Eating Out Ferrous Avians

Well, after a wild romp through the Taste and Toast of the Tower this evening (which I’m secretly hiding away from my forebrain to be regurgitated by my alter ego at Valley411.com) and I am beat. No, one little food and wine festival couldn’t put down our intrepidly drunken glutton! There was more! So much more. Somewhere towards the end, there was the 3rd worst Long Island iced tea I’ve ever had in my life. But that bartender might still be banging someone I know from high school, so they avoid being thrown under the blog-bus this time. This time…

So! Why in the hell am I still typing? My reasons are twofold. One ulterior, one posterior. Wait, wouldn’t that be a butt reason? Whatever, I’ll run with it. The reason I’m still making the squawky talk is because Fresno’s own Inner Ear Beat Down Poetry Slam has moved into the single most buzztastic java joint Fresno has ever seen. I’ve had folks literally pouring hot, sticky, molten praise for this place into my ear on a nigh daily basis. I’m on a weekly text message round up to get me out of the Hobbit Hole and shuffle out to drink caffeine and bask in the awesomeness of pure café bliss.

Right. And I should totally let you stick another finger in my butt too. I have been to the mountaintop and it is tastefully lighted in hues of unattainable high school memories. There can be no contemporary coffee joint in this age where words like corporate, gourmet and coffee somehow can all come out in once sentence without the vengeful spirit of a beatnik ripping their soul out of their stinkholes. Right? Well, you were a year ago.

But what’s that? Up in the sky! A police chopper? The CIA? A bronze sculpture that makes you fondly remember Jacko dangling his offspring over a balcony? Ok, yeah, that’s there too. But no! It’s…IRON BIRD! Nuh nuh nuuuuuh! Like a smoldering beacon of awesome come to rest in the unlikely cradle of downtown, snuggled underneath chic art condos and terrifyingly south of Olive. Iron Bird seems at the outset to understand the chaotic currents of ‘No-town and has the short and curly’s to spit in the face of that fickle tempest to create it’s own reality bubble. Like an acid crazed, axe wielding transient, she sits astride a sociological median and rather than beg for change, establishes change and dares your oh-so-expensive Escalade to try to budge them from their concrete island of etherial delights.

Huh? Ok, that allegory got a little out of control. But it’s astounding the comfy and welcome vibe that this place puts off. It might helped that as I was approaching, U could hear the soulful ramble of Fresno’s own Kilroy opening his farewell set. And then I walk up and see that the entire sidewalk has been taped off and there are close to 100 people all seated and enjoying the show, the well lit stage is actually 3d sidewalk colorfully applied to the environment…ok, it was a perfect storm of awesome sent by Poseidon himself to wash away my snarky preconceptions. The final stab in the heart of my Eternal Grump was a quick taste of a friend’s blended mocha. I know what you’re thinking. And fuck you very much for thinking it. This isn’t some lame ass Washingtonian canned milk and coffee syrup frap-crap. This is an honest-to-fire-crotch mocha tossed into a blender with ice. Espresso, chocolate, dairy, ice and violence. Plus the beloved barista (and decent rhyme artist) was such a pimp that he made some chocolate whipped cream as a topper. Straight took me back to the mocha java shake from back in the day. Just needs a little ice cream added to the mix and some burnt coffee beans on top and I’m 15 again ditching school and reading Shadowrun novels in the back of Java Café. And REASONABLE! No fucking way?  It can’t be delicious and reasonable! But, I’m here to say that I got the shakeadiddle and an iced tea and it totaled just over a fiver. Suck on THAT Starfuckers!

I think I mentioned some stuff about poetry earlier too. Mr. Brian Medina said it best for me to paraphrase, this ain’t no Mary Had a Little Lamb jive. It’s also not a venue for failed or failing MCs to throw around tired ass rhymes. Folks at the Beat Down have something to say. Words that resonate and communicate. It’s not just people speaking with or about their feelings. It’s about them tapping into their own vibe and pinging it out amongst the audience, bringing everyone into the same harmony as they speak. Shedding their humanity for a moment and revealing themselves as biological tuning forks, harmonizing us all together into the same key. And for budding poets who might be a bit hesitant to step up in competition, the Inner Ear also hosts the Open Mic Jam at Full Circle Brewery the following Thursday. Oh, did I forget to mention the Slam is a competition? Well, that’s what makes it a slam! 10 poets, 5 bucks a head, $50 to the winner and a hearty handshake to the rest. So how can you go wrong? Coffee poets to the left of me, beer poets to the right! Oh whatever is a poor blogger to do? Get wired one week and hammered the next. Absorbing soulful mouth sounds the whole way through.

Fucking poets, how do they work?

