Last night the Wiff and I went to go see Keith Knight, gentleman cartoonist, speak at the Malden Public Library and sign some of his books. He wasn't scheduled to begin his presentation until after 7pm so we decided to go grab some food early-bird style. The first place we went to was over in Malden and after standing by the sign that said "Please Wait to be Seated" for what I determined to be far too fucking long with no one coming over to us, we decided to leave. Just as we turned to leave a hostess/waitress finally came over and asked "Two for dinner?" Yea, not anymore lady. We're outsies.
We decided to head on over to Melrose so we could check out Beacon Hill Wine & Gourmet's new-ish store right there on Main St. The store is run by Rebecca and Gene Bernaldi and I went to high school with Rebecca. She is what I would describe as super smart and a genuinely nice person. I couldn't be happier for her success. Unfortunately, Rebecca wasn't working when we were there but since the store is really well done and the layout is intuitive, it was fine. They made great use of the space and the choices offered are impressive. Plus, the woman who helped us look for a bottle of wine was friendly and knowledgeable. I sound like a commercial or something. Whatever, I liked it. Go there if you can.
After buying the wine we went across the street to this little restaurant that the Wiff had wanted to check out for some time. Stearns & Hill's Bistro certainly looks the part of a good, neighborhood restaurant with the brick and dark wood facade and with the name of the place done in tile above the doors. The bar and restaurant area are all tastefully decorated and I liked the muted lighting in the place. However, I think most of the attention to detail has been spent on creating the atmosphere and not, in my opinion, where it really counts: the food. We ordered the calamari appetizer since it's usually a good gauge on how much control a kitchen has over the quality of the meals it produces.
The appetizer came out and although the presentation was decent, they failed the true test. The calamari rings were just this side of being rubbery little gaskets and the breading was far too thick. Ok, not a great start but let's reserve judgement shall we? I had ordered a burger done medium/well and the Wiff got a shrimp salad doo-dad. When the burger came out it was quite well done (overly cooked and super dry) and the fries were greasy little blobs with not even a hint of crispiness. Bummer. The Wiff said the shrimp were also over done. The overall vibe I got from the food was that the kitchen was lazy. They didn't seem too interested in trying to win new customers. The prices were reasonable but even a decently priced meal that isn't tasty will feel like a rip-off. Ah well, next time we'll just go to The Blue Ox.
During our dinner the thunderstorm that had been threatening to come finally did. The skies opened up and dumped an impressive amount of rain down onto the quaint little streets of Melrose. I looked like a movie where they have those huge rain maker things. It was epic. I put the thought that all our windows in the house were wide open out of my head and we made our way over to the library after the rain stopped. Keith's talk was cool and it was interesting to hear him talk about the projects he's been working on. I also didn't realize just how far ahead a syndicated cartoonist has to have their strips ready. It's like 5 weeks ahead for a daily strip. That's a lot of work. Even though he went to the same high school as me (go Tornados!...or..y'know, not) and I've been a fan of his stuff for years, I'd never actually met Keith. The Wiff went to college with him and I did know one of his sisters though. The guy is just super laid back and confident and it's nice to see he's doing what he loves to do and that he's able to be very successful. Thumbs up all around peeps.
What was not a thumbs up was the fact that the building where I had my very first job is now closed. The Malden Public Library is now in a whole new-to-me section that while I'm sure is better in the sense that it's not a crumbling building that is impossible to heat or cool it just does not have the same "cool factor" as the old building. I dunno when they moved but I'm sure it's been twenty years or something like that. I've not been there since 1988 myself. It didn't even smell like a library y'know? I just kinda...was. Hmph. Stupid reality.
We made our way home and as we turned onto our street it became pretty clear that the little storm we saw in Melrose had been much more intense back home. There were tree limbs and leaves everywhere. Several trees had major damage and it looked like the wind had blasted right down the street stripping leaves and branches like a big hand. We pulled into our driveway and went into the house to deal with the water that had been blown into the house during the storm. Luckily for us it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. The big ol' tree in front of the house had only lost a relatively small branch which had fallen harmlessly onto the curb. Whew. That could have been much worse (and had been for some).
