For many years, I have been a strong proponent of the box of wine. I've always gotten the Cabernet Sauvignon box of Franzia. I like to refer to it as "CAB SAV BOX BLAH". The wine itself is mediocre but more importantly, it's convenient and efficient. The box of wine is a tradition that harkens back to the early Village days. The box of wine movement was originally encouraged by Ken D. That's just some irrelevant trivia.
Today, I have decided to close the door on this chapter. No more boxes of wine, only bottles. I have started my very own wine cellar. In all honestly, it's not really a wine cellar but more of a wine closet. I just line the bottles on this shelf-contraption. I'm focusing on bottles priced in the $7.00 - $12.00 range. I'm a big fan of Glen Ellen. I think they're the best of the mid-range winemakers.
On a slightly unrelated topic, anyone who drinks white zinfandel is a complete fucking idiot. Why would anyone drink this shit? I guess it might be acceptable at a Britney Spears/Russell Nesbitt sorority reunion, but that's about it. I'm seriously contemplating this idea where I make stickers that read, "If you like this product, you're a complete fucking idiot". Then, you discreetly put the stickers on all bottles of white zinf. I'd probably hit CVS and Rite Aid and then finish it off with a Kroger encore.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Friday, October 14, 2005
Washington Ave. Coffee Shop
I have been getting coffee at this place for approximately 2 years. It's part of my routine. I wake up, drive to Wheeling Jesuit and snag 2 newspapers (Wheeling Intelligencer and USA Today), then hit the coffee shop. It's a simple, pleasant loop. By the way, someone should bitch to the Whg. Jesuit student life people or the Father Acker man or whoever is in charge of the free newspapers. They don't offer the NY Times anymore. Would it be asking too much for them to renew their subscription? Perhaps I'll handle it through one of those anonymous complaint/suggestion boxes.
Anyway, the Wheeling Coffee Shop has become ingrained in my soul. I always get a cup of coffee. It costs $1.17 and I give the person $1.25. They get to keep the whopping 8 cents. Every once in awhile, I give them 2 singles so that's a little better - .83 cents. Still, it's nothing to write home about.
I don't know what frappacino or latte surprise is and personally, I think it's kind of embarrassing to order these "diva" drinks. So I just focus on a straightforward cup of Joe. I'm not sure who Joe is or why he became identified with the coffee movement during WW II. Regardless, Joe is very improtant.
They're worst coffees are Seattle Blend, French Roast and Italian Roast. The best of the dark coffees are Guatamalan, Brazilian, Mexican and Costa Rican. I guess the South Americans just make better coffee. That Seattle shit is disgusting and the Italian Roast tastes like they infused it with burnt lasagna and asphalt.
They also offer the flavored coffees like Chocolate Truffle or Sugar Cookie or Macaroon Mint. They have tons of these varities and they all suck. Maybe if I coached a male synchronized swim team, these flavors would be more enticing. But I don't.
Anyway, the Wheeling Coffee Shop has become ingrained in my soul. I always get a cup of coffee. It costs $1.17 and I give the person $1.25. They get to keep the whopping 8 cents. Every once in awhile, I give them 2 singles so that's a little better - .83 cents. Still, it's nothing to write home about.
I don't know what frappacino or latte surprise is and personally, I think it's kind of embarrassing to order these "diva" drinks. So I just focus on a straightforward cup of Joe. I'm not sure who Joe is or why he became identified with the coffee movement during WW II. Regardless, Joe is very improtant.
They're worst coffees are Seattle Blend, French Roast and Italian Roast. The best of the dark coffees are Guatamalan, Brazilian, Mexican and Costa Rican. I guess the South Americans just make better coffee. That Seattle shit is disgusting and the Italian Roast tastes like they infused it with burnt lasagna and asphalt.
They also offer the flavored coffees like Chocolate Truffle or Sugar Cookie or Macaroon Mint. They have tons of these varities and they all suck. Maybe if I coached a male synchronized swim team, these flavors would be more enticing. But I don't.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Metropolitan Grill RETRACTION
A while back I wrote a very complimentary review about this new restaurant in town, The Met Grill. I've returned on 3 occassions and all 3 times this place absolutely SUCKED for a variety of reasons. It took some time but I have learned my lesson and will not be returning. Alright, here comes the onslaught. If you are sensitive to profanity I suggest closing this window immediately.
The first time I went with Amanda, the service and the food were decent. The second time, I invited my friend B.J. Even though there were a few open tables, they sat us in the back corner. Regrettably, no one decided to wait on us. We probably waited for 20 minutes before someone came over and offered to get us a beverage. Our server (I won't use female or male tags becuase there are only 3 servers) explained that they were a little confused because they were "short-staffed" and didn't know whose section we were in. So rather than saying anything at all, they just ignored us. This wasn't that big of a deal as I hadn't seen B.J. in some time and it was good to catch up. Anyway, the server finally came and took our orders and eventually we got our food which was ok. I had the portablla chicken hoagie and she had a turkey melt. Her sandwich was fair and mine was good. Despite the lunch running over it wasn't entirely bad.
The second time I went, I met G Max the day after the Stones show at PNC. Much to my surprise, a woman we all know and love (J.A.D.) sat next to us along with a couple of her co-workers. G Max arrived and ordered a steak salad and I had the prime rib sandwich and a side salad. G Max's food came and then mine arrived about 8 minutes later. Unfortunately, when it did arrive, there was no salad. Instead I received fries. This apparently would become a common theme - the dictatorial power of the servers over their customers. I thought about complaining but opted not to. Most likely because I might have to wait 15 more minutes to get the side salad. I also was afraid the server would get flustered and decide that he/she had to sit down at the table and eat the fries one by one. By the way, their fries aren't that great - odd that they would impose their will with regard to mandatory fries. Maybe they should call them freedom fries and go for the ironic twist. Anyway, G Max's salad was fair and my prime rib sandwich was slightly above average. I did order a coke to drink and it was exceptional. By the way, I neglected to mention that none of the servers have ever come by and ask how everything is. They just assume that things are ok. Or even worse yet, they're afraid that something might be poor and they'll have to deal with it. All in all, it wasn't a horrbible meal. Just more poor service and fair food.
Alright! Yesterday, Heather and I ate there. This was the final straw. I got there at 11:57 and was immediately greeted by our server. He asked if he could get me anything and I said a water with lemon. Within 2 minutes, I'm drinking my water. Heather arrives at 12:03. We would sit and wait for the next 30 minutes with absolutely no contact from anyone. I'm not kidding - 30 fucking minutes. We just sat there in disbelief. Heather wanted to call over the stoic hostess but I urged her not to. I was convinced that things would resolve themselves. I was entirely mistaken. All of a sudden, there's some mini-commotion outside the restaurant. I man comes in and asks for a chair and rushes back outside. Then I watch our server head to the front door. This was the first time we saw him since I got my water - about 32 minutes ago. He comes back in and is helping move this old black lady whose knees are bandaged up. This woman could hardly move - I suspect she had blood clots. Anyway, they sit her down in front of the whole restaurant and get her a glass of water. She was in really bad shape. I thought to myself, maybe if I had a seizure, I could get the attention of somebody and we could at least order the meal and/or Heather could get something to drink. Then the ambulance comes and they wheel her out right in front of us. After another 5 minutes, I signal to the hostess that we're ready to order. The hostess isn't even remotely apologetic or concerned. Strange, because she's been standing next to our inactive table for over half an hour. Anyway, Heather requests a water (from the hostess) and she says that our server will be right with us. 2 minutes later, he appears. Staying consistent, he doesn't even remotely apologize for the wait. He just looks at us with this oafish daze and asks, "So, are you ready to order?" We're exasperated but manage to place the order. Heather got a pizza and I got a chicken portabella hoagie with a side salad. He asks, "What kind of dressing would you like?" and I respond with the balsamic viniagrette. Now, another lengthy wait is ahead of us. I'd say it was another 27 minutes before we got our food. But here's the deal, we really didn't get our food. Heather is agitated becuase she sees her pizza just sitting on the ledge. He comes back over and says it will be a few more minutes. I actually contemplate just getting up and leaving. This is unheard of because I'm never one to complain about poor service, but this was getting ridiculous. In fact, it was so bad it became borderline amusing. Anyway, he brings over the food and, lo and behold, I get the sandwich, but once again, it has fries. I'm blown away that this same incident repeated itself. I politely mention that I ordered a side salad not fries, and he says, "Oh yeah, it comes with fries. Your side salad will be right out." Then, he disappears. I want to look at him and say, "You must think I'm a complete idiot." I figure, oh well, maybe I'll just get the salad to go at the end of the meal and eat it later. Heather mentions that she got her side salad at the end of the meal on a different occassion. I wonder, what the fuck is wrong with this place. I'm pretty hungry, so I'm just like fuck it and start to eat. Heather's pizza is room temperature because it sat on the ledge so long. I seriously doubt I'll even get the salad. Anyway, we scarf down the food (it's about 1:17pm). Our waiter isn't really interested in us. He never shows up to see how things are (the only thing that seems to be consistent with this place - a refusal of the wait staff to function as real waiters). We have to ask the hostess (who incidentally smiles about as much as Mr. Burns on The Simpsons) for a box. She did however refill our water glasses without us asking - a task well outside her specifically assigned duties.
Our waiter finally returns with the check and dorkilly asks, "So, how was everything?" He won't even acknowledge the salad fiasco. I imagine he thought that if he played dumb, I wouldn't remember the nonexistent salad. I look at him and I say, "Honestly" - he replies, "Oh yeah, you can tell me." Before I could get a word out, Heather says, "My pizza was cold." He says, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'll take care of it" and bolts off into the distance. Heather feels awkward about complaining and decides to exit before he returns. He comes back with a check for $5.30. That was the cost of my incorrect meal. He did eliminate the cost of the pizza altogether which was pretty cool, I guess. To be honest, I was surprised he took any action. Anyway, I crumpled two five dollar bills and stuffed them in the bill jacket. I figured that even though the service was atrocious and the order was wrong and the pizza was cold, at least it was entertaining. But then again, a suicide bomber in Gaza could also be deemed entertaining - it just depends on your perspective.
