http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/
I love it.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Organic food, Moleskin books, and Gentrification
I stumbled upon this website:
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/
I love it.
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/
I love it.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Ringside Steakhouse
I woke up at 10 AM this morning, with an uncomfortable layer of heat emanating from my body. I am spread out like the Vitruvian Man on my bed and my sheets are tossed on the floor. I've got nothing but a bra and boyshorts on and am stuck between a torturous lethargy from the heat and restlessness from laying in bed awaiting the arrival of REM cycles that never came. It is hot, and I think I may still be drunk from the Makers Mark the night before.
Alexis calls me up. I let it buzz for a few rings, teetering on the edge of screening her call. Alas, I suck it up and answer.
"what up?" i groggily answer
"I'll be there in an hour or so!"
Oh, god. Why?
Hiking.
Yep.
I was happy to go because I knew it would help me work up an appetite for some steak later in the evening. Since Mieky only had a few more days before he went back to the military base, and since the last time we went out to eat it was a horrendous failure, I decided to take him out proper. I knew he would not be down for my normal fare(beef tongue, marrow butter, sweetbreads, and such), but there is something we both could agree on. Nobody can hate on some delicious steak, El Gaucho and Ringside being the two more notable steakhouses in Portland. With my meager server's allowance, and the fact that El Gaucho is lovingly termed "El Gouge-O", I chose the offerings of Ringside.
Steak. This is a realm I have really yet to explore. Some people take this shit very very seriously. Like wine, there are many different ways to enjoy steak. You can dry age it to achieve optimal flavor. Different cuts require different temperatures. I will admit, I am entirely beef stupid. New York? Rib eye? Porterhouse? Top Sirloin? I have no idea what you are talking about. I did learn the deliciousness of the underrated Hangar steak at my restaurant.
(Back story: I lost my credit card, consequences of the debaucherous night previous. So i extracted 200 dollars cash from my bank account. remember this)
So tonight, I was simply a novice. I dressed in my i-don't-want-you-to-fuck-me-but-i-hope-my-calves-look-good pumps, a simple hipster cardigan, and gold hoops. Baby, we're going to Ringside! The decor is old-school. Like fedora hats, and mink coats and pinstripe suits old-school. The bar is sunken below the rest of the floor, so the bartender stands at eye level with his seated guests. It is very dimly lit and the tables are private leather booths.
Our sever was equally old school. An older asian woman, who bordered on ragged lifer rather than respected institution, who was pushier than I cared to have had.
"We just got a shipment of (insert local name and place) oysters this afternoon, they are fantastic"
Bitch, please. It is Tuesday. I know your game and do it better than you.
Actually I would have gotten them, but I had horribly underestimated the potential damage that Ringside would do to my wallet. Like i said earlier, I didn't have my credit card with me and I figured 180 dollars would be good for the evening. Ugh, I shame myself. We decided to focus on the main part of our experience: the steak.
In a manner that is so unlike myself and so against how I like to dine, we skipped courses and just ordered our slabs of beef. I had failed myself. If you know me, I go all out when we do restaurants. When I write this, I do not mean I am a total FatKid, that like to eat everything in sight. I am a firm believer that eating should be an experience. There is process. There is ritual. Through this we are not only nourishing our bodies, but also enriching the soul and cultivating relationships with the people we care for. I look at a meal like I try to feel my architecture. I crave sensory bliss and I crave narrative. There must be the apertif, Hendricks gin, stirred, up and with a twist. Our threshold. I love an amuse-bouche, something to whet the appetite, maybe a few oysters on the half shell or some dungeness crab on a blini. Then finally, halfway through my second glass of a Walla Walla Cabernet, will I be ready to look at my Medium Rare 14 oz. Prime Rib Eye with ravenous determination. slowly sawing through the well marbled flesh, I would take dainty bites, savoring its buttery and flavorful texture as it danced with the residual tannins of my wine. In between chewing and sipping, there would be choice conversations about politics, social-issues, light gossip and awkward but platonic flirtation. I eat plenty, but not gratuitously, and hardly make a dent in my steak before crying "uncle!". When my gracious server arrives with a box of leftovers, she also brings me a fernet branca or perhaps some averna to finish the evening.
That's what I would have loved to have happened.
it did not.
Our steaks were wonderfully cooked. Perfect at medium-rare and yes, it was a wonderful chunk of entwined fat and meat. Delicious. The garlic mashed potatoes were excellent, and I realized why the next morning when i took it out of the fridge and it was as hard as a stick of butter. The asparagus was beautifully prepared, green, bright and not soggy at all. Our wine, I was informed, was a cabernet blend. it turned out to be mostly merlot. It was a fruit bomb and not much else.
I felt horrid when the check came, and totaled 160. I only had 180 in cash, and twenty dollars is hardly worthy of a tip. Thankfully, Snowtronimous had 13 bucks on hand. We squeezed by, barely.