-Pook

Eaiting Out Originality

Thanks to Joan Obra from the Fresno Beehive for bringing something awesomely unique to our attention.  Apparently Fresno has just gotten it's very own Casa de Tamales!  A strictly tamale-centric restaurant.  It's everything tamales!

No longer do we have to wait for our wonderful friends and neighbors to begin the Christmas orgy of small business and family tamale construction.  Or suffer through the poor little frozen tamales microwaved and drenched in sauce that you get at Biff's Authentic Taco Shack and Surfboard Waxeria.  At least thats what we're hoping for.  Fresh steamed masa goodness.

And beyond the usual and obvious fillings (shredded beef, chicken mole, chorizo and potatoes) they're also doing a selection of sweet tamales that look rather interesting.  I'm insanely curious as to how a chocolate cake tamale will work out, or a blueberry and cream cheese.  Theres even soyrizo(an invention of the Devil) and potatoes for them veggie eating folks....still can't understand how y'all can survive without vitamin Beef in your diet...

Anyway!  The prices look reasonable at around $2.50 per tamale, so assuming 2 makes a decent meal, you're looking at a $5 lunch.  Sounds better than a Micky D's combo any day.  And if you're feeding an army, they sell by the dozen anywhere from $22 to $35 depending on the filling.

I love the premise and I love tamales.  We've still yet to find out if they can make GOOD tamales, but we'll give them the benefit of the doubt for now.  It's a pretty bold business move in my opinion.  Fresno does love South o' the Border cuisine for sure.  But many also know the burnout of having tamale stew for the 20th time in February, cursing your cousins for not taking more of Mom's tamales home during Christmas.  But then again, Mom didn't make spinach and artichoke tamales either.

Here's hoping that they're good and they succeed.  If you'd like to beat us out to try them first you can find them here.

-Pook

Eating Out My Buddy Sam

No, not friend of EOF and our buddy’s wife Samantha. Ewww! She’s pregnant! That’d be like Turducken or something, right? No, no. Sick, dirty, people. We’re talking about Fresno’s own, Sam’s Italian Deli and Market! Where they actually do stuff things into other things. But, with a much more pleasant and delicious surprise.

A family owned and operated Fresno landmark for roughly 3 decades, Sam’s is your go-to spot in Fresno for all things involving lovingly preserved meats. Oh yeah, they sell a lot of Italian foodly goods as well. Not to mention fresh bread, wines, cheeses, frozen homemade pastas, fresh made sauces, olive oils, fine vinegars. Pretty much anything you can think of to make a delicious Italian meal. Easy way, hard way, Sam’s offerings and service just give you a warm sense that they want you to eat well, no matter how much effort you want to put into the meal.


Want to make life easy? Pick up a bag of their frozen handmade raviolis, a pint of their marinara sauce, a half loaf of their pre-prepped garlic bread and a little parmesan and you’re golden. Boil the pasta, heat up the sauce, toss the bread in the oven. Mix, slice, serve. Done! Or, you can pick up some fine canned San Marzano tomatoes (4 different styles, 13 different brands), fresh or dried herbs, your choice of several different romano or parmesan cheeses, 3 different styles of Italian sausage, a mind blowing selections of pasta or everything you need to make your own, and a robust selection of different olive oils…see what I mean?

So let’s split it up a bit and tackle the grocery area first. The first thing you notice on your way in the door is their wine section. Not being much of a vino fiend, I can’t really speak with great authority about their selection. I can however say that their selection includes a large rack of Under $10 wines. Which always works for cheap ass, wine-ignorant me. But I also noticed that they had a few vintages that were climbing well over $75. I assume that makes it really great, bad grape juice.

Moving on! They have a nice, compact area for pickles, preserves and canned fish. Great selection of capers and anchovies. Plus, numerous toppings and spreads involving red bell peppers, eggplant and the like. Then we scoot around to the wall of tomaters. I’m pretty sure they stock enough to arm an entire Jr. High for a Spanish style tomato street war. Pretty much all San Marzano plum tomatoes, concasee’d whole or puree’d. And some of the nifty toothpaste tube Euro style tomato paste, so you don’t waste a whole can if you don’t need a whole can. I wonder if those will ever take off here.

Then we come to their frozen section of mass awesomeness. Here you can buy just about any delicacy that their kitchen can turn out. Soups, pastas, sauces, desserts and even 1 serving meals. Onto the cookie rack! If you like amaretto, you will lose your freaking mind over these little amaretti cookies by Lazzaroni. And shuffle next, to the wall of olive oils and vinegars. Pretty impressive! Much like the wine selection, there are decent olive oils priced just a low as anywhere else and there are very fine olive oils that one would use when you’re not just frying some veg and chicken. Some good looking basalmics and even some reasonably priced truffle products. I might have to hit these up to ease my morel withdrawls soon.

