Been a minute since we posted about ground-breaking food innovation/disgusting culinary adventurism. That one tipped the scale of intrigued to explosive vomit well towards the latter. This week, though, as I wandered into my local Giant in search of coffee grounds near closing time (because you wouldn't like me in the morning without caffeine), I saw a sign advertising this:
I love Banh Mi sandwiches. Even crappy Banh Mi tastes good. The best of it will transport a soul to French Vietnam, minus all the inconvenient colonialism and such. I had a sublime version from a food truck in the District back in the day, and it's hard to beat the stuff you can get in and around Eden Center in Falls Church. (Note to self: been a minute since we went to Eden Center - maybe should work on that.)
I also love sushi, barbecue, and Jack Daniels (hard to tell by the picture, but the roll includes Jack Daniels' pulled pork). I really don't see how this can miss.
Usually, we'd assign this to The Marls, our Director of Culinary Extremism. But I don't have anything better to do, and I'm willing to take one for the benefit of the Family Gheorghe.
Last Friday, I offered the following Gheorghe: The Blog comment:
So instead of being on a plane to Paris and Munich for a week, we are doing a dinner at a French restaurant in Williamsburg. Yeah, that’s the same. Didn’t feel like battling traffic to come up here on a Friday night but felt obligated if I want to stay on course for at least getting the 1.5 credits for this kick in the groin.
I just got a speeding ticket driving into town by College Landing. Where we used to go and drink a bottle of Bounty Fijian rum circa 1990.
I guess I’m glad to get pulled now rather than then, but Williamsburg can suck it. I’m a bit pissy at the moment, needless to say.
Shortly after that, I realized that the dinner I was attending at the Blue Talon Bistro was at 7:30 rather than 7, so I ambled around the corner to The Trellis for a drink.
Ah, The Trellis . . . the first restaurant I visited on Duke of Gloucester Street in 1988, and it became the go-to free/good meal place when my parents came to town. Occasionally I would pony up some cash and take a date. Very, very occasionally. In a college dining tenure littered with Caf/Marketplace, College Delly, La Tolteca, and Sal's meals, plus a few trips to Peking and Baja Bean Co. and many freshman visits to Wendy's Superbar, The Trellis got very little of my time and money.
Founded in 1980 by resident award-winning chef Marcel Desaulniers, The Trellis had a very upscale 80's feel to it. They may have stuck with that vibe too long. He sold the place in 2009, and it's trended downward steadily. But I always kind of liked the joint.
I had a pair of quick Jameson rocks and split. Quiet, small crowd. The bar is configured differently than it used to be, but it served me well. Well, it served me. Those two not-stingy drinks gave me just the lubricant to get the conversation rolling at dinner with six grad school classmates and the Associate Dean.
Amusing side note: That dean is a terrific guy with a fascinating backstory from Pittsburgh TV on-air sports reporter -- the "Bruce Rader of Steeltown" -- to business school stalwart. He also has a good memory for ridiculous stories, one of which was my first conversation with him. Two and a half years ago I had applied to William and Mary's b-school, and because my undergrad GPA was sub-3.0, I had to get an obligatory phone call from the Associate Dean (AD) to discuss it before being approved for admission.
AD: So Whitney, I just want to let you know that this is a formality. Your career across several industries more than makes up for grades you got 25 years ago. Plus, it's William and Mary, and we know how we grade. But . . . I gotta ask . . . W: Yes? AD: How'd you manage to get exactly a 2.0?? W: Well, Dean So-and-So, I'll tell you the same thing I told my parents. When I got college, they told me that in order to graduate, I had to have a 2.0. I didn't know they meant "or above"!
Yeah, it was doofy and dumb, but apparently amid a sea of boring phone calls with applicants justifying their mediocre undergrad performances, he appreciate the levity. He brought it up the other night and laughed again, saying he'd also told his wife about it for a chuckle. Glad I can play the same part in business school that I played in high school, college, and beyond.
Mantra: They don't give Class Clown to just anyone, you know.