I still think the food is pretty good but the service at this place is so bad, it cannot be overlooked. They just seem to have this deliberate disregard for the customers.
This is important to note - J.B. works at this place behind the bar. He has NEVER waited on us. I don't want anyone reading this to think that he's the waiter I'm referring to. To be blunt, he might be the only one in the entire place who does give a damn.
The first time I went with Amanda, the service and the food were decent. The second time, I invited my friend B.J. Even though there were a few open tables, they sat us in the back corner. Regrettably, no one decided to wait on us. We probably waited for 20 minutes before someone came over and offered to get us a beverage. Our server (I won't use female or male tags becuase there are only 3 servers) explained that they were a little confused because they were "short-staffed" and didn't know whose section we were in. So rather than saying anything at all, they just ignored us. This wasn't that big of a deal as I hadn't seen B.J. in some time and it was good to catch up. Anyway, the server finally came and took our orders and eventually we got our food which was ok. I had the portablla chicken hoagie and she had a turkey melt. Her sandwich was fair and mine was good. Despite the lunch running over it wasn't entirely bad.
The second time I went, I met G Max the day after the Stones show at PNC. Much to my surprise, a woman we all know and love (J.A.D.) sat next to us along with a couple of her co-workers. G Max arrived and ordered a steak salad and I had the prime rib sandwich and a side salad. G Max's food came and then mine arrived about 8 minutes later. Unfortunately, when it did arrive, there was no salad. Instead I received fries. This apparently would become a common theme - the dictatorial power of the servers over their customers. I thought about complaining but opted not to. Most likely because I might have to wait 15 more minutes to get the side salad. I also was afraid the server would get flustered and decide that he/she had to sit down at the table and eat the fries one by one. By the way, their fries aren't that great - odd that they would impose their will with regard to mandatory fries. Maybe they should call them freedom fries and go for the ironic twist. Anyway, G Max's salad was fair and my prime rib sandwich was slightly above average. I did order a coke to drink and it was exceptional. By the way, I neglected to mention that none of the servers have ever come by and ask how everything is. They just assume that things are ok. Or even worse yet, they're afraid that something might be poor and they'll have to deal with it. All in all, it wasn't a horrbible meal. Just more poor service and fair food.
Alright! Yesterday, Heather and I ate there. This was the final straw. I got there at 11:57 and was immediately greeted by our server. He asked if he could get me anything and I said a water with lemon. Within 2 minutes, I'm drinking my water. Heather arrives at 12:03. We would sit and wait for the next 30 minutes with absolutely no contact from anyone. I'm not kidding - 30 fucking minutes. We just sat there in disbelief. Heather wanted to call over the stoic hostess but I urged her not to. I was convinced that things would resolve themselves. I was entirely mistaken. All of a sudden, there's some mini-commotion outside the restaurant. I man comes in and asks for a chair and rushes back outside. Then I watch our server head to the front door. This was the first time we saw him since I got my water - about 32 minutes ago. He comes back in and is helping move this old black lady whose knees are bandaged up. This woman could hardly move - I suspect she had blood clots. Anyway, they sit her down in front of the whole restaurant and get her a glass of water. She was in really bad shape. I thought to myself, maybe if I had a seizure, I could get the attention of somebody and we could at least order the meal and/or Heather could get something to drink. Then the ambulance comes and they wheel her out right in front of us. After another 5 minutes, I signal to the hostess that we're ready to order. The hostess isn't even remotely apologetic or concerned. Strange, because she's been standing next to our inactive table for over half an hour. Anyway, Heather requests a water (from the hostess) and she says that our server will be right with us. 2 minutes later, he appears. Staying consistent, he doesn't even remotely apologize for the wait. He just looks at us with this oafish daze and asks, "So, are you ready to order?" We're exasperated but manage to place the order. Heather got a pizza and I got a chicken portabella hoagie with a side salad. He asks, "What kind of dressing would you like?" and I respond with the balsamic viniagrette. Now, another lengthy wait is ahead of us. I'd say it was another 27 minutes before we got our food. But here's the deal, we really didn't get our food. Heather is agitated becuase she sees her pizza just sitting on the ledge. He comes back over and says it will be a few more minutes. I actually contemplate just getting up and leaving. This is unheard of because I'm never one to complain about poor service, but this was getting ridiculous. In fact, it was so bad it became borderline amusing. Anyway, he brings over the food and, lo and behold, I get the sandwich, but once again, it has fries. I'm blown away that this same incident repeated itself. I politely mention that I ordered a side salad not fries, and he says, "Oh yeah, it comes with fries. Your side salad will be right out." Then, he disappears. I want to look at him and say, "You must think I'm a complete idiot." I figure, oh well, maybe I'll just get the salad to go at the end of the meal and eat it later. Heather mentions that she got her side salad at the end of the meal on a different occassion. I wonder, what the fuck is wrong with this place. I'm pretty hungry, so I'm just like fuck it and start to eat. Heather's pizza is room temperature because it sat on the ledge so long. I seriously doubt I'll even get the salad. Anyway, we scarf down the food (it's about 1:17pm). Our waiter isn't really interested in us. He never shows up to see how things are (the only thing that seems to be consistent with this place - a refusal of the wait staff to function as real waiters). We have to ask the hostess (who incidentally smiles about as much as Mr. Burns on The Simpsons) for a box. She did however refill our water glasses without us asking - a task well outside her specifically assigned duties.
Our waiter finally returns with the check and dorkilly asks, "So, how was everything?" He won't even acknowledge the salad fiasco. I imagine he thought that if he played dumb, I wouldn't remember the nonexistent salad. I look at him and I say, "Honestly" - he replies, "Oh yeah, you can tell me." Before I could get a word out, Heather says, "My pizza was cold." He says, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'll take care of it" and bolts off into the distance. Heather feels awkward about complaining and decides to exit before he returns. He comes back with a check for $5.30. That was the cost of my incorrect meal. He did eliminate the cost of the pizza altogether which was pretty cool, I guess. To be honest, I was surprised he took any action. Anyway, I crumpled two five dollar bills and stuffed them in the bill jacket. I figured that even though the service was atrocious and the order was wrong and the pizza was cold, at least it was entertaining. But then again, a suicide bomber in Gaza could also be deemed entertaining - it just depends on your perspective.
I still think the food is pretty good but the service at this place is so bad, it cannot be overlooked. They just seem to have this deliberate disregard for the customers.
This is important to note - J.B. works at this place behind the bar. He has NEVER waited on us. I don't want anyone reading this to think that he's the waiter I'm referring to. To be blunt, he might be the only one in the entire place who does give a damn.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Stones/Pearl Jam - PNC Park
I drove 4 of the "regulars" to the Rolling Stones/Pearl Jam show last night. Obviously, this was a BIG one. I take that back. It was THE BIG ONE. I snagged them early but they opted for drinks in Robinson township before the show. I was a little worried but we got basicaly got there at crunch time. Everybody had already parked so the ride in was surprisingly effortless. I dropped them off and then parked the limo about 3/4 mile in the distance. I booked down to the stadium and briefly hooked up with Josh, Jess, Fuzz and G Max. The band had just started with the song "GO". There were plenty of extra tix, as expected. I asked a few people - one woman was adamant that she wanted $400. I replied, "C'mon let's go $20." She was not amused. I ran into my scalping buddy Brian and he set me up with a single from one of his other scalper buddies. Boom! 20 bucks! I think he did it more as a favor. I always set him up with food/water/beer at Starlake. This has to have been a first - with droves of extra tix in the parking lot, I bought mine from a black guy. Ironic.
Anyway, G Max and I went to the lower level directly opposite the stage. Good view, good seats. Since this is primarily a restaurant review column, I'll refer to the quality of seats we had in terms of chain restaurants. These lower level seats were probably $125 or so. I'd call them Outback Steakhouse seats. Anyway, Pearl Jam rocked as they always do. They played a sugarcoated set that lasted exactly 1 hour 7 minutes. They tended to play mostly their video hits, most of which I don't really care for (Black, Jeremy, Animal, Better Man). My favorite tunes were Alive and Corduroy. But I think they wanted to keep things a little familiar since most people were there for the Stones. Pearl Jam had a pretty big turnout of fans as well - pockets of them all over the ballpark. I'd say it was about 72% Stones/28% Pearl Jam. Needless to say, they closed with Rockin in the Free World which got everybody up. I think most of the older Stones fans began to realize just how much these guys rock.
Anyway, me and G Max went to see where the others seats were - Section 301. I made it up there and was in disbelief - I told them that these were the worst seats in the entire place. You couldn't see any portion of the big screen. Then, I softened my stance because there was about 12 rows behind them. So they were in the 12th worst row of the entire stadium. Not the place you want to be for the BIG one. Josh seemed to come around. The others opted to stay behind - comparable to riding out Hurricane Rita. Oh, I forgot - These seats were Elby's (I'm talking a vacant one 4 years after they went out of business). Anyway, I pointed to some good chunks of seats down below. Josh said he was going to make the move. Oddly enough, after having ridiculed the seats, I was like, cool let's roll - then, I started walking further up to the even shittier seats. Josh amusingly beckoned me and I quickly turned around. I think I was still in a daze from the opening act.
Anyway, we make it down to the first level about 20 rows up. Back to the good seats - let's call them Olive Garden. We sat around for awhile and strategized about how to get on the floor. They were checking tix very carefully. We were hoping for a surge but none was in sight. G Max went to about the 7th row off the floor. This would become the staging area - let's say Cheesecake Factory. We had a variety of ideas about how to get down. I suggested the double beer approach - just have your hands full and nod and say "It's cool, we're over there." That idea was dismissed - probably because that second large draft would have gotten pretty warm. Then, I offered the "Let's just discreetly hand him a five dollar bill approach." This one never even got off the ground. I think we were both hoping for a surge when the lights went out. Crunch time was approaching. Then, I noticed that a few people weren't showing their tix, just their hand stamp. I carefully examined the hand stamp of a floor goer. It was a simple light green circle. I started asking if anyone had a marker or a pen. The girl next to me offered an ink pen and a black sharpie. Which one should we go with? This was a tough one. G Max opted for the pen and I agreed. I adorned his hand with a circle and he went for the smear approach. Good move, G Max. Then, the lights went out. I quickly did mine and handed the pen back to the girl. I think she thought we were nuts. The girl behind us thought it was crazy we were from West Virginia. She laughed uncontrollably about the usual themes - incest, trailors, blah. Then I told her that 2 days ago, there was a man arrested in nearby Lafferty, Ohio for having sex with a neighbor's dog. This was on the FRONT PAGE. That really sent her into hysterics.