Then at 2:30 am I was awakened to a bizarre noise that I could not identify. I was still in a sleep fog when I heard it again. It sounded like a giant shopping cart with a stuck wheel and is full of empty bottles being dragged down the street sideways. I laid there listening to see if it would happen again and sure enough it did. GGGRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrararttllllllllllebbbbbrrt!!! Oh. What. The. Fuck? Who the hell is collecting recycled beer bottles at this time of the night? Goddamn crackheads, just cuz you can't sleep doesn't mean the rest of us want to be kept awake to listen to the crazy adventures of your sad existence ok? Go away...damn you...go away. Then, as I woke up some more I thought, "Hmm, that's no shopping cart." I got up and went into the front bedroom. As I looked out the window I saw the source of the noise. A huge truck with a fucking wood chipper on a trailer behind it was parked right in front of my house. Two very fat men were tossing branches into the big gaping mouth of the machine. BBBbbllllllllllrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaAAAHHHaaarchhTT!! Sigh. Goddamn city living.
I whispered my very best gypsy curse upon them and went back to bed. I will eventually move away from all these people. Someday this WILL happen, just not today.
Showing posts with label restaurants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label restaurants. Show all posts
Friday, June 4, 2010
Monday, October 26, 2009
I Left the House Again
I went out Saturday night AND it was raining. I want extra credit for that. Ad Frank and the Fast Easy Women played out at Great Scott in Allston and since I hadn't seen them play in about a year and a half I really wanted to see this show. Plus, it being their record release, I figured it was going to be a good show. So The Wiff, my sis Mary and our friend Dee piled into the volvo (a.k.a. The Old Girl) and headed over to Allston.
We had plenty of time and so we had decided to grab something to eat before the show. The Wiff had made reservations at this cool Japanese place called Shabu Toki. I had found it while I was online looking for another restaurant over there (that seems to have closed, thank you ever-so-creepy Google Maps) and it looked interesting. I dropped the ladies off at the restaurant and then went to find a parking spot. I figured that since this is my old neighborhood that I'd be able to find a place to park fairly quickly. I was so wrong. I went up and down Brighton Ave a bunch of times, down side streets (even past our old apartment on Chester St) and over into areas that I really didn't want to leave the car. Nothing. No spots to be had. And the rain just would not stop. I had hoped that this would keep the traffic down but no such luck there. Apparently rain doesn't bother young people in the slightest.
After 43 minutes, yes, FORTY-THREE MINUTES of circling and back-tracking I finally found a spot a few blocks up from where the club is. Now normally finding a spot that was relatively close to the club would be a good thing (and it was after the show), but I still had to walk past the club and to the restaurant in the rain. And since I am whatever the opposite of a boy scout is, I did not have an umbrella. "Never prepared". That's my fucking motto. By the time I got to the restaurant I was soaked. Drenched even. And no, I did not have a rain coat either. The good thing about this though is that since I was so delayed in getting there, the food and my beer were already waiting for me when I finally did arrive. That was pretty sweet.
And goddamn that Shabu Toki place was great. I didn't know much about what the whole Shabu Shabu experience was like but I'd go back there again. I don't know that I'd go back on a Saturday night (in the rain, did I mention the rain?) again but I'd certainly try a Tuesday or a Wednesday perhaps. I would recommend it to anyone too by the by. Plus, as a bonus, it's pretty cheap too.
After dinner we trudged back through the rain to the club. When The Wiff and I lived over in Allston this bar was kinda off limits to us cuz it always seems stuffed to the rafters with douchebags and frat boys (is that redundant? I think it might be). I can remember fights spilling out of there and onto the sidewalk and thinking to myself "yea, I'm never going in there". So walking into the club I didn't really know what to expect. The bar area itself is a little wonky but the space is ok. Unfortunately it's another one of these places that decided to have bands play as sort of an after thought. The stage is stuffed into a back corner of the bar where, as Kevin C. said, it "looks like that's where they used to store the empty beer cases". He isn't kidding. There really isn't much of an area for the crowd to stand and watch the show without completely blocking access to the bathrooms. So throughout the show there was a near constant stream (hee!) of people making their way to and from the bathrooms.
