle. The wrapped carnitas super burrito weighed in at 2.02 lbs. I wasn't overly full after six meals, but with a massive burrito and 3 doughnuts in store for me, I knew I was not going to have an easy sprint to the finish line this evening. More on the burrito later.<br /><br />Oakland donuts are, by and large, a miserable experience. Firstly, there is nary a shop open late night, which makes one wonder where cops get their fix when they are patrolling the streets in the wee hours. Secondly, many shops' offerings will sit around until they are sold, with no mind paid to freshness. (I'm looking at you Donut Corner!) While they are not the equal of San Francisco shops like Bob's or the late lamented Bell's, Colonial Donuts on Lakeshore is the golden brown standard of Oakland doughnutry. They are open 24/7. There is free parking in the back. They sell lottery tickets. The staff is relatively un-gruff. The donuts are generally fresh and are definitely not wrapped in Saran Wrap and sold the next day along with a colony of ants- a common occurrence at Colonial's downtown location, which may have closed. I have heard good things about Dick's on High St. near MacArthur on the edge of the Laurel District, but I've yet to try that place. Until I do, Colonial will receive 100% of my donut business in Oakland.<br /><br />I don't remember eating donuts here with Wilda. It seemed like all of our pastry purchases were made at the Merritt Bakery, as it was across the street from our apartment. I was happy to see that she was also a fellow Lakeshore Colonial enthusiast. I ordered three donuts of my choice at Colonial. (Wilda specified the amount, but not the varieties.) I took them home, along with my burrito, which was starting to make my car smell a little funky.<br /><br />As my main objection to the super-burrito is the way everything is crammed together inside the tortilla, I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan- I would dismantle the massive log and eat the individual components separately. I removed the foil and found the tortilla sealed shut, as if the cook had used an industrial adhesive. This thing would not be unraveled. I was forced to cut the top and open it up like a soggy piñata. The first thing I discovered was half an avocado sitting on top of the loose fillings. I ate the avocado immediately and then attempted to take apart the burrito. Impossible. The rice was stuck to the meat, the salsa, and the onion. The cheese was adhering to the bottom side of the tortilla in a zig-zag formation. The crema was everywhere- gelled up like week-old Pepsodent stuck to the side of a sink. Only the pinto beans were easily set aside. I took a few kernels of the rice. It was still warm and pretty tasty. It was fluffy and not too chewy. My only gripe is, like Mexicali Rose's rice, this stuff was also too chicken-y. If I was to eat this burrito in its original wrap form, I am certain that the chicken taste would overpower the carnitas. Next, I took a few bites of the carnitas chunks. There is often a crispy/burnt taste to the sides of carnitas, which imparts a great flavor throughout the dish, and El Farolito's had a lot of that happening. This pork was tender and very delicately seasoned, but due to the intense porkiness, a little bit of the carnitas went a long way. After a mere sampling, the richness rendered me instantly full and exhausted. As expected, I passed out on the couch in front of the television.<br /><br />I awoke an hour later with the contents of the burrito staring at me. The colossal empty flour tortilla was crumpled up like a wet hand towel. It had grown stiff and rubbery. To ease consumption, I griddled the entire thing on a dry skillet- goo and all. It de-rubberized and then became toasty and brown like a quesadilla. I could not believe how much grease was oozing forth. The toasting took some edge off of the crema and cheese pasted to the sides, but it didn't change the fact that I had one half pound of starch to deal with, not to mention the mound of filling I had piled up on a plate. I took to eating bites of the tortilla interspersed with the beans I had separated and then followed those bites with a scoop of the rice/meat/salsa mélange. I allowed some naked beans to hover in my mouth prior to taking the carnitas, which helped to cut some of the richness, but it was still a very slow process. Despite this miserable ascent, which took me until 2:15am, I was glad to have eaten this burrito- at least the avocado and carnitas part of the offering. I will have to return to El Farolito more often to get a carnitas taco and/or quesadilla and maybe some brains, too.<br /><br />Was I stuffed to the limits? Of course! But there is ALWAYS room for donuts. I attacked the glazed donut first. Although it wasn't as light as a fresh glazed Krispy Kreme, which threatens to leave the box and float to the heavens, this doughnut was very moist and fluffy, with lots of air pockets inside. It had to have come out of the fryer recently. After completing the glazed, I was not quite miserable, but I was filled to the brim. I was going to have to complete the other two doughnuts in fits and starts. The glazed old-fashioned had a light glaze and a pleasantly crumbly texture, without the greasy mouth explosion found in lesser specimens. The glaze had a slight orange flavor to it, which I've encountered before. I must admit that I am not a big fan of citrus notes in a donut glaze, but the flavoring was light, so it was not a deal-breaker.