We’re ever so tempted to peek at the meat counter…BAD! No! Bad monkey, no sock for you. Next is produce! Got it? Ok, produce…kinda sad. But it’s understandable, with folks either shopping at farmers markets and organic hippy joints or just buying the cheapest stuff they can find, with little middle ground, a small grocery store’s fresh produce section just isn’t going to make them money. Sad little packets of sliced mushrooms were testament to this fact. But hidden in sadness is joy! For, a safe distance from the ‘shrooms, there were dirt cheap end-pieces of prosciutto!! Happy dance! Don’t get me wrong, I like fancy as much as the next guy, but this stuff was like 1/3rd the price of the full sized shank pieces. And, if one were INSANE, just the right size for a pot of beans…hmm maybe cassoulet? Cheese island is nice as well. Small hunks of parm and romano, a few other sliced bits and some odd looking little salamis.

Along this wall also, is the cold beverage case. Chilled wines, champagnes and beers. Strange as hell to watch a guy pull a 6 pack a Corona out of the same area there is Peroni and Moretti and other interesting Italian brews RIGHT THERE! No accounting for taste I guess. Once, I knew a full blood Irishman who loved the asshole right out of Budweiser. Still makes me weep on rainy Sundays. A Pelligrino Orange soda will make me happier. And so does the pasta section. We’ll just call it robust as hell and point out that they’ve got 3 different choices for risotto rice too!

Deli Counter!!!! I’ve been yearning for this for an hour of power shopping. The little indulgence (ok, huge, expensive indulgence) that’s gonna make me titter every time I open my meat drawer. Well, after I’m done tittering at yanking open a “meat drawer”…sounds like a rude title for an extendable vagina. Excuse me miss, could I put my prosciutto di parma in your meat drawer? It’s sliced very thin.

Oh yeah, they got prosciutto, and Spanish Serrano ham, and pancetta. Tip o’ the iceberg. So many kinds of salami’s that you mystically find yourself rubbing your bum bum on the glass like an pants wearing baboon in heat (they frown on this by the way). Next door is the cheese zoo. Many kinds, several countries, all tasty. Sitting above them are more traditional luncheon meats like turkey, a few different hams and fabulous baloneys like their mortadellas and a new, nifty, smoky, Weaver's Lebanon bologna that tastes, hands down, just like a Slim Jim. Just without all the grease, bone and skin. Must try it! Just don’t think about my description when you do.


Onto the salad portion! They’ve got a really nice selection of olives. All kinds, various preparations. Nifty little deli type dishes like bruscetta topping, tortellini salad, marinated mushrooms (fuggin GOOD!) and a nice selection of single/dual serving fresh entrees that you can whisk off to home or office and reheat. And bless ‘em, they’re truthful about their seafood salad being made with surimi. I still think it’s more elegant and truthful than calling it krab.

And at last, my favorite punctuation to every trip here and the only spot that wars with my undying love of the salami/prosciutto section…fresh meat! As wide as the salami section is, the fresh area is much more focused. Check my earlier rant about produce, so they’re not slinging every cut from cow or pig. In truth, it’s chops, good lookin’ chops I might add. Chuck steak and ground chuck. But I’m not here for a barbeque. I’m pre-moistening my undies over their amazing sausages! Each of their Italians are awesome. Sweet, med-hot and Red-Hot-Italian-Stallion sausage. Good on their own, with some sautee’d peppers or as a foundation flavor for your favorite sauce. And then we come to the Prince of Sausage. He’s thin, long and coiled…ready to strike…your taste buds. Cervellata sausage is a thin, fairly long coiled sausage with a handy skewer for turning. I’m told it’s just a little salt and pepper in the meat. But it is addictively delicious. I could grill and eat these babies all day.


The final note on Sam’s should be the most definitive. And that’s certainly their sandwich service at the deli counter. Wonder what that weird sausage tastes like? Ask the guy for a taste! Like it? They’ll make it into a sandwich! Oh, and they do actually have a menu too. Great meat combos, hot sandwiches, sauced and not. Even braggable pastrami and steak sandwiches.

I’m sure that I’m preaching to the choir here for a lot of you. But if even one person who lives around the ‘No and hasn’t heard of or tried the wonderous wares of Sam’s…because of living in a religious cult deep in the wilds of Clovis, led by a one eye’d buck toothed prophet named Pepper… Anyway! If you haven’t tried them and then you do, you’ll like, thank me or something. Or try to kill me because I blew yer shot on The Biggest Loser. Whichever it is, prosciutto is more delicious than fame any day.