Normally I hate crowds (cuz of the whole hating people thing) but for some reason when I'm at a show I can be in a crowd getting bumped into every 2 seconds and I'm ok with it. I'm not saying I ENJOY it, but it doesn't make me freak out or get angry. I think it's cuz there's a sense of purpose or community perhaps when people are gathered in a tiny narrow room to watch a band play. Everyone knows it isn't ideal and so we just get along. I found a space where I could have my back up against a wall (to minimize the bumpings) and as it turns out the sound at the club was pretty decent. The band really sounded great and as always put on a fun, energetic show. I always run into a bunch of people that I know at their shows too so that's cool.
After the show ended I went and got the car and picked everyone up out front 'cuz I'm a fucking gentleman goddammit. When we finally got home I was all wound up so I knew I couldn't go to sleep right away. I watched some god awful television until 4am and then went upstairs and passed out. So there you have it: a night out with me with very little complaining. Ok, so I did moan about the parking issue and the fact that I was soaked oh and that people kept bumping into me and ... fine. Hmph. I still had a good time overall so there. Go by "Your Secrets are Mine Now". Do it.
We had plenty of time and so we had decided to grab something to eat before the show. The Wiff had made reservations at this cool Japanese place called Shabu Toki. I had found it while I was online looking for another restaurant over there (that seems to have closed, thank you ever-so-creepy Google Maps) and it looked interesting. I dropped the ladies off at the restaurant and then went to find a parking spot. I figured that since this is my old neighborhood that I'd be able to find a place to park fairly quickly. I was so wrong. I went up and down Brighton Ave a bunch of times, down side streets (even past our old apartment on Chester St) and over into areas that I really didn't want to leave the car. Nothing. No spots to be had. And the rain just would not stop. I had hoped that this would keep the traffic down but no such luck there. Apparently rain doesn't bother young people in the slightest.
After 43 minutes, yes, FORTY-THREE MINUTES of circling and back-tracking I finally found a spot a few blocks up from where the club is. Now normally finding a spot that was relatively close to the club would be a good thing (and it was after the show), but I still had to walk past the club and to the restaurant in the rain. And since I am whatever the opposite of a boy scout is, I did not have an umbrella. "Never prepared". That's my fucking motto. By the time I got to the restaurant I was soaked. Drenched even. And no, I did not have a rain coat either. The good thing about this though is that since I was so delayed in getting there, the food and my beer were already waiting for me when I finally did arrive. That was pretty sweet.
And goddamn that Shabu Toki place was great. I didn't know much about what the whole Shabu Shabu experience was like but I'd go back there again. I don't know that I'd go back on a Saturday night (in the rain, did I mention the rain?) again but I'd certainly try a Tuesday or a Wednesday perhaps. I would recommend it to anyone too by the by. Plus, as a bonus, it's pretty cheap too.
After dinner we trudged back through the rain to the club. When The Wiff and I lived over in Allston this bar was kinda off limits to us cuz it always seems stuffed to the rafters with douchebags and frat boys (is that redundant? I think it might be). I can remember fights spilling out of there and onto the sidewalk and thinking to myself "yea, I'm never going in there". So walking into the club I didn't really know what to expect. The bar area itself is a little wonky but the space is ok. Unfortunately it's another one of these places that decided to have bands play as sort of an after thought. The stage is stuffed into a back corner of the bar where, as Kevin C. said, it "looks like that's where they used to store the empty beer cases". He isn't kidding. There really isn't much of an area for the crowd to stand and watch the show without completely blocking access to the bathrooms. So throughout the show there was a near constant stream (hee!) of people making their way to and from the bathrooms.
Normally I hate crowds (cuz of the whole hating people thing) but for some reason when I'm at a show I can be in a crowd getting bumped into every 2 seconds and I'm ok with it. I'm not saying I ENJOY it, but it doesn't make me freak out or get angry. I think it's cuz there's a sense of purpose or community perhaps when people are gathered in a tiny narrow room to watch a band play. Everyone knows it isn't ideal and so we just get along. I found a space where I could have my back up against a wall (to minimize the bumpings) and as it turns out the sound at the club was pretty decent. The band really sounded great and as always put on a fun, energetic show. I always run into a bunch of people that I know at their shows too so that's cool.