<br /><br />I got a couple of bites into the old-fashioned when those familiar rectal contractions came calling- loudly. I spawned an article that approximated a large, over-boiled artichoke. This was astounding, considering I had defecated twice since waking that morning.<br /><br />The raised sugar donut was the best of the bunch. The pastry part was almost the same as the glazed, with identical air pockets, except rather than coating it with a glaze, they sprinkled it liberally with a fine granulated sugar. It tasted not unlike the waffle I had eaten earlier at the Merritt. This is a less intimidating donut than the glazed. It would be perfect on those days when you want to eat half a dozen donuts without budgeting a 4 hour nap into your schedule.<br /><br />The whole thing was done just after 4:00am. I was uncomfortable, but ending with the donuts was an ingenious plan. I didn't feel incapacitated like I did after the <a href="http://inhumaneatingmachine.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2009-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-08%3A00&updated-max=2010-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-08%3A00&max-results=8">pupusas</a>. And my flatulence, while still copious, was more mild cheddar than Roquefort.<br /><br />Wilda had engendered a brilliant eating session. It was a nice change of pace from eating the same thing 8+ times in a day. I like to think that her choices were a true testament that she has forgiven my trespasses. She clearly didn't seek to punish me too severely. To be sure, some of the dishes <span style="font-weight: bold;">were </span>a little mediocre. Except for the tofu at Pho 84, however, not a single item was a true abomination. My stomach was stretched beyond the limits of decency, but the aftermath of this session felt miles better than an incident that occurred a few weeks after I had left Wilda...<br /><br />I sat down to play a guitar that I hadn't touched since I had picked it up from the old apartment. I opened up the case and discovered that she had gouged the body with a sharp instrument, mangled the electronics, and had attempted to saw off the neck- stopping only when she discovered the metal truss rod. Time must heal all wounds, because wretched tofu and Kit-Kats made of blood are nothing compared to an assault on a man's guitar. See? She doesn't hate me anymore.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">COMING NEXT TIME:</span> BBQ Beef Sandwiches<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:12pt;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-41807388534300911912010-04-25T18:06:00.000-07:002010-04-27T02:01:09.621-07:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 11<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">At this point, there is no use in apologizing for taking so long to post another session or even a brief training update. I was busy finishing my certificate to teach ESL to adults. That did lessen some of my mental capacities, but let's face it, I was mostly just not motivated to write. Once I get going, I'm a house on fire and can write up an entire 15-page eating session in just a few days, but getting myself started is next to impossible.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Forcing myself to write record reviews in the updates was a bad move. Going forward, I will try to post the training updates regularly, but don't expect me to do those reviews anymore- at least not on a consistent basis. I seldom feel compelled to write about music at length, but I can usually come up with a paragraph about what I ate and what I shat, and can at least list what I've listened to recently. If you get a bonafide record review, consider yourself lucky.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />But guess what? IEM #14 is finally ready and will post on Tuesday, April 27. I'm quadruple-checking for typos and formatting tonight. I'm sure something will still be a little "off," but hey, what do you want for nothing?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DONATE</span>:<br /><br />Don't forget, you can donate to IEM to help pay for the eating sessions. If I get enough money, I'll surely feel compelled to write up the sessions in a more timely manner. Won't I?<br /><br />My PayPal donation address is alincolnlevy@yahoo.com. If you can give anything to help keep IEM chugging along, I would be forever grateful. Any amount would be appreciated. I'll even acknowledge you here.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Donation Levels:</span><br /></span></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">$1-$4.99 = Totally Sweet Level</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">$5-$9.99 = Completely Rad Level</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">$10-$19.99 = Man, You're Awesome Level</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">$20-$49.99+ = I Just Shat My Pants Out of Sheer Gratitude Level</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">$50+= Sarilyn Joan Levy Dahm Memorial Level</span></span><br /></li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">April 26 status:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEIGHT</span>: 183.8</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />CONSUMED ON 2/11:</span> </span><ul style="font-family:arial;"><li><span style="font-size:130%;">3 cups red grapes</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">1/2 cheese pizza from Lakeshore Lanesplitter</span> </li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION </span>(what my turd looked like): N/A</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />EXERCISE</span>: I've been working on finishing IEM #14 all day. That's kind of like exercise, right?