Anyway, I looked at G max and I was like it's now or never. Let's Roll. He said, ok, lead the way. I was like, fuck it Wolfman Bezerker style. We both zipped down the steps and showed the guy our temporary tattoos. BOOM! On the floor. Not even the slightest problem. We briefly celebrated and made our way to the back of the floor. We found a partially open section that was near perfect. These were probably the $250 seats. I'd say they were The Biltmore. For those of you who don't know, that's a wicked, upscale restaurant/resort in Scottsdale, AZ. We watched about 6 tunes and then went to take a piss. In the shuffle, I lost G max. Regrettably, I planned to leave aorund the 12th tune or so and make my trek back to the limo. I decided to look for Josh, just in case he was back at the Cheesecake Factory. Sure enough, there he was. I told him how we got on the floor and he was amused and eager. I found the same girl with the pen and we marked him up. I'm like, just follow me to the promised land, much like Moses leading the Israelites. Once again, smooth sailing. We went back to the Biltmore but G Max was nowhere in sight. I'd later learn that he made his way to the front area through a slight hole in the fence. Stuck around for 2 more songs and then had to bolt. I grudgingly left and snagged the limo. There must have been about 140 limos all jockeying for position. I'd never seen that many in my life. And there were still more parked up from the stadium. I picked up the crew at the home plate club with perfect timing and we made it through the mess of jubilant fans in 10 minutes. Outta there - West End, 279 South, 79 South, 70 West. Home in an hour. Then, the limo malfunctioned in Woodsdale, but that's a whole different story and this blogger is exhausted. PEACE
Other rankings (scale of 1-100):
Scalping - didn't have the time.
Parking - controlled chaos. These idiot parking attendants are still on strike. Kind of like the George Costanza line - "THESE PRETZELS ARE MAKING ME THIRSTY!"
Stones - sounded great for a bunch of 60 years olds. Let's give them an 88.
Pearl Jam - I'm biased. The best opener of the tour. My favorite touring rock band. Even though they played a pretty boring short set. Sounded great though - 93.
Tailgating - didn't have the time and it's irrelevant because I'm the designated driver.
The Stage show - The clear winner. 99 - I've never seen anything like it and I've seen a few stadium shows in my time.
To sum it up:
This show made me realize that you can always get what you want.
Anyway, G Max and I went to the lower level directly opposite the stage. Good view, good seats. Since this is primarily a restaurant review column, I'll refer to the quality of seats we had in terms of chain restaurants. These lower level seats were probably $125 or so. I'd call them Outback Steakhouse seats. Anyway, Pearl Jam rocked as they always do. They played a sugarcoated set that lasted exactly 1 hour 7 minutes. They tended to play mostly their video hits, most of which I don't really care for (Black, Jeremy, Animal, Better Man). My favorite tunes were Alive and Corduroy. But I think they wanted to keep things a little familiar since most people were there for the Stones. Pearl Jam had a pretty big turnout of fans as well - pockets of them all over the ballpark. I'd say it was about 72% Stones/28% Pearl Jam. Needless to say, they closed with Rockin in the Free World which got everybody up. I think most of the older Stones fans began to realize just how much these guys rock.
Anyway, me and G Max went to see where the others seats were - Section 301. I made it up there and was in disbelief - I told them that these were the worst seats in the entire place. You couldn't see any portion of the big screen. Then, I softened my stance because there was about 12 rows behind them. So they were in the 12th worst row of the entire stadium. Not the place you want to be for the BIG one. Josh seemed to come around. The others opted to stay behind - comparable to riding out Hurricane Rita. Oh, I forgot - These seats were Elby's (I'm talking a vacant one 4 years after they went out of business). Anyway, I pointed to some good chunks of seats down below. Josh said he was going to make the move. Oddly enough, after having ridiculed the seats, I was like, cool let's roll - then, I started walking further up to the even shittier seats. Josh amusingly beckoned me and I quickly turned around. I think I was still in a daze from the opening act.
Anyway, we make it down to the first level about 20 rows up. Back to the good seats - let's call them Olive Garden. We sat around for awhile and strategized about how to get on the floor. They were checking tix very carefully. We were hoping for a surge but none was in sight. G Max went to about the 7th row off the floor. This would become the staging area - let's say Cheesecake Factory. We had a variety of ideas about how to get down. I suggested the double beer approach - just have your hands full and nod and say "It's cool, we're over there." That idea was dismissed - probably because that second large draft would have gotten pretty warm. Then, I offered the "Let's just discreetly hand him a five dollar bill approach." This one never even got off the ground. I think we were both hoping for a surge when the lights went out. Crunch time was approaching. Then, I noticed that a few people weren't showing their tix, just their hand stamp. I carefully examined the hand stamp of a floor goer. It was a simple light green circle. I started asking if anyone had a marker or a pen. The girl next to me offered an ink pen and a black sharpie. Which one should we go with? This was a tough one. G Max opted for the pen and I agreed. I adorned his hand with a circle and he went for the smear approach. Good move, G Max. Then, the lights went out. I quickly did mine and handed the pen back to the girl. I think she thought we were nuts. The girl behind us thought it was crazy we were from West Virginia. She laughed uncontrollably about the usual themes - incest, trailors, blah. Then I told her that 2 days ago, there was a man arrested in nearby Lafferty, Ohio for having sex with a neighbor's dog. This was on the FRONT PAGE. That really sent her into hysterics.
Anyway, I looked at G max and I was like it's now or never. Let's Roll. He said, ok, lead the way. I was like, fuck it Wolfman Bezerker style. We both zipped down the steps and showed the guy our temporary tattoos. BOOM! On the floor. Not even the slightest problem. We briefly celebrated and made our way to the back of the floor. We found a partially open section that was near perfect. These were probably the $250 seats. I'd say they were The Biltmore. For those of you who don't know, that's a wicked, upscale restaurant/resort in Scottsdale, AZ. We watched about 6 tunes and then went to take a piss. In the shuffle, I lost G max. Regrettably, I planned to leave aorund the 12th tune or so and make my trek back to the limo. I decided to look for Josh, just in case he was back at the Cheesecake Factory. Sure enough, there he was. I told him how we got on the floor and he was amused and eager. I found the same girl with the pen and we marked him up. I'm like, just follow me to the promised land, much like Moses leading the Israelites. Once again, smooth sailing. We went back to the Biltmore but G Max was nowhere in sight. I'd later learn that he made his way to the front area through a slight hole in the fence. Stuck around for 2 more songs and then had to bolt. I grudgingly left and snagged the limo. There must have been about 140 limos all jockeying for position. I'd never seen that many in my life. And there were still more parked up from the stadium. I picked up the crew at the home plate club with perfect timing and we made it through the mess of jubilant fans in 10 minutes. Outta there - West End, 279 South, 79 South, 70 West. Home in an hour. Then, the limo malfunctioned in Woodsdale, but that's a whole different story and this blogger is exhausted. PEACE
Other rankings (scale of 1-100):
Scalping - didn't have the time.
Parking - controlled chaos. These idiot parking attendants are still on strike. Kind of like the George Costanza line - "THESE PRETZELS ARE MAKING ME THIRSTY!"
Stones - sounded great for a bunch of 60 years olds. Let's give them an 88.
Pearl Jam - I'm biased. The best opener of the tour. My favorite touring rock band. Even though they played a pretty boring short set. Sounded great though - 93.
Tailgating - didn't have the time and it's irrelevant because I'm the designated driver.
The Stage show - The clear winner. 99 - I've never seen anything like it and I've seen a few stadium shows in my time.
To sum it up:
This show made me realize that you can always get what you want.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Metropolitan Grill
Sometimes I take a little heat for the hostility expressed in this restaurant review blog. Random strangers approach me and say, "Saf, your reviews are caustic and biting." I swear, those are their exact words. Well, there is a new restaurant in town and it is the best establishment that Wheeling has ever seen. My only real complaint is that the entity known as Wheeling doesn't deserve a restaurant of this caliber. The only thing Wheeling deserves is extra ranch with their fuckin' wing dings. The words "fine dining" and "Wheeling" have never been compatible, UNTIL NOW.
Apparently, the head chef from the Wheeling Downs decided to open his own place. He remodeled the old Lanos Kraus Deli on Chapline and did a fantastic job. The set-up is spectacular. Once again, the only problem is that this place is too good for the Wheeling moronathons. They'll probably start picketing the place. Their demands - more bologna and olive loaf sandwich offerings. Extra ketchup, damnit!
Anyway, Amanda and I ate there yesterday. The place was packed but we got there early, so it wasn't an issue. Off in the corner was the President of the Lunchables and his crew. The President shirked his responsibilities so everyone had to sit all cramped together at the bar. Anyway, that's pretty much irrelevant.
The service and ambience were professional and exceptional. The food was fantastic. Finally, a house salad without a clump of iceberg that resembles the thing that brought down Titanic. Great house dressing too - just a simple balsamic viniagrette. Amanda had the shrimp pasta and I had this artichoke/salmon pasta concoction. Both were really strong. We also had an appetizer of stuffed banana peppers which were very potent. I could go on indefinitely about just how good this place is but I'd rather focus on the more pressing issue - Wheeling doesn't deserve this place. 82% of the people who live in this area are complete idiots. They embrace Perkins just like Sally Struthers used to care for those starving Ethiopian kids. They crave Bob Evans much in the same way that a Catholic priest craves young boys. Simply put, we as a people, aren't deserving of this place. We aren't good enough. Now that's a tough and unpopular stance, but I'm sticking with it. The Met Grill rocks and we suck. If this place goes out of business, I will weep uncontrollably and then I shall atone for the sins of Wheeling.
Apparently, the head chef from the Wheeling Downs decided to open his own place. He remodeled the old Lanos Kraus Deli on Chapline and did a fantastic job. The set-up is spectacular. Once again, the only problem is that this place is too good for the Wheeling moronathons. They'll probably start picketing the place. Their demands - more bologna and olive loaf sandwich offerings. Extra ketchup, damnit!