After the show ended I went and got the car and picked everyone up out front 'cuz I'm a fucking gentleman goddammit. When we finally got home I was all wound up so I knew I couldn't go to sleep right away. I watched some god awful television until 4am and then went upstairs and passed out. So there you have it: a night out with me with very little complaining. Ok, so I did moan about the parking issue and the fact that I was soaked oh and that people kept bumping into me and ... fine. Hmph. I still had a good time overall so there. Go by "Your Secrets are Mine Now". Do it.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A Night Out with Mr. Crankbottom
Last night the Wiff and I went out to dinner. She had gone online and purchased a $100 gift certificate (half price too! Go get something for a restaurant you like at Project Half Price or at the WBZ site) for a little restaurant near our place that she's been wanting to try for a while now (I have to mention that when I went to check out the restaurant's website, the first thing I noticed was a spelling error. In the title of the site it reads "A New Tase on the North Short". Awesome job, website douche). We haven't gone out to dinner in a long time so it was supposed to be a nice night out to enjoy each others company and some good food. What we forgot to factor in is the humans that will inevitably throw a monkey wrench into the works and ruin the night.
The restaurant is about a mile from our house over in Swampscott so getting there was easy enough. The place is right near the water (not quite within view of the ocean but you know it's there) and I got a parking space right in front. I chose to take this is a good sign and happily parked the car. We walked in and you know that feeling you get when you instantly don't like a place? Yea, I got that feeling right off the bat. Tacky is a good description. It's trying to be a high-end place but not quite pulling it off. But since I'm trying to be less anti-social (HA!), I dismissed it as just me being my usual cranky self and even though the place is decorated like a Long Island housewife's wet dream, I'm sure it'll be fine. We were greeted right away by a woman who looked like she just got out of the spray tan booth 5 minutes before showing up for work. The place was completely empty and she said that we could sit wherever we wanted. I kinda wanted to sit in the dark, back corner but I figured that would be overruled as too gloomy so we ended up sitting right at the front of the big windows that overlooked, well, our little diesel Jetta mostly.
The server (who I think must be an owner too or something...no proof of this but she gave that impression. Perhaps it was just the fake tan and giant painted nails) gave us menus and a cocktail menu (which was empty by the way. The Wiff opened the cocktail menu and there was nothing in there. It was just a blank, leatherette folder at this stage). After getting the real cocktail menu we were left alone to figure out what we wanted. Then this Porsche SUV pulled up outside and a this small family of 4 got out. I didn't really pay attention to them (other than noting the two kids were wearing those horrible Ed Hardy "fashion" T-shirts and that the woman was also overly spray tanned and had on I'm guessing 10 gold rings. Ok, I guess I did notice them a little. I think the situation was the Porsche-douche is dating the super-tanned lady and the Ed Hardy assholes are her kids) until they came into the restaurant itself. Now remember, the place is completely empty except for us two. So where do you think the waitress sat them? If you said DIRECTLY behind us (and right in my line of sight) then you'd be correct. I must have looked like I wanted to bail 'cuz the Wiff gave me that "Just let it go" look. But I can't just let it go can I? No, I can't. I'm a jackass remember?
All I wanted to do was to go to my instinct and either move our seats to the other side of the L-shaped space or just bolt and forget the whole thing. We hadn't ordered at this stage so we totally should have left. Now I know I sound like a high-maintainance jerk-o now (and I am) but honestly, why seat them right there? Oh, plus they were friends with the server/suspected owner-lady and the bartender guy. This I mention because our server wasn't that into being a server in the first place (my impression) and when you add people that she already knows into the mix, she's just gonna go hang out and talk to them instead of, oh I dunno, checking on us for instance. At this time is when I noticed that the music there was really loud italian "rock". As I tried to process that this shitty song was yes in fact louder than it should be and yes they are singing in Italian, I looked up and realized that I was sitting directly under a speaker. Niiiiiice. Where's my scotch?