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />LISTENING</span>:<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://rgcred.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/grand-funk-railroad-live-pic1.jpg?w=470&h=320"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 470px; height: 320px;" src="http://rgcred.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/grand-funk-railroad-live-pic1.jpg?w=470&h=320" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsDMxWgPQcg">Bad Time</a> by Grand Funk Railroad off of the <span style="font-style: italic;">All The Girls In The World Beware</span> LP. This is an "AM Gold" pop classic. It's a song even non-stoner girls would love- very atypical for Grand Funk. I've been listening to this song ad nauseum for the last 4 days and find more cool elements within the song each time I hear it. If there was a better pop single ever made, I'm not sure what it is. If I can put out a record like this someday and eat lots of sandwiches, I can die happy.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-47016164630533060462010-02-24T17:39:00.000-08:002010-02-24T18:06:07.141-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 10<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">February 11 status: </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEIGHT</span>: 187.8</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >CONSUMED ON 2/11: </span> </span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Bowl of homemade kettle corn</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">20oz Pepsi</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Potato samosa, pumpkin paratha, chicken tikka masala naan-wich (all freebies from the Indian food factory tour field trip I attended for school)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">French onion soup with cheese</span></span> </li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION </span>(what my turd looked like): A pile of wet croutons</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">EXERCISE</span>: As usual, I saved my homework for the day of class and couldn't get to the gym, so my only exercise was walking to and from my car at CSUEB.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">LISTENING</span>:<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.shugarecords.com/images/records/d644c8d5-f291-48e5-9187-560c825a442c-0.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 272px;" src="http://www.shugarecords.com/images/records/d644c8d5-f291-48e5-9187-560c825a442c-0.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Johnny Paycheck </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Mr. Lovemaker</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Until recently, all I had heard by Paycheck was his earlier Bakersfield-style material and his hit cover of David Allen Coe's "Take This Job and Shove It." Understandably, this gave me the impression that Paycheck was a 1960's Buck Owens-style honky-tonker who went "outlaw" in the 70's. Thanks to genius producer Billy Sherrill, Johnny Paycheck actually spent the early-mid 1970's making some killer country-politan records.<br /><br />This LP has got all of the hallmarks of the country-politan sound (string arrangements, lush background vocals, songs with crossover appeal), but Paycheck still sounds like a shit-kicker. All of the production bells and whistles cannot obscure the fact that Paycheck was a pill-popping drunk who was court martialed, subsequently spending 2 years in a Naval prison for striking a superior officer. And this fancy LP didn't keep him from shooting a man in a barroom <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mg51PSzTL04&feature=related">and going to prison in Ohio</a>. Still, this record sounds expensive. It has much more in common with 70's Elvis records like "Suspicious Minds" than it does Paycheck's 60's murder ballad "Pardon Me I've Got Someone to Kill."<br /><br />The songs here range from a smoothed-out take on straightforward C&W tunes like the title track and "I'm Just Tired of Hurting You" to tunes like "If Love Gets Any Better," that sound like a cross between Arlo Guthrie, "Rhinestone Cowboy"-period Glenn Campbell", and Bread. "I Won't Ever Fall in Love Again" sounds a lot like fellow Sherrill artist, Charlie Rich, but with less focus on the piano playing. And then there's "All in the Name of Love," a soulful stomper that could've been a Four Tops hit. The record ends with "She'll Unwine Me," where Sherrill throws out the coutry-politan formula and Paycheck sounds like he did in 1966.