-Pook

Eating Out Comedy

So in a shift from our normal programming. I wound up scoring tickets to the LOL Comedy show at the Tower Theater this past Saturday. Don’t worry! I’ve got recipes backed up and ready to disgorge upon the starry fabric of the interweb. But about the only thing that wars with my love for food would be my love of yuk yuks.

But first, a story. About 15 years ago, I went to the Tower Theater with a girlypal and her family to see the wonder that was Howie Mandel. Things you do for love right? Anyhoo, rather than be able to judge the talents of famed Bobby’s World creator. I wound up just having to pity the poor soul. For, he knew not what he was wading into, this polite Canuck with poor crowd management skills. Fresno was very barky-outbursty at the time and his opening bits were peppered by random howls of “HOWIE!” for no apparent reason. Thinking he can get the better of the crowd, he turns to one of the bellowers and says “What?” assuming that attention equaled shame and therefore garnering silence. WRONGO IN THE NO-NO BUDDY! Without missing a beat the lady shrieks “Take a picture with my kid!”. And the fool buys it! She runs up and happily tells him that by the way…ain’t got no camera! Oh god, it’s all coming unraveled now Mandy-boy! Think quick! “Could I use someone’s camera so this lady will be quiet?” he asks in the same tone an explosive ordinance disposal guys use when the clock has hit 5 seconds. “Sure! If you take a picture with my kid too!!” Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Fresno steps up baby! The next hour was fascinating. I’ve never seen a man complete a set of light hearted jokes with a raging “FUCK ALL OF YOU!!!” in his eyes. After the show, the kids wanted to run up to him at his limo for autographs. I gently bring them back to heel with a simply spoken truth. “Kids, I don’t think Howie wants to talk to any Fresnans ever again. Just let him go.”

So with that nesting in the back of my mind, I opened up my e-mail to discover that I had won free tickets from the The Fresno Beehive (thanks again!), to check out the LOL Comedy show. The lineup is fairly new to me, but then I’m not exactly a walking encyclopedia of working comics. Which, also makes it kinda cool, since I really have no idea what to expect from these guys and no clue if they can handle a Fresno crowd.

The evening kicked off with the music of the Super Lucky Catz. A local group headed up by front man Robert Andrew Gushel-Barron. Described to me as a funk band, they challenged my idea of funk. When I think of funk I think P-funk, Soul Brother #1 James Brown, Bootsy Collins, Curtis Mayfield. Get down and get funky, funk! Super Lucky Catz’ style is a lot softer than I would have expected. That’s not to say that they aren’t good. Just the opposite. Everyone in the band was spot on in their performance. It’s just that deep inside me, I really wish that they would really unleash their bass player and keep that slap bass rolling, turn up the levels on their guitarist and really let him wail on those 4 guitars he has. To my uneducated ears, they’re a little more adult contemporary than funky. But still, a really good performance.

Oh yeah, isn’t this a comedy show? Finally, openers! The first comic out wasn’t on the bill and sadly, I have a memory like an alzheimer’s patient with a concussion. However, I do remember that his bit was actually rather funny. He had a riff on the “you might be a redneck” bit, but with the Fresno twist of “you might be a tweaker”. As well as a pretty good spread of meth themed humor and a couple character quick changes. First out of the gate was definitely a hit with crowd.

Up next was a local cat by the name of Feather Da’wyz. He had a more traditional comedy club style set, hitting various universal topics like ageing, penis size and the frustrations of dating. He owned his material very well and approached some pretty beat up topics with a fresh perspective and definitely got the laughs. He ends his bit with “The Cell Phone Song” in which he sings out 7 numbers and gets the crowd to sing along. Once you’ve done it 3 or 4 times, he lets you know that it’s actually his cell and to feel free to text him after the show to find out other spots he’ll be performing at. And you know, it worked. I’ll be happy to go check him out again, just to see the full spectrum of his material.

Quinn Dahle, a SoCal transplant from Minnesota is up next. Again, another polished comedy club act. He works the observational humor fairly well. And he REALLY skirted the dangerous edge in such a multicultural crowd. But damn it, he actually wrung a few bellows of laughter out of me before I realized I should be self conscious and shut the hell up. Gotta give him props for throwing down a bit of challenging comedy. For sure, a guy to keep an eye on. If he finds his groove you might be seeing a lot more of him.


At last, a break! Quick jaunt through the legions seeking a beer towards the doors for a smoke. So far, I have to say that I’m very pleased with the whole experience. The comedians have delivered actual comedy. And in general I’m actually somewhat shocked at the good behavior of the Fresno crowd. Sure, there are a couple gabblers and some shout outs to the comics. But the comics are comfortably in their element and my fellow show goers are having fun without being total jackasses. Go Fresno comedy crowd!

