Monday, March 28, 2011

Mussels: Fleur De Lys San Francisco

Ahh San Francisco, so hilly, so rainy, so full of good food, but seriously so fucking hilly. In between struggling up inclines that would give most black diamonds an inferiority complex and dodging legions of super aggressive panhandlers, the wife and I had a chance to dine at Hubert Keller's Fleur De Lys. 4 courses, $80+/person, here we go.

Amuse Bouche: A very earthy quinoa and cold gazpacho with a savory whipped cream topping.
Nothing spectacular here, but an OK start to the meal. I could have done without the heavy cream on top of the gazpacho, but the gazpacho itself was very smooth and flavorful. Certainly nothing I haven't had before but it started the meal off nicely.






Course #1: Vegetable Ragout w/ egg, truffles and port wine sauce.
Out of the 8 different appetizer options I picked this off the menu to start because as Anthony Bourdain would say "I'm a total egg slut." It may be tough to tell in the picture but that's a perfectly poached egg nestled into the debris of legumes. I split the sum bitch open and let the runny yolk wrestle the nicely cooked vegetables into submission. Overall this dish left me wanting more, more egg, more salt, more egg. Although the veggies were cooked expertly I felt this dish fell a little flat, especially once the delicious yellowy goodness of the yolk had been sopped up. A few pinches of sea salt were provided separately on a butter dish but at $80/meal I felt I shouldn't have to re-season my food.

Course #2: Wild Jumbo Prawn w/ Brioche Crust.
Those big wads of deliciousness sitting ever so innocently next to that big ol' shrimp is pork mother-fucking belly. There are basically 4 ingredients in this dish, butter, shrimp, beans, and pork belly. You could add fatty bacon (and butter!) to a shoe and I would shovel it down the gullet, smile and beg for seconds. The only thing wrong with this dish is that it wasn't part of some wonderful "all you can eat buffet in heaven." Whomever said "you should always leave them wanting more" is an asshole, I needed about 50 of these.

Course #3: Roasted Venison Chop with chorizo, bok choy in a red wine reduction.
Hailing from Maine, I felt it was my obligation to pass on the more glamourous lamb, duck and filet mignon options in favor of a little Bambi for my meat course. Although the chorizo tried valiantly to elevate this dish into something special, the cut of meat itself suffered from a lack of basic salt and pepper. The chop was cooked appropriately, a nice medium rare, but I find that venison is such a lean meat that it needs to be seasoned more vigorously to make up for the lack of fat(flavor.) This course was OK but not exactly what I was expecting from a restaurant of this stature.

Dessert Course: Dark Chocolate Espresso Mousse.
After a disappointing meat course I was completely blown away by finish of the meal. 3 different components, the mousse, a truffle with fried coconut on the outside and chocolate meringue provided a deliciously sweet end to what I felt was ultimately a disappointing experience. The truffle melted in my mouth and the mousse was balanced nicely by the white chocolate pieces that adorned the top.

Beyond the food I was also disappointed in the atmosphere created at Fleur de Lys. I found it almost oppressively dark and heavy with the walls and ceiling all covered with heavy drapery. One large chandelier in the middle of the small and full dining room provided the majority of the light. Although I was left non-plussed by the food the wife and I both found the service to be attentive, knowledgeable and friendly. We encountered no snobbish curtness that one could imagine at a joint this classy and no one seemed to mind the idiot(me,) sitting in the back taking pictures of his food on his iphone. Instead we were impressed by the relaxed tone and quick drink/bread refills from the entire staff. On a different night with some different menu choices I could imagine the experience living up to the expensive price tag and staggering reputation of it's head chef. But overall my experience left me hungrier and poorer than I really had a right to be. I don't suffer delicate food well and the calories consumed Fleur De Lys were quickly burned off with the 2 blocks of the vertical climb back to my hotel room.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Musings: Triathlons or why you need to find a real sport before I run you over with my car

As the weather warms middle aged, pudgy white men and women in affluent suburbs across America are emerging from their winter slumber. Soon they will be taking to our roads and our beaches with an entirely misplaced notion of their own importance and athletic prowess. Monday morning office conversations everywhere will be dominated by Bob in accounting who wants you to know that he set a personal best in his 10K bike ride this weekend and is really stoked about the fun run he and the neighbors have planned for next Sunday. No one gives a shit Bob, shut up. Seriously. Shut up. Few practices publicly stamp one as an asshole surer than self identification as a tri-athlete. Are baseball games played in public parks? Are basketball games played in mall parking lots? No, of course not, that would be annoying and inconvenient to the public at large. Why then do we tolerate hundreds of out of shape white collar drones trudging and panting along our thoroughfares from Spring to Fall? We shouldn't. We won't. We can't. To this end I've put together a list of proactive steps you can take to rid your town of these menaces.

1) Go to your most local mall and buy every piece of spandex available at you the sporting goods store. God, forbid one of these hippopotami run in a sensible pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Nope, they need to show off the floppy physiques that only a winter full of lethargy and red wine could sculpt.