<br /><br />Whether he's sounding like Bakersfield, Nashville, or Austin, you cannot go wrong with any Paycheck record pre-1990. And luckily, the mid-70's records are pretty readily available for cheap. </span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-52203156602078767492010-02-20T13:29:00.000-08:002010-02-20T14:00:09.494-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 9<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">February 10 status (I will get you caught up with my current status by the end of the weekend):<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEIGHT</span>: 190.2 (Oh shit, this is getting out of control!)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CONSUMED ON 2/10: </span><br /></span><ul><li style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Half a tub of spicy hummus purchased from Grocery Outlet eaten with 1+ lb. of baby carrots.</span></li><li style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">2 homemade low-fat cupcakes (Get a load of this craziness! You get a standard box of cake mix and simply replace the oil, milk, and eggs with a can of pumpkin. They're quite edible, only slightly orange, and with almost no discernable pumpkin taste.)</span></li><li style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">A Pepsi at school</span></li><li style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">A bowl of homemade kettle corn</span></li></ul><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION </span>(what my turd looked like): A HEAPING bowl of Kibbles and Bits served over a crumbled crab cake tinted with soy sauce.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EXERCISE</span>: As usual, I saved my homework for the day of class and couldn't get to the gym, so my only exercise was walking to and from my car at CSUEB.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">LISTENING</span>:<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.rateyourmusic.com/album_images/s47951.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="http://static.rateyourmusic.com/album_images/s47951.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:130%;" ><br />Billy Swan- 1974- <span style="font-style: italic;">I Can Help-</span> $1<br /><br />All I knew by this guy was the title track, which I thought was a Ringo Starr solo record, and "Lover Please" (and I only knew the Kinky Friedman version of that song.) Those two songs open this record, but there are even better songs here. There are definitely country elements to this record. There are Jordanaires back-up vocals, some slide guitar, and country-style melodies. However, it doesn't sound like other country records of the time or any time, really. It is obvious that Swan owed a debt to 50's country and rock n' roll, but he was far from a retro artist. He wasn't doing Honky-Tonk or countrypolitan, either. This is more like a pop-rock record with some country overtones. And the whole affair has a very casual, laid-back feel. While Swan is a good singer, he's very understated and doesn't try and blow you away during the heavy emotional passages like country guys did in this period.<br /><br />There's a cover of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3fITdfg6nQ">"Don't Be Cruel" </a>here, which is usually a bad sign, but he slows the song down and adds a ton of slapback on the vocals. It winds up sounding like a lost Dwight Twilley track. Another great track is "I'm Her Fool," a good-timing number with awesomely goofy backup vocals and a bizarre grunting vocal breakdown at the end. And check out this lyric:<span style="font-style: italic;"> I run like a dog when she calls me/'Cause she pets me when I bury my bone.</span> Did this get played on the radio?! Won't somebody think of the children?! Swan's version of "Woman in Love" (Charlie Rich song made famous by Johnny Cash) has kind of an "island" feel a la "Sloop John B" and "P.M.S. (Post Mortem Sickness)" is a cool atmospheric closer- and the earliest reference I can find to pre-menstrual syndrome.<br /><br />With Swan's mix of fun covers and fun catchy originals with lyrical wordplay, this record was practically <span style="font-weight: bold;">made </span>for me. I am now searching for his entire back catalog. I will even pay $3 for the records, if necessary.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-60506754042298059672010-02-19T01:38:00.000-08:002010-02-19T02:15:11.777-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 8<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sorry for the delay, but my mother-in-law was here for a while and I've been busy being a student, so I haven't been able to get my updates posted. I have about 3 weeks left until I finish my classes to become a certified ESL teacher for adults. I hope to have session #14 up about that time, if not sooner. In the meanwhile, I'm gonna do my darndest to make sure you get at least three training updates every week.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">February 7 status: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >WEIGHT</span><span style="font-family:arial;">: 186.4 </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >CONSUMED ON 2/7:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>It was Super Bowl Sunday and I had the following: 2 massive bowls of Brian Brick's homemade chili (made with 2 of every animal), an ass-load of <a href="http://www.mipueblofoods.com/departments/index.html">Mi Puebl</a><a href="http://www.mipueblofoods.com/departments/index.html">o</a> tortilla chips, an entire row of DoubleStuff Oreos, 3 <a href="http://archives.starbulletin.com/2004/09/01/features/story1.html">Oki Dogs</a> made by me (now my potluck staple), a bowl of Buffalo Chicken dip (made by Red Meat's Jill Olson) and Frito's, 2 pieces of bbq chicken from Mi Pueblo, 3 beers (1 fancy, 2 cheapo) and some other stuff I can't remember.