All in all, the meal was pleasant, but it was not worth the experience for blowing nearly two hundred bucks. and i didn't even get laid. I just am kicking myself for not bringing more cash. There really are no complaints, but I think that steakhouses just might not be my cup of tea. I'm not about Dean Martin and the standards. 200 dollars for steak, potatoes and asparagus does not seem as enticing as poached octopus, halibut ceviche, or saffron gelato. If Ringside is where you are planning to have dinner, do not half ass it like I did. prepare to feast like a king and spend like a senator.
Go big, or go home.
Alexis calls me up. I let it buzz for a few rings, teetering on the edge of screening her call. Alas, I suck it up and answer.
"what up?" i groggily answer
"I'll be there in an hour or so!"
Oh, god. Why?
Hiking.
Yep.
I was happy to go because I knew it would help me work up an appetite for some steak later in the evening. Since Mieky only had a few more days before he went back to the military base, and since the last time we went out to eat it was a horrendous failure, I decided to take him out proper. I knew he would not be down for my normal fare(beef tongue, marrow butter, sweetbreads, and such), but there is something we both could agree on. Nobody can hate on some delicious steak, El Gaucho and Ringside being the two more notable steakhouses in Portland. With my meager server's allowance, and the fact that El Gaucho is lovingly termed "El Gouge-O", I chose the offerings of Ringside.
Steak. This is a realm I have really yet to explore. Some people take this shit very very seriously. Like wine, there are many different ways to enjoy steak. You can dry age it to achieve optimal flavor. Different cuts require different temperatures. I will admit, I am entirely beef stupid. New York? Rib eye? Porterhouse? Top Sirloin? I have no idea what you are talking about. I did learn the deliciousness of the underrated Hangar steak at my restaurant.
(Back story: I lost my credit card, consequences of the debaucherous night previous. So i extracted 200 dollars cash from my bank account. remember this)
So tonight, I was simply a novice. I dressed in my i-don't-want-you-to-fuck-me-but-i-hope-my-calves-look-good pumps, a simple hipster cardigan, and gold hoops. Baby, we're going to Ringside! The decor is old-school. Like fedora hats, and mink coats and pinstripe suits old-school. The bar is sunken below the rest of the floor, so the bartender stands at eye level with his seated guests. It is very dimly lit and the tables are private leather booths.
Our sever was equally old school. An older asian woman, who bordered on ragged lifer rather than respected institution, who was pushier than I cared to have had.
"We just got a shipment of (insert local name and place) oysters this afternoon, they are fantastic"
Bitch, please. It is Tuesday. I know your game and do it better than you.
Actually I would have gotten them, but I had horribly underestimated the potential damage that Ringside would do to my wallet. Like i said earlier, I didn't have my credit card with me and I figured 180 dollars would be good for the evening. Ugh, I shame myself. We decided to focus on the main part of our experience: the steak.
In a manner that is so unlike myself and so against how I like to dine, we skipped courses and just ordered our slabs of beef. I had failed myself. If you know me, I go all out when we do restaurants. When I write this, I do not mean I am a total FatKid, that like to eat everything in sight. I am a firm believer that eating should be an experience. There is process. There is ritual. Through this we are not only nourishing our bodies, but also enriching the soul and cultivating relationships with the people we care for. I look at a meal like I try to feel my architecture. I crave sensory bliss and I crave narrative. There must be the apertif, Hendricks gin, stirred, up and with a twist. Our threshold. I love an amuse-bouche, something to whet the appetite, maybe a few oysters on the half shell or some dungeness crab on a blini. Then finally, halfway through my second glass of a Walla Walla Cabernet, will I be ready to look at my Medium Rare 14 oz. Prime Rib Eye with ravenous determination. slowly sawing through the well marbled flesh, I would take dainty bites, savoring its buttery and flavorful texture as it danced with the residual tannins of my wine. In between chewing and sipping, there would be choice conversations about politics, social-issues, light gossip and awkward but platonic flirtation. I eat plenty, but not gratuitously, and hardly make a dent in my steak before crying "uncle!". When my gracious server arrives with a box of leftovers, she also brings me a fernet branca or perhaps some averna to finish the evening.
That's what I would have loved to have happened.
it did not.
Our steaks were wonderfully cooked. Perfect at medium-rare and yes, it was a wonderful chunk of entwined fat and meat. Delicious. The garlic mashed potatoes were excellent, and I realized why the next morning when i took it out of the fridge and it was as hard as a stick of butter. The asparagus was beautifully prepared, green, bright and not soggy at all. Our wine, I was informed, was a cabernet blend. it turned out to be mostly merlot. It was a fruit bomb and not much else.
I felt horrid when the check came, and totaled 160. I only had 180 in cash, and twenty dollars is hardly worthy of a tip. Thankfully, Snowtronimous had 13 bucks on hand. We squeezed by, barely.
All in all, the meal was pleasant, but it was not worth the experience for blowing nearly two hundred bucks. and i didn't even get laid. I just am kicking myself for not bringing more cash. There really are no complaints, but I think that steakhouses just might not be my cup of tea. I'm not about Dean Martin and the standards. 200 dollars for steak, potatoes and asparagus does not seem as enticing as poached octopus, halibut ceviche, or saffron gelato. If Ringside is where you are planning to have dinner, do not half ass it like I did. prepare to feast like a king and spend like a senator.
Go big, or go home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)