Anyway, Amanda and I ate there yesterday. The place was packed but we got there early, so it wasn't an issue. Off in the corner was the President of the Lunchables and his crew. The President shirked his responsibilities so everyone had to sit all cramped together at the bar. Anyway, that's pretty much irrelevant.
The service and ambience were professional and exceptional. The food was fantastic. Finally, a house salad without a clump of iceberg that resembles the thing that brought down Titanic. Great house dressing too - just a simple balsamic viniagrette. Amanda had the shrimp pasta and I had this artichoke/salmon pasta concoction. Both were really strong. We also had an appetizer of stuffed banana peppers which were very potent. I could go on indefinitely about just how good this place is but I'd rather focus on the more pressing issue - Wheeling doesn't deserve this place. 82% of the people who live in this area are complete idiots. They embrace Perkins just like Sally Struthers used to care for those starving Ethiopian kids. They crave Bob Evans much in the same way that a Catholic priest craves young boys. Simply put, we as a people, aren't deserving of this place. We aren't good enough. Now that's a tough and unpopular stance, but I'm sticking with it. The Met Grill rocks and we suck. If this place goes out of business, I will weep uncontrollably and then I shall atone for the sins of Wheeling.
Friday, September 16, 2005
"I'd Rather Go Back To Work"
These were the cries of Jenn D. as she departed the Sternwheeler Festival. G Max, the current tyrannical despot of The Lunchables, insisted we go to The Sternwheeler Fest for lunch today. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this Wheeling Festival, I'll try to hazard an explanation. Once a year about 20 boats dock in downtown Wheeling. In a feeble attempt to emulate Crockett from Miami Vice, these morons ride their boats down the Ohio River and set up shop in Wheeling. It is site of the former Wharf Parking Garage where they congregate and tell exciting tales of their journey. How they navigated the turbulent waters, the giant carp they caught last night, and the closest place to buy a case of cheap beer - these all become stories of yore. If you want, you can board their vessels. This can become a little dangerous. I mean really, you're knocking on their front door like a Jehovah's Witness, basically begging to come aboard and inspect their homes. You'd think these boat people would welcome you with open arms. Wrong. It's kind of like auditioning for American Idol and being ridiculed by that Simon dude, except the boat people are drunk and somewhat hostile. Their collective sneers are the one thing that seems to unite them.
But hey, this is really about the food. An allegiant throng of 4 people showed up for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. G Max, Jenn D., Heather and myself showed up at a pre-determined meeting place. Everyone was punctual - at least one of my earlier sticking points was adhered to. We strolled through about 20 vendors. I bought a gyro from one of those carnie stands and Jenn D. & G Max got sausage sandwiches from Tambellinis. Heather got some kind of shells & cheese concoction. We settled down at a table where a lone retarded women was sitting on the end. This red-headed woman, you might refer to her as the red-headed retard, quickly departed. Incidentally, she was wearing an unflattering red t-shirt as well. She looked upon me with the same disdain I would later get from the gawking boat people - a look of just absolute, unbridled, unwavering disgust. Anyway, as G Max started to peel back the labia-like casing from his sausage sandwich, I looked at the women folk who seemed a bit distracted from the heat. Both Jenn and Heather seemed to enjoy their respective meals. G Max stammered, "Mmmmm" and then complained about the lack of water. My gyro was, well let's just call it the patron sandwich of mediocrity.
All in all, not a glowing review for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. I say it's time to elect a new leader. One with a little more inspiration and vision, one who will lead us boldly, where no one has dined before. G Max was only concerned about one thing - dumping some Time Warner securities. Is this who we want to control our collective destiny? I say FUCK NO. The uprising will start early next week. By Wednesday, I should be back in control of the minions. Seriously, if were up to G Max, he'd have us eating Matzah (unleavened bread) as we flee Benwood. Well I may be a some kind atheist self-hating Jew, but he ain't no Pharoah and I will not bow down to him or any other self-annointed God.
The only highlight that comes to mind was the "free hand sanitizers" in the Port-a-Cleans. If it were up to G Max and his bean-counterism, he'd have imposed some kind of hand-washing tariff on the Port-o-Crappers.
I neglected to mention that Heather and G Max both purchased over-sized Italian Ices. If I recall, Heather got blackberry and G Max got Pina Colada.
So, let's break it down (scale of 1-100):
Sternwheeler Fest - SUCKED
Heather's heel - broke
Heather panites - nonexistent
G Max's leadership as President of The Lunchables - I think that has been adequately covered
Gyro - 62
Tambellinis - 88
Free water from Wheeling Hospital - Refreshing
Red-headed Retard - moronic but not entirely offensive, 38
Boat People - 12
Heather's shrill rendition of some Pat Benatar song - 72
The dumpster in front of her song and dance routine - STUNK
But hey, this is really about the food. An allegiant throng of 4 people showed up for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. G Max, Jenn D., Heather and myself showed up at a pre-determined meeting place. Everyone was punctual - at least one of my earlier sticking points was adhered to. We strolled through about 20 vendors. I bought a gyro from one of those carnie stands and Jenn D. & G Max got sausage sandwiches from Tambellinis. Heather got some kind of shells & cheese concoction. We settled down at a table where a lone retarded women was sitting on the end. This red-headed woman, you might refer to her as the red-headed retard, quickly departed. Incidentally, she was wearing an unflattering red t-shirt as well. She looked upon me with the same disdain I would later get from the gawking boat people - a look of just absolute, unbridled, unwavering disgust. Anyway, as G Max started to peel back the labia-like casing from his sausage sandwich, I looked at the women folk who seemed a bit distracted from the heat. Both Jenn and Heather seemed to enjoy their respective meals. G Max stammered, "Mmmmm" and then complained about the lack of water. My gyro was, well let's just call it the patron sandwich of mediocrity.
All in all, not a glowing review for the first ever meeting of The Lunchables. I say it's time to elect a new leader. One with a little more inspiration and vision, one who will lead us boldly, where no one has dined before. G Max was only concerned about one thing - dumping some Time Warner securities. Is this who we want to control our collective destiny? I say FUCK NO. The uprising will start early next week. By Wednesday, I should be back in control of the minions. Seriously, if were up to G Max, he'd have us eating Matzah (unleavened bread) as we flee Benwood. Well I may be a some kind atheist self-hating Jew, but he ain't no Pharoah and I will not bow down to him or any other self-annointed God.
The only highlight that comes to mind was the "free hand sanitizers" in the Port-a-Cleans. If it were up to G Max and his bean-counterism, he'd have imposed some kind of hand-washing tariff on the Port-o-Crappers.
I neglected to mention that Heather and G Max both purchased over-sized Italian Ices. If I recall, Heather got blackberry and G Max got Pina Colada.
So, let's break it down (scale of 1-100):
Sternwheeler Fest - SUCKED
Heather's heel - broke
Heather panites - nonexistent
G Max's leadership as President of The Lunchables - I think that has been adequately covered
Gyro - 62
Tambellinis - 88
Free water from Wheeling Hospital - Refreshing
Red-headed Retard - moronic but not entirely offensive, 38
Boat People - 12
Heather's shrill rendition of some Pat Benatar song - 72
The dumpster in front of her song and dance routine - STUNK
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Backstreet Boys
A couple weeks ago, I took 5 teenagers (3 girls and 2 boys) as well as 2 moms to the Backstreet Boys concert at Starlake. We got a late 6pm start and bolted up. The ride up was noneventful. We entered the vacant parking lot right before 7pm. I asked one of the lot guys what the attendance was for this pavilion only show - he replied about 3,500. How depressing - their management should have booked them at Chevy Ampitheatre. Tix were pretty expensive and the 2 moms dished me out 2 freebies - which I sold below face for a grand total of $50.00. I was lucky to even find people to buy them. I decided not to go into the show. Instead, I hung out with the other limo drivers. The band really didn't sound that bad. They aren't really boys - I think they're all in their 30's. It slowly dawned on me that this show was a great place for a pedophile. Three thousand teens screaming in misguided ecstacy. Anyway, I set out to find the lone pedophile. Indeed, I found him near the end of the show walking up the steps. He was a balding dude in his late 40's. He had that weird, glazed look and that humpty dumpty persona which lends itself to the molestation process. I asked him what he thought of the show and he said it was fantastic. He'd never had such a good time but wanted to leave early so he could beat the rush. I said, "What rush? This is the weakest parking lot Starlake's seen all year" and he said, "Starlake??? This place is called the Post Gazette."
Anyway, the kids came back to the limo and were much more exuberant. Lots of yelling and screaming, cranking of the radio, and endless bickering about who farted. They informed me that they wanted to go to McDonalds. I had this ominous premonition about taking the limo through the drive thru at the Three Springs exit but I obliged them. My deepest fears turned into reality when the one kid started to place the order. All of this was totally haphazard. Absolute confusion. Everyone started chiming in with what they wanted. McFlurry! Cheeseburger with no onions! Large Fry! One blurted out McDogcrap. The poor McDonald girl looked at me with disgust as though I was to blame. I felt totally helpless. Then, the same kid looked at the girl and said (and I quote), "Keep the change, dollface." The entire limo errupted. Both moms in hysterics while simutaneously singing a Backstreet Boys song but substituting in the new lyrics about the dollface and her predisposition towards retaining the surplus cash. I bolted out of the drive thru and got back on 22. As expected, they were missing one of the sandwiches. However, they seemed to weather that storm. The entire ride home, the volume knob on the stereo fluctuated more than John Kerry's campaign tactics in 2004.
We finally made it to Woodsdale and they insisted on tipping me an extra 20 bucks event though I assured them that the 2 freebie tix were sufficient.
Reflecting on the negativity in this concert review, you'd think I had a bad time. But I kind of enjoyed that night. Sometimes I like to experience the annoying side of life. A little like that old Saved By The Bell episode where a young Screech gets his heart broken and a nurturing Miss Bliss plays the role of counseler. For that one special night, I became their Miss Bliss.