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION </span>(what my turd looked like): 3 brown, medium-sized, finely-burnished stones used by Bedouins to play an ancient gambling game in the Western Sahara.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EXERCISE</span>: Are you kidding? It was Super Bowl Sunday. My only exercise occurred after the game at the post-game dance party in Brian Brick's living room. I may have burned off a single Oreo shaking my booty to Steely Dan's "My Old School."<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >LISTENING:<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51gUx%2BlRMmL._SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51gUx%2BlRMmL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Charlie Rich- <span style="font-style: italic;">Behind Closed Doors</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Every year or so, I remember to pull out this album and rediscover what a monster it is. Is it country? Sure, but it doesn't sound the least bit hayseed. And it is as smoothly soulful as anything coming out of Detroit in 1973, the year this was released. Rich's voice coupled with Billy Sherrill's countrypolitan production make this record straddle the line between Nashville country-pop and Vegas-style schmaltz. You can bet your ass that in the mid-70's there were five dozen acts playing The Strip that had both the title track and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzBt-2jQ3Iw&feature=related">"The Most Beautiful Girl"</a> in their set-lists. Those hits are probably the best songs on the album, but there isn't a bad song here. "Take it on Home," "'Til I Can't Take it Anymore" are nearly as good as those uber-hits. I also really love "Peace on You." I paid close attention to the lyrics of that song this go-round. I was able to discern that although Rich wishes an unnamed woman peace, he is also saying that she is going to Hell because she cheated on him. And he isn't talking about figurative hell. He's saying she's going to where the Devil lives. That is gold! I need to listen to this record more often, if only for that song.</span><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-1643292453636408762010-02-03T11:08:00.000-08:002010-02-03T14:34:41.020-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 7<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">February 1 status:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />WEIGHT</span>: 183.4</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />CONSUMED ON 2/1</span> (IN ORDER):</span><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Omelet (1 full egg, 2 egg whites, 1 Tbsp. shredded cheddar)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1 glass blended chocolate milk (2 cups fat free milk, 4 Tbsp chocolate syrup, ice cubes)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1 glass blended chocolate-banana milk (2 cups fat free milk, 4 Tbsp chocolate syrup, a frozen banana, ice cubes)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1 blood orange</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Half of a 14oz. container of OOP Haagen Dazs Brown Sugar ice cream (I bought the last remaining containers at the Berkeley Grocery Outlet. Oakland Groc Out had already exhausted their supply. If you see this stuff, buy it immediately, because it's about to become rarer than that Honus Wagner baseball card, the stamp with the upside down biplane, and the first pressing of The Rotters' "Sink the Whales" 45 combined. Those items can be stored in a vault. After a couple of years, ice cream will start to evaporate, even in a deep freeze.)</span></span><br /></li></ul><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">DEFECATION</span>: </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(what my turd looked like):</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> A fudge matzo ball in beef broth</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />EXERCISE:</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>I ran the lake again. It took 24 minutes.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">LISTENING:<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://image.allmusic.com/00/amg/cov200/drc900/c901/c901514n84m.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://image.allmusic.com/00/amg/cov200/drc900/c901/c901514n84m.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br />The Poppy Family- <span style="font-style: italic;">A Good Thing Lost: 1968-1973</span>:<br /><br />To paraphrase Nazi playwright Hanns Johst, "When I hear the word 'psychedelic,' I reach for my gun." I have zero interest in expanding my consciousness or going on a "trip," either with chemicals or via music or art. The only challenge I want to experience related to culture is when I have to walk up the stairs at the museum.