2) Install a high powered air horn in your car or truck. Then next time you come across a pod of porpoises huffing along in the middle of the street while blatantly ignoring a side walk, you can inch up behind them, lay on the horn and push their cheese clogged hearts into immediate coronary failure.

3) If you're unlucky enough to find that this menace will soon be advancing upon your own neighborhood, set out of the night before the "race" and line the street and fence in front of your house with flyers for your local food co-op/farmer's market. They'll be distracted like a bird by a shiny object. Bring out some white wine and they'll quickly become demotivated and disperse.

This summer when you're driving to the beach and your ride is delayed by 500 panting sloths in visors with grease penned numbers running down their doughy arms you don't have to sit back and take it. Unite and fight America! We are in control of our own destinies and it's time we took our streets back.

Music: Lisabi - Au Diable Les Bananes

Things that are free are fucking awesome. Things that are free and loud are fucking awesomer. Au Diable Les Bananes is definitely awesomer (click on the link for the band's free download.) Lisabi is Brazil's answer to circa "Album Minus Band" Bomb the Music Industry. Their new album grabs you by the balls and swings you about its head like a knight brandishing a mace. "But Jesse," you say, "I am a female and that analogy confuses me, is there another way to describe how much you like this piece of music?" No there isn't, only balls. Seriously stop reading this nonsense and go download that shit! You don't even have to deal with any messy Portuguese!

Before Lisabi I only knew 3 things about Brazil:
- They're quite skilled at soccer.
- If you're an American tourist you may get kidnapped and held for ransom.
- Their barbecues are ridiculous.

But after listening to "Au Diable Les Bananes" the list has grown to four bullet points! :
- The country contains at least one band that doesn't suck.

My knowledge has expanded by 25%! Rejoice! Exclamation points!!!!

8.9/10

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Musings: An ode to the ice bump at the end of my driveway


Tyrant of the driveway, constant reminder of my inadequate shovel
You laughed at salt, guffawed at my labor and grew more obese with each storm
Now as Winter turns to Spring; the days longer and the weather warm
It is your slow death at which I marvel

Where once you stood tall and fat
Now, all find you are inadequate

Die, Die, Die.


Sunday, March 6, 2011

Music: The World/Inferno Friendship Society - The Anarchy and the Ecstasy

Few things in life help a shitty day like coming home and finding that familiar rectangular card board box lying in wait for you on the porch. A new record! Tear it open, quickly discard the riffraff and drop the needle onto that sweet yet subtly grooved piece of vinyl. Jack up the volume, ignore the feedback from the receiver and wait for the needle to find traction with that magical friction. What follows next is a wall of sound so loud, so dense and so magnificent that the stresses of the day melt into the crazed delirium of pure sonic energy; the walls shake, the dog hides, the neighbors swear and you relax . . .


Or you could find The Anarchy and the Ecstasy, the latest offering from The World/Inferno Friendship Society(WIFS) spinning feebly on your turn table as you fumble helplessly for some magical knob that will turn up the intensity on the recording and save you from a further humiliating confrontations with your bleak reality.


For the uninitiated WIFS is a loose collection of musicians based in NYC and centered around Jack Terricloth. Baroque-punk is the most common term used to describe their musical output (think the Clash meet the NY Philharmonic.) At their best they sound like a piano being beaten to death by an electric guitar as the drums watch in horror. At their worst they are in a word . . . boring. Anyone who has heard Me v. The Angry Mob can attest that the potential of this "band" is worth sitting through 5 songs a record that sound like chamber music. The Ecstasy and the Agony however doesn't have a track or even a moment that reaches the manic energy of WIFS at their best. Terricloth's verses are his normal fare, bleak stories of sorrow and violence that transport the listener/reader to the shadows of some gritty city street where the dredges of society lurk and eye you from the shadows.


"So, take it on the chin, shut up and sing. Like the veins in my arms, like the tattoos on your skin. One nights upon night, blank cassettes and cigarettes. Like lilacs off the tongue, this was supposed to be fun." - The Politics of Passing Out -


But the backing on The Agony and the Ecstasy brings the whole experience down. It isn't bad, it's is a fun listen, but there is no track that reaches the level of manic energy that is WIFS at their best. The record sort of meanders along on it's own path and time with no clear destination or urgency. The lyrics speak of desperation and violence but the accompaniment is lukewarm at best. A little bit more aggression, a lot bit louder and we could have a classic. Instead WIFS is content to fly over the world created by Terricloth when were you really want to be is lying face first on the street as some large fellow with an electric guitar and villainous glint in his eye kicks your teeth back down your throat. As Terricloth chants on Canonize Philip K Dick, OK:


"You can't change the system from within, the system changes you and that should make you panic."


A little panic would have gone a long way towards making this record stand out like Red Eyed Soul, instead it seems destined for a few weeks in the rotation and then relegation as an afterthought in the back of the collection.


Bonus - Download card ready to go. Sticker of the album art. Full lyrics in the liner notes!


6.9/10