Anyway, the kids came back to the limo and were much more exuberant. Lots of yelling and screaming, cranking of the radio, and endless bickering about who farted. They informed me that they wanted to go to McDonalds. I had this ominous premonition about taking the limo through the drive thru at the Three Springs exit but I obliged them. My deepest fears turned into reality when the one kid started to place the order. All of this was totally haphazard. Absolute confusion. Everyone started chiming in with what they wanted. McFlurry! Cheeseburger with no onions! Large Fry! One blurted out McDogcrap. The poor McDonald girl looked at me with disgust as though I was to blame. I felt totally helpless. Then, the same kid looked at the girl and said (and I quote), "Keep the change, dollface." The entire limo errupted. Both moms in hysterics while simutaneously singing a Backstreet Boys song but substituting in the new lyrics about the dollface and her predisposition towards retaining the surplus cash. I bolted out of the drive thru and got back on 22. As expected, they were missing one of the sandwiches. However, they seemed to weather that storm. The entire ride home, the volume knob on the stereo fluctuated more than John Kerry's campaign tactics in 2004.
We finally made it to Woodsdale and they insisted on tipping me an extra 20 bucks event though I assured them that the 2 freebie tix were sufficient.
Reflecting on the negativity in this concert review, you'd think I had a bad time. But I kind of enjoyed that night. Sometimes I like to experience the annoying side of life. A little like that old Saved By The Bell episode where a young Screech gets his heart broken and a nurturing Miss Bliss plays the role of counseler. For that one special night, I became their Miss Bliss.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Coldplay
Went to Coldplay last night. As expected, it was a great show. I'm probably going to the Columbus one as well at the end of the month.
I've entered into a new phase of grilling. I like to call it "All Shrimp". The only problem is the grill. My Fire'n'Ice grill doesn't seem to get hot enough. Perhaps it is the quality of the propane although that seems unlikely. I'm going to buy the high-end Coleman canisters from now on rather than the generic stuff. I think that could make all the difference. Shrimp should not take 20 minutes. More like 3 minutes per side. Regardless, they were pretty good. That's definitely the way to go - shrimp kabob madness. Heather dropped one on the ground but remedied the situation by picking it up and dumping beer all over it. Then, she ate it. I was in disbelief - I can't belive she consumed the soiled kabob.
Should have scalped last night. Could have made a killing. There were tons of extras and a really nice mild flow to the box office. Should have spent more time in the pavillion seat as well.
Coldplay gets a 93. Great performance.
I've entered into a new phase of grilling. I like to call it "All Shrimp". The only problem is the grill. My Fire'n'Ice grill doesn't seem to get hot enough. Perhaps it is the quality of the propane although that seems unlikely. I'm going to buy the high-end Coleman canisters from now on rather than the generic stuff. I think that could make all the difference. Shrimp should not take 20 minutes. More like 3 minutes per side. Regardless, they were pretty good. That's definitely the way to go - shrimp kabob madness. Heather dropped one on the ground but remedied the situation by picking it up and dumping beer all over it. Then, she ate it. I was in disbelief - I can't belive she consumed the soiled kabob.
Should have scalped last night. Could have made a killing. There were tons of extras and a really nice mild flow to the box office. Should have spent more time in the pavillion seat as well.
Coldplay gets a 93. Great performance.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Robert Randolph
I'd never seen Robert Randolph and the Family Band until last Sunday. They played a free show at Hartwood Acres. This is a fantastic venue. Great tailgating scene and very good acoustics. I went up with Jenn and Heather and met up with Amanda and Eric who had a good spot right in front of the soundboard.
These guys are from Orange, NJ and a little on the preachy side, but for the most part are just a straight up rock/funk band. Incredibly talented and improvisational. They had the whole place rocking.
Regrettably, there's always a down side. On the way home, Heather wanted to stop at Taco Bell. Instead I offered her some Wild Bill's Beef Jerky. I warned her that it might be challenge to correctly open the bag. She made some derogatory comments about how anal I am and then had the unmitigated temerity to complain after the bag ripped open and would not re-seal. Fortunately, almost the entire bag was consumed on the ride home. Joy.
On an unrelated side-note, the first time I went to Hartwood Acres was with my family when I was about 8 years old. We saw Arlo Hayes and Woody Guthrie. When they played Alice's Restaurant, my mother screeched, "Harold, who's burning tires? It smells like someone's burning tires." My dad responded, "Ssshhh, Dorren, they're smoking pot. Sssshhhhh." Anyway, that was my first experience with marijuana. I've always liked that story.
These guys are from Orange, NJ and a little on the preachy side, but for the most part are just a straight up rock/funk band. Incredibly talented and improvisational. They had the whole place rocking.
Regrettably, there's always a down side. On the way home, Heather wanted to stop at Taco Bell. Instead I offered her some Wild Bill's Beef Jerky. I warned her that it might be challenge to correctly open the bag. She made some derogatory comments about how anal I am and then had the unmitigated temerity to complain after the bag ripped open and would not re-seal. Fortunately, almost the entire bag was consumed on the ride home. Joy.
On an unrelated side-note, the first time I went to Hartwood Acres was with my family when I was about 8 years old. We saw Arlo Hayes and Woody Guthrie. When they played Alice's Restaurant, my mother screeched, "Harold, who's burning tires? It smells like someone's burning tires." My dad responded, "Ssshhh, Dorren, they're smoking pot. Sssshhhhh." Anyway, that was my first experience with marijuana. I've always liked that story.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Widespread
Went to Chevy Ampitheatre again last night. G Max drove. Me, Jenn, Loren and Jess crammed into the refurbished Liberty. The ride up was relatively pleasant. Lots of antagonistic comments - most of them centered around gender issues regarding G Max's chick car. G Max should ignore the infidels. My father is considering purchasing a Rav 4. He likes my mother's Rav 4. I guess you could conclude that my mom and G Max share similar vehicular tastes.
Anyway, Widepsread Panic is one of the most underrated bands of all time. Many of their songs are pretty simple but they manage to make everything jam without going overboard. Come to think of it, they're not only underrated, but totally unassuming as well. Maybe that's what makes them cooler than the endless number of jam bands out there.
Anyway, I missed the first set and the ultimate insult was purchasing my ticket at the box office. No scalping tonight. The competition for cheap tickets was rough. It's hard to compete with the younger generation of dreads. I also received a great deal of negativity directed towards my Seattle Seahawks t-shirt. I'd undertand if I was sporting a Browns, Bengals or Dallas Cowboys shirt, but really, the Seahawks are cool. They've never hurt anyone's feelings. At the end of the night, a random hippie huffing on a balloon came tomy defense and praised the Seahawks.
Brief ratings:
Overall performance - 87
Accessibility of nitrous - 98
Vending scene - 93
Food - 94 (I ate 2 pizza fajita things. They were pretty strong.)
Anyway, Widepsread Panic is one of the most underrated bands of all time. Many of their songs are pretty simple but they manage to make everything jam without going overboard. Come to think of it, they're not only underrated, but totally unassuming as well. Maybe that's what makes them cooler than the endless number of jam bands out there.
Anyway, I missed the first set and the ultimate insult was purchasing my ticket at the box office. No scalping tonight. The competition for cheap tickets was rough. It's hard to compete with the younger generation of dreads. I also received a great deal of negativity directed towards my Seattle Seahawks t-shirt. I'd undertand if I was sporting a Browns, Bengals or Dallas Cowboys shirt, but really, the Seahawks are cool. They've never hurt anyone's feelings. At the end of the night, a random hippie huffing on a balloon came tomy defense and praised the Seahawks.
Brief ratings:
Overall performance - 87
Accessibility of nitrous - 98
Vending scene - 93
Food - 94 (I ate 2 pizza fajita things. They were pretty strong.)
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
changing it up
I have decided to cease and desist all upcoming restaurant reviews. Instead, I'm venturing into semi-unexplored new territory. CONCERT REVIEWS. Two major reasons for the shift in bloggism come to mind. First, after having made 35 restaurant reviews, I just thought it was time for a change. Secondly, let's face it, for the most part, G Max was the only one who ever responded to the venomous tirades.
I think I might be a little better suited to do concert analysis anyway. Some reasons:
1) My new found limo experiences offer a unique (and sober) perspective.
2) Many years in the scalping biz representing the experiences of the minority whitey. My dream is to scalp an appearance by that new German pope. Ahhh, the irony. If he comes to Heinz Field, I'm there.
3) Ability to predict the attendance of any show weeks in advance.
4) Years of dumpster parking offer strong insight into the mind of the average concert-goer.
5) An endless desire to people watch - I don't think that will ever get stale.
6) Fuck it. I've just seen a ton of shows. I'll even go see that Yanni shit or some country music show called the "Do you want fries with that Tour"?
Alright, I think I've made my point. Anyway onto the first review.
Last night I took an Island couple to the Duran Duran show in the black top. Picked them up at 4:30pm. Although corpulent and lethargic, they were "rarin' to go". Armed with giant bottles of water they tried to navigate the tiny entrance to the limo. They were eventually successful. I asked if they needed to make any stops on the way and they replied, "Nope, we're good to go" - I was like "Cool, let's do it." Off to Chevrolet Ampitheatre in Station Square. Near Dallas Pike they put the divider down and informed me that they had made a horrifying discovery. The guy yelled out, "Hey Eric, there's a half a joint back here." I was kind of surprised and told him they usually clean the limos pretty thoroughly. Anyway, he informed me that it was ok and they were alright. He then said, "I'm going to get rid of it because if we get pulled over, I don't wanna get busted." Before I could mumble a response, he rolled down his window and flicked it onto I-70 (near the Cabelas exit). I really didn't know what to make of it.
They were actually a very pleasant couple. The radio in the back was pretty quiet until they got a double shot of Ozzy on 107.5. Then they cranked it - Iron Man and then that crappy Mama I'm Coming Home song. We got to Station Square and they went to look for something to eat. They returned unfed but proudly sporting a new Beanie Baby of some kind. Then the action began to unfold. Jess and Heather along with another couple parked in a limo right next to us. For liablity reasons, I don't want to hastily mention everyone's name. They were having a good time. Drinking the best high end of all the low end beers - Miller Lite. I went off to do some scalping. Started slow with an aggressive spiky haired woman who didn't like the idea that I was selling her comp tickets. She got me down from $50 to $30 for a pair. Even threatened to get the cops involved. I told her that I appreciated her aggressive negotiation tactics but she was not amused. After I disposed of her, things really started to click. Few sales here, blah, a few more, rockin'.