The Trellis closed down two days ago without much fanfare. Its heyday was my heyday, and it was a long slog since. I'm glad that my own blockheaded time mismanagement meant that I got to throw back a last couple of liquor drinks in a quiet toast of a rather classy eatery's 40 years.
You can go home again, but the landscape strays further from how you remember it every time that you do.
It's been a hell of a twelve day run for your boy from the Neck. I will regale you with tales of my comings and goings over the next few days.
Two Fridays ago I had to go into Manhattan for a hearing which went about as well as I realistically could've hoped--if the hearing was an at-bat we hit a double. The hearing ended around 1:30 pm and counsel took me out for lunch at The Odeon where I had the grilled Eden Brook trout with quinoa. It was delicious. As luck would have it, I already had dinner plans in the city with a guy I used to work with. But that wasn't until 6:00 pm so I had about 3 hours to kill. Naturally, I headed to a bar, Monk McGinn's, to drink beer and watch college baseball. The trout wasn't soaking up much alcohol and I was worried that the freight train of fun might jump the track so at some point I ordered the crispy duck spring rolls. They were good. Much like Tom T. Hall, beer makes me a jolly good fellow and I was in great spirits when my friend showed up.
We drank for a little while more and headed over to Marc Forgione where we got the Chili Lobster appetizer and I got the swordfish with asparagus. My friend is into "mixology" so we drank from the cocktail menu. I got home late, drunk and full of seafood. It was a good night.
The next day we had reservations at Sushi Nakazawa, arguably the best sushi restaurant in Manhattan. It even has a Michelin star. The reservation is a pain in the ass to get--it isn't as difficult as it used to be but to be safe for a Saturday reservation you have to make it online at midnight 30 days before the date you want. Part of the hubbub stems from the fact that the head chef (Daisuke Nakazawa) was a sous chef at Sukiyabashi Jiro which is owned and operated by Jiro Ono, arguably the best sushi chef in the world. They made a documentary about Ono-san called "Jiro Dreams of Sushi" which you can find on Netflix. Nakazawa-san appears around 0:39 and 1:38
As you can see at 1:38, Nakazawa-san has trouble perfecting one particular egg-based dish. He fails over and over throughout the movie. Finally, after months of practice, Ono-san tastes what Nakazawa-san made and said it was acceptable, prompting Nakazawa-san to sob like Michael Jordan when he won the title in 1996. This is the final item Nakazawa-san serves everyone at his restaurant. I didn't have a bite of food that was anything less than outstanding. My favorite was the cuttlefish with Japanese mint which is second from the right.
The following Monday I was supposed to go to Richmond to see Jason Isbell and Father John Misty with Whit but I bailed for two reasons. First, zwoman scheduled the demolition of our kitchen counter for Tuesday and she wanted me there to make sure everything went according to plan. Second, I also had to pack and do a bunch of other stuff on Tuesday for a trip on Wednesday, which I'll cover in later posts. The trip was too important for me to half-ass the preparation, and I was worried I wouldn't have enough time to drive home Tuesday morning, likely all hungover, and pack in the afternoon/evening. Sorry Whit, but it was sons before bros this time.
As luck would have it, FOGTB Hoopie was in Manhattan on Monday night and I knew that even if I was all hungover on Tuesday I would at least wake up at home so I went out with him and fellow FOGTB Juan Carlos. We drank a bunch of beer, then went to Jongro, my favorite Korean BBQ spot. We ordered too much food and drank a bunch of beer and shochu.
Then we went over to the bar at the Ace Hotel and continued to drink boulevardiers and screw up their turntable. For the record, if you're going to put a turntable on the bar, where customers can access it, along with a stack of records, you shouldn't be surprised if a drunken music fan takes matters into his own hands. A good time was had by all and when I woke up the next morning zwoman told me that the entire second floor of zhouse smelled like a distillery.
Then on Tuesday I packed. Like me, the counter guy bailed. Demo date is still TBD.
Stay tuned for further installments later this week.
Posts