Headliner time! If you’re 30 years old or older and a Central Valley native that actually chilled with any Latino family, Rudy Moreno will absolutely kill. Maybe some of the younger kids with more old school households can get it, but as a farm kid from the outskirts of town many moons ago, his bits really hit home. Here is where you see a seasoned pro who has done his homework. Not only does he riff on themes from an old school Latino childhood upbringing contrasted against today’s modern snotty little so and so’s, but was able to pander to the crowd by tearing up the neighboring towns like Tulare and even picked on the poor portly security guard and used him as a sounding board throughout his set. It shows forethought and preparation for doing a good show here. It makes me feel good that the headliner REALLY wanted to give Fresno a performance we’d like. Top that off with actually being really funny, he really earned that top slot and did a fabulous job giving us the finale we wanted. Overall, a great show and easily worth the ticket price for 3+ hours of entertainment and comedy. And they served beer!

Oh. So since it’s a food blog, I’m required by internet law to talk about food in some capacity every post? Well, crap. Ok. We actually were pretty famished before the show, so we ducked into the mighty Tower Dog for a bite. My beloved rocked the California Dog, while I was trying to stuff down a Polish Dog like an anaconda sucking down a capybara. Every time I eat there I discover something else that makes me smile. This time it was my mouth telling me that they actually make their relish in some form of a fresh manner. I could be wrong though. Which is why I approached one of the men involved for an interview. Don’t get your merkin in a twist just yet. I’ve got a backlog of recipes I’ve got to spew all over the tummy of my dear bloggy- blog. But SOON™ we’ll give you a secretive peek into what makes these dogs my favorite.

-Pook

Eating Out Myself

And so we return, dear readers.  I have retreated to the Cave of Grumpiness, now that the Rogue Festival has come and gone.  Truly it was a grand two weeks for myself and many many others.  Shows were rocked, crowds were wowed and lots of new friends and acquaintances were made.  A hearty thank you to everyone who participated in the Rogue this year, from the organizers to the volunteers to the audiences themselves.

All that said, onto the foodings.  A strong lack of time and spare cash conspired to keep me from embracing as many Tower eateries as I would have liked.  But have no fear, I have every intention of Eating Out Tower and leaving her mewling and sloppy in my wake.  But until I can miracle up enough cash, we're going to focus on what we're Eating Out at home.

A favorite treat of mine is a dish I learned at the table of a disgraced mobster, who had been exiled from the home country for reasons unknown.  He was dating a rather promiscuous and somewhat foolish friend who had invited us up to his Hollywood Hills home for dinner.  So after some small talk about how he was Italian Special Forces, a former mining engineer, a single engine prop-plane pilot and what the current market prices of Bolivian booger sugar was, I came to the conclusion that he was the real deal and I had better buckle in, shut up and hold on.  And now, I'm afraid that my fiercly clenched sphincter was going to leave a spiral pattern in the seats of his redwood dining chairs.  But a dish was brought out that was so delicious that I was (foolishly) able to relax.  Such is the magic of pasta carbonara!

And then I find out that it's stupid easy to make!  The hardest part is finding pancetta, which is readily available at Sam's Italian Deli.  From there it's just a bit of planning and moxy.  So be not afraid!  And if you're too cheap for pancetta, you can easily substitute the same amount of bacon.  It's a little different, but still amazing.  So here's what you'll need.

1lb spaghetti (or linguini)
4 eggs (3 if they're large)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 lb pancetta (sliced thick, 1/8th inch)
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1/2 cup romano cheese (both grated)
fresh cracked pepper

Now, before some purist yells NUH UH!  THAT AIN'T HOW GRANDMA MAKES IT!  Well, you're right.  So go eat a dick.  We're making it this way this time.  I've done it in the past with only egg yolks.  Hella yum, but this is less of a pain in the ass.  So suck it.

First!  Give your pancetta a dice.  I like mine a bit chunky, so I keep it 1/8th inch cubes.  Then add it to a nice pre-heated pan, deep enough to take about a pound of pasta.  You'll find out why soon.  Now cook down the pancetta until you render the fat from it.  Unlike regular bacon, it'll start to look done long before it is.  Lower heat will help prevent burning.  But melt as much fat as you can out of the pancetta.  Once it's well done but not terribly crunchy, transfer it to a paper towel lined plate.  Drain the fat and reserve 2 tablespoons for later naughtyness.

Somewhere in all of this you should have already started the water for your pasta.  So, now would be the time for you to cook said pasta.  Because you'll be using the following 7 minutes to beat your eggs together with the cream.  Then toss your cheese in with the eggs.  Now, take your pancetta pan and put it back on medium heat with your reserved fat.  Once it's warm, your pasta should be done.