Decided enough was enough and headed into the show. Duran Duran played a somewhat awkward setlist. 6 or 7 of the tunes I'd never even heard of, including the opener. I could have created a far better set list. Fortunately, the gay men everywhere could have cared less. They were all on fire last night. It was their time to shine and they would not be denied. Some estimated the gay male population at the show was a whopping 33%. Openly gay (those who know they are gay) was probably around 28%. Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Double D sounded great and the crowd was definitely into it. The ride home was relatively uneventful. Dropped off those two and went to the 19th Ho. Hooked up with Scotty and Preston and then hit Knotty Pines for last call. Some dude "Shite himself" at the Pines thus rounding out the highs and lows of an interesting evening. Anyway, here's the numbers on a scale of 1-100.
Performance of Duran Duran - 90
Quality of setlist - 52
Crowd entusiasm - 89
Parking lot scene/tailgating - 80
Quality of limo occupants - 75
Mother Shabooboo-like behavior - 88
other numbers:
Scalping - about $160
Tip - $20
Food - didn't eat anything, although I briefly considered buying a hot dog.
I think I might be a little better suited to do concert analysis anyway. Some reasons:
1) My new found limo experiences offer a unique (and sober) perspective.
2) Many years in the scalping biz representing the experiences of the minority whitey. My dream is to scalp an appearance by that new German pope. Ahhh, the irony. If he comes to Heinz Field, I'm there.
3) Ability to predict the attendance of any show weeks in advance.
4) Years of dumpster parking offer strong insight into the mind of the average concert-goer.
5) An endless desire to people watch - I don't think that will ever get stale.
6) Fuck it. I've just seen a ton of shows. I'll even go see that Yanni shit or some country music show called the "Do you want fries with that Tour"?
Alright, I think I've made my point. Anyway onto the first review.
Last night I took an Island couple to the Duran Duran show in the black top. Picked them up at 4:30pm. Although corpulent and lethargic, they were "rarin' to go". Armed with giant bottles of water they tried to navigate the tiny entrance to the limo. They were eventually successful. I asked if they needed to make any stops on the way and they replied, "Nope, we're good to go" - I was like "Cool, let's do it." Off to Chevrolet Ampitheatre in Station Square. Near Dallas Pike they put the divider down and informed me that they had made a horrifying discovery. The guy yelled out, "Hey Eric, there's a half a joint back here." I was kind of surprised and told him they usually clean the limos pretty thoroughly. Anyway, he informed me that it was ok and they were alright. He then said, "I'm going to get rid of it because if we get pulled over, I don't wanna get busted." Before I could mumble a response, he rolled down his window and flicked it onto I-70 (near the Cabelas exit). I really didn't know what to make of it.
They were actually a very pleasant couple. The radio in the back was pretty quiet until they got a double shot of Ozzy on 107.5. Then they cranked it - Iron Man and then that crappy Mama I'm Coming Home song. We got to Station Square and they went to look for something to eat. They returned unfed but proudly sporting a new Beanie Baby of some kind. Then the action began to unfold. Jess and Heather along with another couple parked in a limo right next to us. For liablity reasons, I don't want to hastily mention everyone's name. They were having a good time. Drinking the best high end of all the low end beers - Miller Lite. I went off to do some scalping. Started slow with an aggressive spiky haired woman who didn't like the idea that I was selling her comp tickets. She got me down from $50 to $30 for a pair. Even threatened to get the cops involved. I told her that I appreciated her aggressive negotiation tactics but she was not amused. After I disposed of her, things really started to click. Few sales here, blah, a few more, rockin'.
Decided enough was enough and headed into the show. Duran Duran played a somewhat awkward setlist. 6 or 7 of the tunes I'd never even heard of, including the opener. I could have created a far better set list. Fortunately, the gay men everywhere could have cared less. They were all on fire last night. It was their time to shine and they would not be denied. Some estimated the gay male population at the show was a whopping 33%. Openly gay (those who know they are gay) was probably around 28%. Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Double D sounded great and the crowd was definitely into it. The ride home was relatively uneventful. Dropped off those two and went to the 19th Ho. Hooked up with Scotty and Preston and then hit Knotty Pines for last call. Some dude "Shite himself" at the Pines thus rounding out the highs and lows of an interesting evening. Anyway, here's the numbers on a scale of 1-100.
Performance of Duran Duran - 90
Quality of setlist - 52
Crowd entusiasm - 89
Parking lot scene/tailgating - 80
Quality of limo occupants - 75
Mother Shabooboo-like behavior - 88
other numbers:
Scalping - about $160
Tip - $20
Food - didn't eat anything, although I briefly considered buying a hot dog.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Italian Festival
I ate twice at the Italian Festival this weekend. On Friday, I had a Giovanni Sandwich. This consisted of a luke-warm circular sausage, topped with American cheese on some quasi-toasted bread. It was poor. I'm actually surprised that I ordered it. All those years of being compelled to eat the Sons of Italy sausage had taken its toll. I had to go in a different direction.
On Sunday I had a sausage sandwich from the stand at Tambellinis (a quality Pittsburgh restaurant with 3 locations). It was pretty good. I also had some fresh squeezed lemonade which was pretty bad. It met 1 of the 3 requirements that you seek when drinking lemonade. It was indeed a liquid. However, it wasn't refreshing and it wasn't cold.
Sunday afternoon is really notorious for bringing the dregs of humanity out in the open. They swarm the Italian Fest like vultures looking for last minute deals on crappy novelty items. They drink their warm Bud-Light and cast toothless smiles upon all. I saw this one grotesque character picking gum from his shoe as he watched this girl fire up a cigarette. He was eyeing up that Marlboro as though it were a T-Bone steak.
Then, I watched a little of the bocce ball tournament. Why would people find this game entertaining? Yes, I realize it was a hot ticket back in the roaring twenties, but c'mon, let's step into the 90's.
All in all, the Italian Festival is pretty sketchy; however, the odds of me returning in 2006 are above 90%.
On Sunday I had a sausage sandwich from the stand at Tambellinis (a quality Pittsburgh restaurant with 3 locations). It was pretty good. I also had some fresh squeezed lemonade which was pretty bad. It met 1 of the 3 requirements that you seek when drinking lemonade. It was indeed a liquid. However, it wasn't refreshing and it wasn't cold.
Sunday afternoon is really notorious for bringing the dregs of humanity out in the open. They swarm the Italian Fest like vultures looking for last minute deals on crappy novelty items. They drink their warm Bud-Light and cast toothless smiles upon all. I saw this one grotesque character picking gum from his shoe as he watched this girl fire up a cigarette. He was eyeing up that Marlboro as though it were a T-Bone steak.
Then, I watched a little of the bocce ball tournament. Why would people find this game entertaining? Yes, I realize it was a hot ticket back in the roaring twenties, but c'mon, let's step into the 90's.
All in all, the Italian Festival is pretty sketchy; however, the odds of me returning in 2006 are above 90%.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Mike's Beef House
Formerly known as Pappas Beef House, Mike's Beef House is located in Center market down from Coleman's Fish Market. I'm not sure if the name change was absolutely necessary. I suppose it may serve some unknown higher purpose. The term "Beef House" sounds a bit strange - kind of reminscent of the song "She's a Brick House". It just sounds a little weird - "Hey, let's go eat at the Beef House". I think this sounds much better if you omit the word "the". "Hey, let's go eat at Beef House."
I've always been concerned that the citizenry of Wheeling has no concept of what real corned beef looks like or tastes like. Through the years, people have said that our town needs a real deli. I've always countered that it wouldn't matter because Wheelingites have no idea what a real deli is. Their only conception is Primanti Brothers in Pittsburgh. Primantis is decent, but it still doesn't resemble a real kosher delicatessan. Plus, who the hell would actually eat at a deli in Wheeling? Our townfolk are absolutely terrified of food they've never experienced, unless it's smothered in gravy or submerged in ketchup, sometimes ranch.
Anyway, the sandwiches were pretty good. No major complaints. I'ts difficult to go down there and not buy the obvious fish sandwich at neighboring Coleman's. Just one of those instinctive moves that's hard to overcome. Along the same line of reasoning, I usually get gasoline at Kroger, liquour at CVS, blah, etc.
I've always been concerned that the citizenry of Wheeling has no concept of what real corned beef looks like or tastes like. Through the years, people have said that our town needs a real deli. I've always countered that it wouldn't matter because Wheelingites have no idea what a real deli is. Their only conception is Primanti Brothers in Pittsburgh. Primantis is decent, but it still doesn't resemble a real kosher delicatessan. Plus, who the hell would actually eat at a deli in Wheeling? Our townfolk are absolutely terrified of food they've never experienced, unless it's smothered in gravy or submerged in ketchup, sometimes ranch.
Anyway, the sandwiches were pretty good. No major complaints. I'ts difficult to go down there and not buy the obvious fish sandwich at neighboring Coleman's. Just one of those instinctive moves that's hard to overcome. Along the same line of reasoning, I usually get gasoline at Kroger, liquour at CVS, blah, etc.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Beef Jerky
A week ago I was having a discussion with my friend Ben. It centered on a topic vital to the interests of mankind - Which is the best beef jerky? These days there certainly are a myriad of choices. Just walk in any convenience store or gas station and you are immediately assualted by about 20 different brands. They come in stick form, vaccuum packed pouch, wrinkled shreds, oil smothered cubes, etc. Most of the formats are relatively disgusting. What's really sickening is the smell that permeates your vehicle when you open a slim jim.
Anyway, we agreed that it all comes down to 2 choices - Wild Bills or Lonestar. All the others suck. I have always been a major proponent of Wild Bills. I even went on their website and purchased a Wild Bills t-shirt (this could be the first t-shirt I've purchased in 4 years or so). I refuse to buy one of those slick Old Navy or American Eagle t-shirts. After all, wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt is not exactly a beacon for individuality. However, it does go well with your personalized license plate that says ERIC7 (that's because numbers 1-6 were already taken). I digress.