Then the guy at the other table started coughing. It was a harsh, and perhaps (I'm hoping) painful cough that was quite loud. Louder even than the shitty italian rock music. I can't really blame the restaurant for the guy having a cough like that but I can certainly focus on it and allow it to mess up my dinner. This guy was sitting facing me and right over the Wiff's left shoulder. So I could see exactly when he was gearing up for the next burst of hacking. It was the opposite of awesome. It took some doing but I actually let it go. No, seriously, I was not "ok with it" but I was trying desperately to not let it ruin the evening. Then the food started to come out.
We had ordered a couple of apps which isn't normally something we'd do but since we had this lovely $100 gift certificate that we snagged for $50 we figured what the hell. The first app was a lobster and crab pancake thing that was just....meh. It was too oily for my taste. The Wiff seemed to like it. The other app was a potato gnocci that I swear to jeebus christmas tasted like Chef Boyardee made it. Except that the Chef doesn't charge $18 for his shit. Ok, so the apps aren't fantastic. Whatevs, let's just move on to the main course and try to enjoy ourselves. But I can't. Why? Cuz the douchebag with the cough is going on and on about how the younger of the two kids should get the Mercedes-something SUV and the other brother should totally get either the BMW or Land Rover. By now the Wiff has also noticed that this place is not really our cup of tea. And then the guy went into another coughing fit. Hooray! Swine flu for everyone!
The main course comes and it's good. I got the lemon chicken and since the Wiff loves nothing more than a tortured animal, she got the veal (I'm surprised she didn't get it with a side of foie gras and an assortment of kittens that she could punch). My meal was pretty good. But that's really the gist of the whole place right there: It was "pretty good" not "amazing" or "wicked pissah". By now the place is filling up with other patrons and so I do a quick glance over my shoulder to silently judge the rest of them as well. As I had expected it was chock full of assholes. God, I really don't like people at all. The waitress comes over with the check and I take a look-see. Now, I'm figuring that based on 1) where we are, Swampscott on the fucking Lynn border 2) what we had, Chef Boyardee apps and mediocre main courses and 3) there's only 2 of us that the check would be what? $75? Maybe $85? Nope. $124. Are you fucking kidding me? My scotch all by itself was $12. Holy shit. Good thing I only had one of those. This is not Boston you assholes. What the fuck? More swear words!
So as I get wallet out I look at the Wiff and say "I'm never coming back here". And I think she agreed. We settled up and got the hell out of there. I guess this place decided that all you have to do to be considered "fine dining" was to have inflated prices. I wouldn't mind so much if the experience and food hadn't been such a let down. I had been looking forward to a night out too. Next time we'll just head over to The Blue Ox in downtown Lynn. At least there the waitstaff seem to actually care if you're enjoying yourself.
The restaurant is about a mile from our house over in Swampscott so getting there was easy enough. The place is right near the water (not quite within view of the ocean but you know it's there) and I got a parking space right in front. I chose to take this is a good sign and happily parked the car. We walked in and you know that feeling you get when you instantly don't like a place? Yea, I got that feeling right off the bat. Tacky is a good description. It's trying to be a high-end place but not quite pulling it off. But since I'm trying to be less anti-social (HA!), I dismissed it as just me being my usual cranky self and even though the place is decorated like a Long Island housewife's wet dream, I'm sure it'll be fine. We were greeted right away by a woman who looked like she just got out of the spray tan booth 5 minutes before showing up for work. The place was completely empty and she said that we could sit wherever we wanted. I kinda wanted to sit in the dark, back corner but I figured that would be overruled as too gloomy so we ended up sitting right at the front of the big windows that overlooked, well, our little diesel Jetta mostly.