Now comes the planning.  You need to get your pasta quickly and safely drained and into the pan before it can significantly cool, since it's going to save you from an ignoble death via salmonella ridden undercooked eggs.  Thats right!  The hot pasta cooks the eggs!  So stop dawdling and get it in the pan!  Give it a quick toss in the hot fat, throw in the pancetta and then pour your egg/cheese/cream mixture over the top.  Cut the heat.  Here I find it easiest to use a fork and spoon to toss the pasta and egg mixture together.  It will quickly emulsify into a creamy, gooey, bacon ridden delight.  Sprinkle with cracked black pepper and you're good to go.  I don't use any extra salt as I find there is plenty coming from the cheese and pancetta.

Get this plated and shoved into your face asap!  As it cools that sauce will sieze, so this is a one shot, eat it as you make it kind of dish.  But I dare you, no I double platipus vagina dare you to be able to walk away from a plate with even a smidgen of this God-made-food left on it.  If food could be narcissistic, I could easily understand this dish wanting to fuck itself and forsake all others.

Make it.  Eat it.  Make other people eat it.  I will wait patiently for your thanks.

-Pook

Eating Out In Pain

Dear lord!  I had no idea that one weekend of the Rogue Festival would leave me so battered, bruised and exhausted.  Not to mention exhilerated and virtually bursting at the seams with pleasure at being exposed to so much artistic energy.  And somewhere in all of this we managed to get out at eat at a few spots

First meal of the Rogue was at a personal Tower favorite, Tower Dogs.  They're known for running various imaginative specials on top of their usual menu.  This month's was a very intriguing corned beef and cabbage dog.  And unlike the caliente dog or their cali(fornia) dog, this one needs some serious re-thinking.  The corned beef that is wrapped around their usual sausage comes out too crispy from being fried, as well as having no real corned beef flavor.  Same goes for the diced and sautee'd cabbage.  Poor, mushy texture and zero cabbage flavor.  Most of the time I'm overjoyed with my dog from them, but this one was a bit of a flop.  Points that could be improved, steam your cabbage and corned beef together!  Crockpot those bad boys together the night before, shred the corned beef and slice down the cabbage, portion and refrigerate.  When it comes time to serve, take a portion, toss into the saute pan and add on top of the dog.  In theory that will enhance the flavor of both and maintain the texture one wants when dealing with corned beef and cabbage.

Livingstone's was a frequent stop for cocktails and meals over this weekend.  We were exceedingly well taken care of by our waitress and I regret not getting her name, if for no other reason, than to give her a shout out for being a prime example of excellence in service.  Thank you darlin'!

So our first meal was a post-show dinner.  Included at our table was the british burger, black and bleu pasta and their chicken nachos for me.  The burger looked tasty, good looking bacon, juicy burger without the bun being soggy.  Next was the black and bleu pasta, which was very enjoyable.  It carries a nice creamy beef flavor without being dominated by the bleu cheese.  Onto the nachos.  All around a great appetizer for a group and a fine entree for two (the full order).  The toppings are generous without turning everything into a soggy mess.  The salsa and pico aren't exactly challenging or even very warm, but they do taste good.  I'm just more partial to a spicy sauce for my nachos.  Add to this a couple of their famous (infamous when you're hungover) long island iced teas.  Another long time favorite of mine.  I don't know what makes theirs different, but Stone's LITs get you lit pretty damn fast.  And I don't mind that so much.  Definately a good base buzz before we head into the Uncle Bucky show.

After a shower of fried chicken and Mickey's big mouths, we head out with a mixture of the casts of Uncle Buckys and Cap'n Scurvy's for some after-show celibration.  Both casts were buzzing pretty strong from great performances and excellent attendance by a hip and interested Rogue crowd.  So it's definately time for some debauchery.  We move on to The Landmark where the beer is flowing and the mixed drinks float by as performers and artists mingle with fans and locals.  Rogue lends a very relaxed and happy vibe to the Tower District watering holes.  People are smiling and laughing and sharing their experiences.  They're also a bit hungry and order some french fries and some zuccini sticks to share with a tipsy food blogger in need.  Fries were normal.  Hot, crunchy outside and pillowy inside.  Not bad considering the late hour.  The zuccini sticks also were fairly good.  They came out hot and still crunchy, so there was no sitting around under a heat lamp.  The ranch was ranch.  Not exactly gourmet, but who cares?  Hot, tasty and NOW is what one's wants with their drinks and we got it.  And again, great, friendly service by our waitress.