Here are some pros and cons:
Wild Bills is from Lancaster, PA. Lonestar is from Fairmont, WV. I'm not exactly sure which state is superior. I do know one thing. When I have discussions with West Coast strangers, I usually tell the I'm from Pittsburgh. Here's why - if I say I'm from West Virginia, they'll usually respond, "Oh, where in Virginia?" or "You don't sound like you've got much of a southern accent." If I tell them Pittsburgh, they seem less confused. Every once in a while, I'll get the response "Where in Pittsburgh?" I'll blatantly lie and respond "Canonsburg" - if they inquire further and tell me they know the area, I'll admit the lie and explain that I'm from Wheeling. On this side-note, Wild Bills gets the nod.
Wild Bills is a bit more on the smoky side. Lonestar on the tangy side. I'd have to vote for Wild Bills.
Wild Bills comes in a re-sealable large bag and is better suited for consumption while golfing. Lonestar comes in this tedious vaccuum packed pouch. Wild Bills gets the sonofsaf award for packaging superiority.
Wild Bills comes in large strips, Lonestar in tiny shredded pieces. This one is closer to a toss-up. It basically depends on ones preference. I would tend to steer towards Wild Bills.
Wild Bills is all about being wild or knowing someone Bill. Either of these are ok. Lonestar sounds too Texas-oriented. And let's face the facts, Texas sucks. Whether it's George Bush Jr., the Dallas Cowboys, or the idiots who name their children after every city in the state of Texas (Dallas, Houston, Austin, Tyler, the list goes on and on with the exception of Rio Grande), everything that is wrong with America can usually be associated with Texas.
All in all, Wild Bills is the resounding winner. You can purchase it at the former Mull's grocery store near Oglebay Village apts. or the Exxon in Center Wheeling. Other than those 2 places, it's very difficult to find it in the correct format.
Make sure it comes in the large bag. It costs $5.99 so be prepared to splurge. It's worth it.
Anyway, we agreed that it all comes down to 2 choices - Wild Bills or Lonestar. All the others suck. I have always been a major proponent of Wild Bills. I even went on their website and purchased a Wild Bills t-shirt (this could be the first t-shirt I've purchased in 4 years or so). I refuse to buy one of those slick Old Navy or American Eagle t-shirts. After all, wearing an Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt is not exactly a beacon for individuality. However, it does go well with your personalized license plate that says ERIC7 (that's because numbers 1-6 were already taken). I digress.
Here are some pros and cons:
Wild Bills is from Lancaster, PA. Lonestar is from Fairmont, WV. I'm not exactly sure which state is superior. I do know one thing. When I have discussions with West Coast strangers, I usually tell the I'm from Pittsburgh. Here's why - if I say I'm from West Virginia, they'll usually respond, "Oh, where in Virginia?" or "You don't sound like you've got much of a southern accent." If I tell them Pittsburgh, they seem less confused. Every once in a while, I'll get the response "Where in Pittsburgh?" I'll blatantly lie and respond "Canonsburg" - if they inquire further and tell me they know the area, I'll admit the lie and explain that I'm from Wheeling. On this side-note, Wild Bills gets the nod.
Wild Bills is a bit more on the smoky side. Lonestar on the tangy side. I'd have to vote for Wild Bills.
Wild Bills comes in a re-sealable large bag and is better suited for consumption while golfing. Lonestar comes in this tedious vaccuum packed pouch. Wild Bills gets the sonofsaf award for packaging superiority.
Wild Bills comes in large strips, Lonestar in tiny shredded pieces. This one is closer to a toss-up. It basically depends on ones preference. I would tend to steer towards Wild Bills.
Wild Bills is all about being wild or knowing someone Bill. Either of these are ok. Lonestar sounds too Texas-oriented. And let's face the facts, Texas sucks. Whether it's George Bush Jr., the Dallas Cowboys, or the idiots who name their children after every city in the state of Texas (Dallas, Houston, Austin, Tyler, the list goes on and on with the exception of Rio Grande), everything that is wrong with America can usually be associated with Texas.
All in all, Wild Bills is the resounding winner. You can purchase it at the former Mull's grocery store near Oglebay Village apts. or the Exxon in Center Wheeling. Other than those 2 places, it's very difficult to find it in the correct format.
Make sure it comes in the large bag. It costs $5.99 so be prepared to splurge. It's worth it.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Hospital food
My old friend Ken Dague used to beseech us to go eat lunch at the local hospital. His claims were straight-forward. Good food, great price. Affirmative on these 2 points. After making a lengthy production about it, one day a bunch of us had lunch at OVMC. I think this took place in 1997. I remember that it was pretty much standard cafeteria-like fare. A little less greasy. I'm pretty sure I had some whitefish and rice and possibly a salad. I guess all in all, it wasn't bad.
There's something strange about dining in a hospital cafeteria. Everyone wears their specific uniforms - different colored smocks depending on your rank and position. It lends itself to feeling like you're in a pychiatric institution. Usually, people tend to go through the line in groups. These groups of people generally have the same colored smocks. Then they proceed to the same tables based on the color of their respective smock. Seems like something out of an upbeat North Korean detention camp. Despite the relatively mundane atmosphere, I'm willing to give it another shot. Just something to keep in mind since there's always this never-ending discussion based on the question "Alright, where do you wanna eat lunch?"
There's something strange about dining in a hospital cafeteria. Everyone wears their specific uniforms - different colored smocks depending on your rank and position. It lends itself to feeling like you're in a pychiatric institution. Usually, people tend to go through the line in groups. These groups of people generally have the same colored smocks. Then they proceed to the same tables based on the color of their respective smock. Seems like something out of an upbeat North Korean detention camp. Despite the relatively mundane atmosphere, I'm willing to give it another shot. Just something to keep in mind since there's always this never-ending discussion based on the question "Alright, where do you wanna eat lunch?"
Monday, June 06, 2005
Annual Wheeling Chili Cook-Off
Heather and I went to the annual Chili Cook-off thing in downtown Wheeling. Believe it or not, this is a really high end event. Aspiring Chili artisans come from as far as Cincinnati to compete. I usually stick with the samples from the out of towners. My reasoning being that if they travel more than an hour, their chili must be decent. For the most part, it's a safe assumption.
When I arrived I tried some salsa and was admonished by Heather. "You can't do that. That's not for you." I explained that it was a free sample. After about 5 minutes of repeated explanations, she reluctantly agreed. I consumed about 12 different samples. The best ones are usually the green chili concoctions. They should start serving a green vegetarian version of chili at Wendy's. I think it would be a big hit. Well, maybe not. After the finger controversy, the last thing you'd probably want to do is kick off a new chili promotional campaign.
Danno was one of the judges this year. I asked him who won the thing and he had no idea. The best way to win a chili cook-off is to LIE about where you're from. For example, Devil's Kitchen, Nebraska or Hot Springs, Arkansas or Firepit, Indiana. Well, you get the drift. Some of the Wheeling judges would easily be duped.
Anyway, for those that did not attend, I highly recommend it. A great time was had by all. And by the way, wear a dark shirt so if you accidentally spill some chili on yourself, you don't look like a fuckin' retard.
When I arrived I tried some salsa and was admonished by Heather. "You can't do that. That's not for you." I explained that it was a free sample. After about 5 minutes of repeated explanations, she reluctantly agreed. I consumed about 12 different samples. The best ones are usually the green chili concoctions. They should start serving a green vegetarian version of chili at Wendy's. I think it would be a big hit. Well, maybe not. After the finger controversy, the last thing you'd probably want to do is kick off a new chili promotional campaign.
Danno was one of the judges this year. I asked him who won the thing and he had no idea. The best way to win a chili cook-off is to LIE about where you're from. For example, Devil's Kitchen, Nebraska or Hot Springs, Arkansas or Firepit, Indiana. Well, you get the drift. Some of the Wheeling judges would easily be duped.
Anyway, for those that did not attend, I highly recommend it. A great time was had by all. And by the way, wear a dark shirt so if you accidentally spill some chili on yourself, you don't look like a fuckin' retard.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Peaches
My mother and father recently went on a peach picking expedition. Since peaches qualify as food, it's an easy review. Just copy and paste....
Pass the Peaches, Please
Tomorrow Shnepf Farm’s Peach Festival will be done.
Lets go pick some peaches today, sounds like fun.
We had no idea when we started to go
It was almost halfway to New Mexico.
And who would have thought that on this Saturday
A traffic jam on the Superstition Freeway.
Well we finally arrived there just in time
To take our place in a slow moving line.
The cost of admission was just five bucks each
And that did not include even one damn free peach.
We climbed onto a wagon that was pulled by a tractor.
The wind and the dust was a most unpleasant factor.
We each grabbed a box and took off to the trees.
There were lots of ripe peaches that we both picked with ease.
We picked only the ripe ones and were less than amused
When we noticed how easily they would get bruised.
We filled those two boxes I’m sorry to say
And we now have no doubt we got carried away.
Next we went to the scales and were shocked when we found
How much they all weighed at a dollar a pound.
It seemed for those peaches we had spent too much dough,
But we planned to gift peaches to some people we know.
We had plans to use peaches in cobblers and pies,
Stewed peaches, peach jam and perhaps peach surprise.
Peach ice cream and smoothies we’d make if we could.
But the problem is that they were not very good.
Some did not have much flavor and their skins were too tough,
And most of those peaches were not sweet enough.
Yes, the peaches were lousy, I am sorry to say,
Not as good as the ones at Fry’s or Safeway.
And the sun was so hot that I took off my shirt
And my eye glasses fell silently to the dirt.
The admission, the trip and the glasses I lost
Made five dollars a peach the approximate cost.
So please call our psychiatrist any time when
We head out to Shnepf Farms to pick peaches again!
Pass the Peaches, Please
Tomorrow Shnepf Farm’s Peach Festival will be done.
Lets go pick some peaches today, sounds like fun.
We had no idea when we started to go
It was almost halfway to New Mexico.
And who would have thought that on this Saturday
A traffic jam on the Superstition Freeway.
Well we finally arrived there just in time
To take our place in a slow moving line.
The cost of admission was just five bucks each
And that did not include even one damn free peach.
We climbed onto a wagon that was pulled by a tractor.