The server (who I think must be an owner too or something...no proof of this but she gave that impression. Perhaps it was just the fake tan and giant painted nails) gave us menus and a cocktail menu (which was empty by the way. The Wiff opened the cocktail menu and there was nothing in there. It was just a blank, leatherette folder at this stage). After getting the real cocktail menu we were left alone to figure out what we wanted. Then this Porsche SUV pulled up outside and a this small family of 4 got out. I didn't really pay attention to them (other than noting the two kids were wearing those horrible Ed Hardy "fashion" T-shirts and that the woman was also overly spray tanned and had on I'm guessing 10 gold rings. Ok, I guess I did notice them a little. I think the situation was the Porsche-douche is dating the super-tanned lady and the Ed Hardy assholes are her kids) until they came into the restaurant itself. Now remember, the place is completely empty except for us two. So where do you think the waitress sat them? If you said DIRECTLY behind us (and right in my line of sight) then you'd be correct. I must have looked like I wanted to bail 'cuz the Wiff gave me that "Just let it go" look. But I can't just let it go can I? No, I can't. I'm a jackass remember?
All I wanted to do was to go to my instinct and either move our seats to the other side of the L-shaped space or just bolt and forget the whole thing. We hadn't ordered at this stage so we totally should have left. Now I know I sound like a high-maintainance jerk-o now (and I am) but honestly, why seat them right there? Oh, plus they were friends with the server/suspected owner-lady and the bartender guy. This I mention because our server wasn't that into being a server in the first place (my impression) and when you add people that she already knows into the mix, she's just gonna go hang out and talk to them instead of, oh I dunno, checking on us for instance. At this time is when I noticed that the music there was really loud italian "rock". As I tried to process that this shitty song was yes in fact louder than it should be and yes they are singing in Italian, I looked up and realized that I was sitting directly under a speaker. Niiiiiice. Where's my scotch?
Then the guy at the other table started coughing. It was a harsh, and perhaps (I'm hoping) painful cough that was quite loud. Louder even than the shitty italian rock music. I can't really blame the restaurant for the guy having a cough like that but I can certainly focus on it and allow it to mess up my dinner. This guy was sitting facing me and right over the Wiff's left shoulder. So I could see exactly when he was gearing up for the next burst of hacking. It was the opposite of awesome. It took some doing but I actually let it go. No, seriously, I was not "ok with it" but I was trying desperately to not let it ruin the evening. Then the food started to come out.
We had ordered a couple of apps which isn't normally something we'd do but since we had this lovely $100 gift certificate that we snagged for $50 we figured what the hell. The first app was a lobster and crab pancake thing that was just....meh. It was too oily for my taste. The Wiff seemed to like it. The other app was a potato gnocci that I swear to jeebus christmas tasted like Chef Boyardee made it. Except that the Chef doesn't charge $18 for his shit. Ok, so the apps aren't fantastic. Whatevs, let's just move on to the main course and try to enjoy ourselves. But I can't. Why? Cuz the douchebag with the cough is going on and on about how the younger of the two kids should get the Mercedes-something SUV and the other brother should totally get either the BMW or Land Rover. By now the Wiff has also noticed that this place is not really our cup of tea. And then the guy went into another coughing fit. Hooray! Swine flu for everyone!
The main course comes and it's good. I got the lemon chicken and since the Wiff loves nothing more than a tortured animal, she got the veal (I'm surprised she didn't get it with a side of foie gras and an assortment of kittens that she could punch). My meal was pretty good. But that's really the gist of the whole place right there: It was "pretty good" not "amazing" or "wicked pissah". By now the place is filling up with other patrons and so I do a quick glance over my shoulder to silently judge the rest of them as well. As I had expected it was chock full of assholes. God, I really don't like people at all. The waitress comes over with the check and I take a look-see. Now, I'm figuring that based on 1) where we are, Swampscott on the fucking Lynn border 2) what we had, Chef Boyardee apps and mediocre main courses and 3) there's only 2 of us that the check would be what? $75? Maybe $85? Nope. $124. Are you fucking kidding me? My scotch all by itself was $12. Holy shit. Good thing I only had one of those. This is not Boston you assholes. What the fuck? More swear words!
So as I get wallet out I look at the Wiff and say "I'm never coming back here". And I think she agreed. We settled up and got the hell out of there. I guess this place decided that all you have to do to be considered "fine dining" was to have inflated prices. I wouldn't mind so much if the experience and food hadn't been such a let down. I had been looking forward to a night out too. Next time we'll just head over to The Blue Ox in downtown Lynn. At least there the waitstaff seem to actually care if you're enjoying yourself.
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