And I guess all this silliness begs for explanation as well.  What you're witnessing here is the post show chicken feed behind the Uncle Bucky's show.  Including the artist known as the Reverend Ezekiel Ignatius Flatbottom, Cap'n Scurvy and Mr. July along with his beloved Margeurita partipating in what was called the Group Grope Wing Ding.  Room temperature chicken, excessive amounts of questionably created liquors and inadvertantly shared bodily fluids created a whirling tornado of faith, filth and unsanitary food holding practices.  Simply being in the vicinity has had me riding the red hot rocket thrust of ill conceived culinary comedy in my bathroom for the past 2 days.  C'est la vie I guess.  When food gets funny, there is bound to be some collateral damage.  And on that note, I think we'll save the review of Sunday's fare until after I can stop mewling on the little pee-catcher carpet in front of my porcelain throne.

-Pook

A Roguesplosion! All over my pants...

My lord.  If you had told me I could jam that much art and that many restaurants into my rickety frame within a 24 hour period...well I don't know what I would have called you, but it would have been complimentary.  I sit before you and my keyboard, enriched, befuddled and more that a little boozy.

So where do we go?  Art or food?  I think sausage counts.  So thats an easy lead-in for The Apocalypse Hoedown.  And I never did get my damn Pabst or indian tacos from Uncle Bucky's, just some room temperature fried chicken and a quick peep show.  Brain bleach anyone?

Sticking with the art movement, we were able to sleaze our way into the Saturday evening showing of Burnt at the Steak, which honestly blew my thong off.  Those big ass provelone balls aren't just for show.  She's gonna rub 'em in your face while spitting some serious Guido lyrics straight from '99!  Pasta fagioli!  She sings like a bird, swears like a sailor and ain't too damn hurtful on your eyes.  Best ogle her before she heads back towards cooler climes you eager beaver eaters!

Wait, this is still a food blog right?  Hell yes it is!  As pretentious as I can make it.  And now with more pictures than is practical!  To keep it under a mile long, all of the meals from tonight will be (poorly) pictorally represented.  Then, after the hangover kicks in, I'll string together the words that will make the chefs and owners want to jab my liver with a frog giggin' fork.  So before I embarass myself further...Pictures!!

I know!  It's by pure intestinal fortitude and the power of Captain Scurvy's elixer of panacea that I didn't have to change the title of this piece to Barfing Deep In the Rogue's No-No Bits.  I am well and truly stuffed and drunk enough to be a hazard to my fellow humans.  So I bid thee good morning gentle-whatevers!  Until morning and the inevitable and dreaded hangover.

Eating Out Rogue Festival

Our own internationally famous Rogue Festival is about to kick off this Thursday.  And we're doing our part by make sure to sleaze our way into the booths and tables of the unsuspecting Tower eating establishments to leave them in complete disarray.  Covered and smothered in a film of crumbs and mysterious viscous fluids.


For the performers and volunteers of the festival, the work has already begun.  The setting up of venues, the plastering of flyers, online promotion blitzes.  Final rehearsals, tweaking costumes and art projects and itineraries of which shows are a must-see.  And speaking of a show that you simply must see, I must shamelessly plug and pander to friend of the blog Captain Scurvy's Apocalypse Hoedown Revival

Vaudevillian humor and miracle alchemical healings.  Chills!  Thrills!  And absolute abject terror!  Guaranteed to make Bob Hope roll in his grave every time you see it!  So go see it!

Pandering over.  Back to our regularly scheduled snark.  We kick off Eating Out Rogue Festival by doing what we do best.  Getting drunk!  So we're off to the The Sequoia Brewing Company for some beers and some snacks.

Sequoia is a more recent incarnation of the beloved Butterfield's brewpub.  As I understand it, along with the business, Sequoia also bought Butterfield's recipes.  I was always a fan of the tower dark, but I'm more in a refreshing beer kind of mood.  So I order their German kolsh, called the Sequoia Gold.  It's pretty damn good!  It's got the lightness of a pilsner, but the bitterness is mellowed to a mild afternote.  The flavor is almost sweet, just teasing that line from the dark Munich malt.  I loved it and will certainly wind up regretting drinking plenty more.

The last 2 minutes of the USA vs. Canada hockey match was on, so we were decidedly distracted during the ordering process as we cheered the tying goal.  Poor thing, she dealt with our sophomoric bellowing in stride.  Our group ordered: potato skins, chicken fried steak, green salad, sausage plate appetizer (a re-tread of a Butterfield's favorite) and garlic fries. 

The food arrived in good time.  Especially given how busy it was on a Sunday afternoon.  The potato skins appeared fairly average.  Not exactly artful presentation, but they had fairly generous toppings.  The chicken fried steak didn't really appear to be anything special.  By appearance alone it seemed to be a pre-formed and breaded frozen patty tossed in a fryer.  However the sweet potato fries that came with it were quite good.  They come with a rather tasty aioli.  The salad was salad.  Pre-mix with bottled dressing, croutons and a few raisins.  Nothing to write home about, but adequate.