The wind and the dust was a most unpleasant factor.
We each grabbed a box and took off to the trees.
There were lots of ripe peaches that we both picked with ease.
We picked only the ripe ones and were less than amused
When we noticed how easily they would get bruised.
We filled those two boxes I’m sorry to say
And we now have no doubt we got carried away.
Next we went to the scales and were shocked when we found
How much they all weighed at a dollar a pound.
It seemed for those peaches we had spent too much dough,
But we planned to gift peaches to some people we know.
We had plans to use peaches in cobblers and pies,
Stewed peaches, peach jam and perhaps peach surprise.
Peach ice cream and smoothies we’d make if we could.
But the problem is that they were not very good.
Some did not have much flavor and their skins were too tough,
And most of those peaches were not sweet enough.
Yes, the peaches were lousy, I am sorry to say,
Not as good as the ones at Fry’s or Safeway.
And the sun was so hot that I took off my shirt
And my eye glasses fell silently to the dirt.
The admission, the trip and the glasses I lost
Made five dollars a peach the approximate cost.
So please call our psychiatrist any time when
We head out to Shnepf Farms to pick peaches again!
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Sandscrest
Well, Heather and I went to the place called Sandscrest out GC&P road for lunch today. As I expected, it's really not suitable for a group of rowdies. There were a group of 19 post-menapausal women with a median age of 67. I was the only male. It felt comparable to a bible study group. "Saf, how do you know what a bible study group is like?" Well, I do. One of my old-school drinking buddies has an older brother who would host weekely bible study meetings at his home. I'd come in and rant about atheism and get all the churchies pissed off. Then we'd bolt to go out drinking before any of them had a chance to counter. This is slowly becoming my favortie hobby - whip the prospective "John Ashcroft-like-churchie" into a rage and then make a hasty exit. They are left fuming in the distance, while simultaneously it gets a good party-mood atmosphere going for the impending night of debauchery.
Anyway, Sandscrest is a really spectacular place. It's kind of a spiritual/quasi-religious retreat. Very peaceful. Nice rolling hills and a great place to meditate. I don't meditate very often; however, I do consume food. Lunch today was a standard buffet. Prime Rib, summer vegetables and banana cream pie. Everything was exceptional. They had a woman stand up and speak about the history of the place. On a scale of 1-10, I'd rate her performance a 4. But she meant well.
I was really gung-ho about making this a weekly event for lunch on Wednesday, but having been there, I just don't think it's appropriate.
Anyway, lunch was 10 bucks (about right). They also have dinner on Wednesdays - 15 bucks. Maybe dinner would be a better choice, but I kind of doubt it. So all in all, my recommendation is mixed. Great food, service and atmosphere, but regrettably, just not the right choice for the hardcore non-believer.
PS - Lots of Jesus fishes on the cars in the parking lot. That pretty much set the tone from the git-go.
Anyway, Sandscrest is a really spectacular place. It's kind of a spiritual/quasi-religious retreat. Very peaceful. Nice rolling hills and a great place to meditate. I don't meditate very often; however, I do consume food. Lunch today was a standard buffet. Prime Rib, summer vegetables and banana cream pie. Everything was exceptional. They had a woman stand up and speak about the history of the place. On a scale of 1-10, I'd rate her performance a 4. But she meant well.
I was really gung-ho about making this a weekly event for lunch on Wednesday, but having been there, I just don't think it's appropriate.
Anyway, lunch was 10 bucks (about right). They also have dinner on Wednesdays - 15 bucks. Maybe dinner would be a better choice, but I kind of doubt it. So all in all, my recommendation is mixed. Great food, service and atmosphere, but regrettably, just not the right choice for the hardcore non-believer.
PS - Lots of Jesus fishes on the cars in the parking lot. That pretty much set the tone from the git-go.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Anonymous Restaurant Review - Uncle Pete's
Great news. I'm posting my first ever anonymous restaurant review. Although Uncle Pete's was reviewed a few months ago, I thought it might be nice to get a different perspective. And here it is...
My thoughts on Uncle Pete's:
1. I had the turkey special and it was filling, good though..
2. Quality of service - very quick, but not real friendly (which is fine with me)....so it's a good place to go for lunch...
3. Yes good...I love Uncle Pete's even though most of what I order is unhealthy food, but my favorite thing about it is the atmosphere....I like the sections of the restaurant....it divides it up and makes it less distracting, you can be more into the conversation with the people you came with less interruptions.....I like that....
I'd like to thank the individual (who shall remain anonymous) for his/her input. If anyone else has a review, I'd be more than happy to entertain the possibility of future special guest reviews. Light profanity encouraged.
My thoughts on Uncle Pete's:
1. I had the turkey special and it was filling, good though..
2. Quality of service - very quick, but not real friendly (which is fine with me)....so it's a good place to go for lunch...
3. Yes good...I love Uncle Pete's even though most of what I order is unhealthy food, but my favorite thing about it is the atmosphere....I like the sections of the restaurant....it divides it up and makes it less distracting, you can be more into the conversation with the people you came with less interruptions.....I like that....
I'd like to thank the individual (who shall remain anonymous) for his/her input. If anyone else has a review, I'd be more than happy to entertain the possibility of future special guest reviews. Light profanity encouraged.
Friday, May 20, 2005
chicken, steak, fish
I haven't made a post in about a month so this one's long overdue. Back in 1993 when my parents moved to Arizona, my father bestowed upon me some important words of wisdom. He said, "Rick, if you want good chicken, go to Riesbecks. If you want good steak, go to Kroger. And if you want bad fish, go to Giant Eagle." Then he wished me well, jumped in the mini-van and started their journey across the country. Some might think - Wow, what an emotional tear-jerker. I guess that's why Saf wears his emotions on his sleeve. Anyway, let's get past that and examine this statement.
I think we can all agree that Riesbecks is the place for chicken. The fried chicken in their deli is only second best to Safeway. Since there are no Safeways in the area, it takes the number one spot. Regardless of their superior chicken, there is a deep, dark secret about Riesbecks that I must share. I used to work there back in the late 80's, early 90's. I was basically a carry-out, stocked shelves, mopped up apple sauce in aisle 2, etc. Anyway, I was getting ready to go on my break and I saw an elderly man getting a newspaper from the machine outside. I asked him, "Hey, is it alright if I grab one of those (I kind of reached in the machine simultaneously)." He screamed, "Oh no you don't!" and slammed the door on my wrist. I called him a "mother fucking cock-sucker" Needless to say, he went inside and complained to the management. Apparently, my boss didn't appreciate me using that specific type of vulgarity. Anyway, they cut my hours to one shift per week so it would become an exercise in futility. I quit shortly thereafter. So it's obvious that I have mixed feelings about Riesbecks. Nonetheless, I applaud their chicken. An interesting sidenote, I bought an assortment of fried chicken on Wednesday night and I asked them if I could have some paper towels. One woman behind the counter offered me some plastic utensils with the napkins inside. I requested about 6 of them and another woman said, "We'll have to charge him for that." I thought to myself - who the hell charges customers for the individually wrapped fork-knife-spoon-salt-pepper-napkin combo? Then she said, "there are some napkins by the self-serve soup stand." I opted for the napkin approach which worked well.
Kroger is always the best local place to buy steak unless you bring Sam's Club into the picture. Sam's probably has the best, but when my father made the statement, I don't think there was a Sam's Club in St. C. Thus, he is vindicated.
Giant Eagle sucked - always has sucked and always will suck. They boast the worst pseudo-deli in the land. Unless you like shit - olive ham loaf spread and low-end slimy turkey breast come to mind. The brand names are a bit strange too (Sarah Bee instead of Sara Lee, Jennie-Blow instead of Jennie-O... Well, you get the picture. When the flood hit that shithole in Bridgeport, the residents should have celebrated. I say loot and pillage that building of crapulence. Then, treat the employees Abu-Gharaib, wolfman berzerker style. And, my father was correct - their fish sucks. Go to Coleman's or better yet, Wholly's in the Strip.
I think we can all agree that Riesbecks is the place for chicken. The fried chicken in their deli is only second best to Safeway. Since there are no Safeways in the area, it takes the number one spot. Regardless of their superior chicken, there is a deep, dark secret about Riesbecks that I must share. I used to work there back in the late 80's, early 90's. I was basically a carry-out, stocked shelves, mopped up apple sauce in aisle 2, etc. Anyway, I was getting ready to go on my break and I saw an elderly man getting a newspaper from the machine outside. I asked him, "Hey, is it alright if I grab one of those (I kind of reached in the machine simultaneously)." He screamed, "Oh no you don't!" and slammed the door on my wrist. I called him a "mother fucking cock-sucker" Needless to say, he went inside and complained to the management. Apparently, my boss didn't appreciate me using that specific type of vulgarity. Anyway, they cut my hours to one shift per week so it would become an exercise in futility. I quit shortly thereafter. So it's obvious that I have mixed feelings about Riesbecks. Nonetheless, I applaud their chicken. An interesting sidenote, I bought an assortment of fried chicken on Wednesday night and I asked them if I could have some paper towels. One woman behind the counter offered me some plastic utensils with the napkins inside. I requested about 6 of them and another woman said, "We'll have to charge him for that." I thought to myself - who the hell charges customers for the individually wrapped fork-knife-spoon-salt-pepper-napkin combo? Then she said, "there are some napkins by the self-serve soup stand." I opted for the napkin approach which worked well.
Kroger is always the best local place to buy steak unless you bring Sam's Club into the picture. Sam's probably has the best, but when my father made the statement, I don't think there was a Sam's Club in St. C. Thus, he is vindicated.
Giant Eagle sucked - always has sucked and always will suck. They boast the worst pseudo-deli in the land. Unless you like shit - olive ham loaf spread and low-end slimy turkey breast come to mind. The brand names are a bit strange too (Sarah Bee instead of Sara Lee, Jennie-Blow instead of Jennie-O... Well, you get the picture. When the flood hit that shithole in Bridgeport, the residents should have celebrated. I say loot and pillage that building of crapulence. Then, treat the employees Abu-Gharaib, wolfman berzerker style. And, my father was correct - their fish sucks. Go to Coleman's or better yet, Wholly's in the Strip.
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