<br /><br />Despite my predisposition against psych, occasionally, I encounter some vaguely psychedelic music that I enjoy. The Poppy Family,</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> a Canadian group fronted by spouses Susan and Terry Jacks, is such an example. Terry went on to go solo and had a huge hit with "Seasons in the Sun." Susan had a solo career, too, and cut some great songs (e.g. "Anna Marie"), but she didn't achieve the same level of notoriety as her ex-husband, at least not in the US. Neither of the former spouses' solo work is nearly as good as the Poppy Family.<br /><br />The Poppy Family are often thought of as a bubblegum pop group, but they seem a lot darker than that. There are a lot of psych touches in their music (sitar, tabla, weird stereo panning effects, fuzz, tape manipulation, heavy reverb, echo, etc.), but that's not the source of the darkness. Susan, who does most of the vocals has an unbelievable melancholy in her gorgeous voice and the lyrics all seem to have a hidden undercurrent of death and/or evil.<br /><br />The first track on the comp, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_mwpvtqKyc">"Beyond the Clouds"</a> sounds like a lost track by 90's gloomy pop band, The Sundays, but with better production and vocals. The Poppy Family's biggest hit was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8SPVEhZN5E">"Which Way You Goin' Billy,"</a> a depressing pop song that implies impending suicide and seems a prequel to Terry's hit, "Seasons in the Sun." </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> "There's No Blood in Bone" sounds like a Stone Roses song- if they were fronted by Mariska Veres from the Shocking Blue. The drum beat on that track seems like a prime candidate for sampling by a trip-hop artist, if that genre still exists.</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Other great songs on the comp include "That's Where I Went Wrong," "Shadows on My Wall," "Free From the City," and "Where Evil Grows."<br /><br />The Poppy Family are like a Cannuck melange of proto-shoegaze, folk-country, ABBA, the Carpenters, Mazzy Star, Lee & Nancy, and the Everly Brothers. And the band's East Indian percussionist was Satwan Singh, a real-live Indian! This comp is a real find. I'd like to get the band's original LPs and 45s, if I can find them for cheap, but this will tide me over in the meantime.</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-39391264123757070492010-02-02T01:10:00.000-08:002010-02-02T01:30:51.251-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 6<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">January 30 status:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">WEIGHT</span>: 181.4</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">CONSUMED ON 1/30 </span>(IN ORDER):</span> </span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">A 20 ounce can of Peace Tea brand Green Tea (awful)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">A bottle of Budweiser and a few hors d'oeuvres at Canderson and Tiger Lily's photo show opening at the Rite Spot in SF (some pita chips, a breaded cheese stick, some brie and crackers, 2 dolmas from a can, 2 slices sourdough bread, 1 butter cookie and a pre-packaged Rice Krispie treat)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Chocolate milk (2 cups fat-free milk, ice, 4 tbsb. Mexican chocolate syrup)</span></span> </li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION</span> (what my turd looked like):</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> Half a challah that fell into a pan of brisket drippings<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >EXERCISE:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>I ran 1 lap around Lake Merritt (about 3 miles.) I think it took 25 minutes.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WATCHING:<br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.impawards.com/1968/posters/funny_girl.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 335px;" src="http://www.impawards.com/1968/posters/funny_girl.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Funny Girl</span>- 1968- How they hell had a fruity Broadway musical fan like myself never seen this movie before? Streisand won a Best Actress Oscar for this, her first picture. I don't know what other actresses were in the running, but there's no way anybody else was better than her the year this was released. She is in nearly every scene and totally kills them all. The picture is more than 2 hours 30 minutes, which is about 50 minutes more than my attention span can handle these days, but I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. There are a bazillion good musical numbers, but my favorite has got to be <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_g3kkGH8Mo">"Don't Rain on My Parade."</a> This movie came out 3 years earlier than <span style="font-style: italic;">Fiddler on the Roof</span> and was set mostly in pre WWI New York, but somehow winds up being 10 times Jewy-er than <span style="font-style: italic;">Fiddler</span>. Must see!</span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5313974304947560242.post-31446550675686800232010-01-29T11:40:00.000-08:002010-01-29T12:17:13.308-08:00IEM Training Update- Vol. 13; Issue 5<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">January 28 status:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >WEIGHT</span><span style="font-family:arial;">: 185.8</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >CONSUMED ON 1/28</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> (IN ORDER):</span> </span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1lb. baby carrots</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Fiber One bar- oats and caramel flavor (These don't seem to make me fart any more than usual, but they turn my spouse into a 5' 2" cloud of sulfur.)