Now we come to my old favorite.  Once upon a time, this plate introduced me to amazing and wonderful sausages I had never tried.  And it allowed me to try each as an individual, similar to a cheese platter or beer sampler.  Not any more.  What I got was a red, greasey mess of muddled flavors.  The plate is supposed to come with andouille, italian and bratwurst sausages.  With all the brick colored grease, it's obvious that they've thrown all of the sliced sausages in to fry together with the onions and jalepenos.  Sadly, this results in a poorly muddled mess that, while edible, does nothing to enhance the enjoyment of a good sausage.  The fries were all right, with a dusting of parmesan and parsley, though lacking in any real garlic flavor.  I'll address the real outrage next.

Prices!  Oh my god!  This is the most lopsided menu I have ever seen in my life!  Eight dollars for french fries?  NINE for fried pickles?!?  What planet are we on, where two of the cheapest ingredients around can run you just as much as an entree?  It's fucking potatoes and pickles!!!  A burger is a buck fifty more and it COMES WITH FRIES!  I'll concede that the food is edible, even tasty in some instances.  But if I'm paying entree prices for some damn french fries there had better be some sort of magical theater or art applied to them.  Send out a crying mime to weep over my empty wallet.  Instead of ranch, send them out with some lidocaine booty butter lubricant so we don't need butt doughnuts to sit down after we get the check.  Tickle my no-no's!  Something!

All in all, Sequoia is a fine brewery that still serves cold and tasty beer.  As a restaurant though, they need to make a decision to smarten up their menu as well as their presentation.  The sausages were a mess, the chicken fried steak was an embarassment and the price gouging for seasoned fries was outright astounding.  If you're peckish, their chips and salsa are only two bucks.  Is nothing complimentary any more?  Sheesh!  The dinner menu appears a little more on the reasonable side, but the appetizers just aren't worth what you pay.  So, you might want to toast your friends on a full stomach.

-Pook

Greetings!



Welcome to the inagural post of Eating Out Fresno. Rather than patting myself on the back and glad handing with empty platitudes and vague promises aimed at the future, lets get on with the blogging!


I figure for a first post we should get down to the essence of what food is. Real food. It's that one special thing that just hits the spot. Like there was an aching, empty, missing part of yourself that you didn't even know was gone. Until, that is...when you look down at an empty plate and feel a warm torpid satisfaction spread from your brain down to your toes. Evolutionary chemical factories sending you a wonderful endorphine cookie for a meal well chosen.


Whatever that item might be at that special time, it becomes the pinnacle of haute cuisine for that person on that day. And so, I would like to share one of those special moments.

It's 5:30 in the morning. I'm at 6,500' of elevation and 100 miles from civilization. I'm 6 hours into an 18 hour drunk and I've got the Hunger. We've got cookie and chips and sandwich fix'ins. But, HELL NO! I'm the Brillat Savarin of the Sierra! Nothing so simple as being crosseyed drunk is going to keep me from eating like a king in the wilderness.

So, trying to stumble ever so quietly so as not to awaken my snoozing camp mates, I dig into the camp boxes and ice chests to ferret out the raw materials of inspiration. Bacon, potatoes and a small handful of seasonings. What more could the inebriated royal on the go desire in a meal?

Well, a normal working knife for one. The meaty grip on the knock off multi tool found lying on the camp table was neither sharp, nor particularly ergonomic. The world can be so tedious at times. But I forge ahead, hacking the bacon to fit the pan and get it to sizzling.

Once the swine is to my liking, I've got this great convenient cooking grease all hot and ready to go.

So the potatoes, cubed as if they'd been hacked at by an arthritic with rickets, hop in for a sizzle. Add a little thyme, sage, garlic salt and pepper, toss them a bit and then slap the lid on. Remember, we're fairly high up. So cooking them taters takes a bit. About 2 more beers.

And now comes the magic time. Bacon is chopped into bite sized pieces and tossed with the potatoes. And voila! Hands down the the most filling and satisfying breakfast to be had in all the kingdom. A perfect hyphen. Separating a night of carousing in natural hot springs with fur bearing hippies of many stripes while sipping away at Newcastles kept chilled by the 40 degree temperatures outside of the volcanically heated doo-doo scented waters. And a hazy afternoon involving cross dressing, drinking questionable yellow fluids and many other disturbing and unprintable antics.

And so I leave you with the last thing I remember clearly. A warm fire on a crisp morning, the warm fuzzy of the perfect meal and the pants I lost later that day.

-Pook