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">3-taco plate (2 carnitas taco/1 asada taco/beans/rice) at the Cal State East Bay Student Union. Surprisingly adequate-tasting and not too expensive at $5.50.</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">2 5/8 ounce bag of Rold Gold Thins pretzels</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">20 ounce Pepsi</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1 bowl curtido (This stuff gets really boring after 2 days.)</span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">2 Tbsp. Peter Pan peanut butter</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">2 cups fresh pineapple</span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTE</span>: All of our Haagen Dazs brown sugar ice cream was gone as of yesterday. I am having an internal debate as to whether it is prudent to buy all the remaining containers at Grocery Outlet. </span> </span></li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEFECATION </span>(what my turd looked like):</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> A braised lamb's brain<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">EXERCISE</span>:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> School, yet again. Since I always leave my homework until the day of classes, I can only muster the one-mile walk from the parking space to the classroom those days. I am enriching my brain, yet allowing my Adonis-like body to atrophy.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">LISTENING</span>:<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/21D2D90TPJL._SL500_AA130_.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 130px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/21D2D90TPJL._SL500_AA130_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The Replacements- <span style="font-style: italic;">All Shook Down</span>- 1990- Before this month, I hadn't listened to this in well over a decade. I have to say I am very pleasantly surprised with this rediscovery.<br /><br />Except among tired punk-only types, conventional wisdom states that <span style="font-style: italic;">Tim </span>is The Replacements' best album. While it is true that <span style="font-style: italic;">Tim </span>has the best overall collection of songs, the production is confounding. Whenever I listen to that record, I am always thinking, "This would be so much better without the faraway-sounding gated reverb drums and the cheap-sounding guitars." The whole thing just sounds janky. With either a "correct" pro mix or a powerful lo-fi recording, I would view <span style="font-style: italic;">Tim </span>as the unbeatable masterpiece that aging college rockers claim it to be.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">However, <span style="font-style: italic;">Tim </span>is what it is, so I have difficulty listening to more than a couple of songs of it at a time. When I want to listen to pop Replacements, I will now put on <span style="font-style: italic;">All Shook Down </span><span>more likely than not</span>. Firstly, the production is not distracting<span style="font-style: italic;">.</span> Yes, it sounds like a major label record, but not a dated 80's major label record where you think, "Who the hell at Warner thought this production sounded good? In 2010, any kid with a Mac and GarageBand could make a better-sounding album." I refuse to believe producer Tommy Ramone had any real input on the final product. There aren't as many crotch-grabbingly great songs on <span style="font-style: italic;">All Shook Down</span> as there are on <span style="font-style: italic;">Tim</span>, but there are more than enough of them to make me want to listen to it far more regularly. The semi-hits, "Merry Go Round" and "When it Began," should have made Westerberg a household name. They certainly sound better than "I'll Be You" off of <span style="font-style: italic;">Don't Tell a Soul</span>, which got considerable Top 40 airplay. Indeed, there are a couple of turds on this record. "The Last" sounds like a bad SNL spoof of a mid-70's Billy Joel song. And "My Little Problem"? What idiotic A&R man thought a duet with Concrete Blonde's Johnette Napolitano would be a good thing? I hope they got fired.<br /><br />I'm also a big fan of "Nobody" and especially, "Bent Out of Shape," which sounds EXACTLY like what the rockers on Tim should have sounded like. Despite that track, most of this album sounds more like a singer-songwriter type record than a full rock n' roll band. It has a lot more in common with the later Westerberg solo stuff (except with better recording) than any other Replacements record or even with the songs on the <span style="font-style: italic;">Singles </span>soundtrack.<br /><br />Yes, I <span style="font-weight: bold;">am </span>a fanboy for Westerberg. I lived in the Midwest for 15 years and went to college there. What do you expect? Having said that, I wrote this whole thing without once calling the Replacements "The Mats." Deal with that.</span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3