Ass

An ass is an ass is Anne Coulter. Dear, I may not respect your opinions, but still, grow up.

Right-wing ass is My Drug (but just because I have to laugh).

Restaurant Review: Taboon

I have just arrived home from my first meal at Taboon in Hell's Kitchen. It was in the list of the 101 Best Restaurants in New York magazine last week, and although I had forgotten about it, my dining companion had heard good things from one of his business partners. So instead of the kosher steak house that we had been planning to go to, we went to experience a blend of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cuisines.

The restaurant was full upon arrival, and the hostess was disappointed when we said that we didn't have a reservation on a Wednesday. She offered us a place at the bar, saying it would be 15 minutes. Fortunately, a table opened up right away, and we were seated in five.

The atmosphere was very warm, with hanging lanterns and white painted brick walls. Upon entering the restaurant, you are faced with an enormous brick oven, as taboon is Arabic for oven. In the main dining area, the tables were four legged and a well worn, white-washed wood, much that you might expect to find on the Mediterranean. The spacing of tables was excellent for a medium sized restaurant. There was no rubbing of elbows with the other customers, which I was very happy about. The lights were low, and despite several larger parties, it was romantic enough for a date.

Our waiter was charming and knew the menu inside and out. After making several recommendations, most of which we took him up on. While my companion had a very nice Israeli wine, I had a Taboon Cooler, which was a mix of ouza with muddled mint and grapefruit juice. That drink alone is worth the visit. We were then presented with a flatbread, fresh from the oven. It was dripping in oil and spices, and very delicious. Shortly following were our mezes. I had the Fish Ceviche, which was wonderful with pomegranate, olives, and mint among other things. Very flavorful and robust. My companion had the Zucchini cakes, which were also very good, but I was more than happy with my ceviche.

Our entrees took a while to come out, and while good, it was hard to match the beginning of the meal. My friend had the Lamb Osso Bucco, which I regretted that I had not gotten myself, as it was awfully good. The time in the oven made the meat so tender and the accompaniments really gave the lamb a good support. I had the Beef Tchouma, which was beef short ribs served with pumpkin and a variety of other things. Same as the lamb, this meat was falling off of the bone. Somehow though, the flavors did not blend well together, and the result was... well... boring.

For desert, I had the malibi, which was a gorgeous dessert of a rose and floral infused cream covered in a raspberry sauce, coconut and pistachios. As I am not a huge sweet person, I was very happy with this dessert that had a hit of sweetness, which was cut by the floral taste. I will definitely have to find a recipe for this to make at home.

The bill was decent for the two of us. A little more expensive than I would have imagined, but in the end thought that it was well worth it.

I will definitely go back for dinner, and I have heard rave reviews for their brunch, which sounds just as intriguing. This is definitely one of the best restaurants in Hell's Kitchen.

Taboon's Malibi is My Drug.

Taboon's Fish Ceviche is My Drug.

Oh dear... pt. ii

As a follow-up to a previous post, the man's story keeps changing!

Still, That Silly Mouse is My Drug.

Back from Iraq... at least until next week.

My cousin, PM, called me today to let me know that he was in town for a couple of days. PM has been in Iraq for the past six months and is on leave for a couple of weeks, so I was happy to get his phone call.

PM lives in Pennsylvania on an army base, where he has spent many years. He has worked in the US Army for several years, seeing this war in Iraq and the Persian Gulf War as well. I remember when he went to the Persian Gulf the first time, but he and I were distant then. It was only in the past few years that we have become close. He has become the brother that I never had. He and I are so different in so many aspects, and yet our bond is so close that people mistake us for siblings rather than cousins.

On my birthday last year, PM called me from somewhere between Fallujah and Baghdad. Although the connection was horrible and the few words that I could hear over the line echoed, I knew it was him, and it made my birthday ten times better just hearing his echoing voice.

He is set to leave town, probably tomorrow, but the hours that we found time for today – drinking beer and shooting the shit – were… gah, I hate to say it but… precious and invaluable.

I have many problems believing in this war and why we fight it. I always find it difficult though that PM is there. He is there because he chose to be. He is there because of his experience… because he does not want to see the kids that he leads get “FUBAR,” and not come back to this country… to their families and friends. I don’t even pretend that I can speak for him, but I know that he is a good man. I respect the reasons that he is there. I respect him and admire him more than he can ever imagine.

PM is My Drug.

A 71 Year Old Woman with French Ticklers as Finger Puppets

This past weekend, I went to Carolines on Broadway to watch one of my acquaintance's return to stand-up comedy. It was the finale of a beginner’s stand-up comedy class that ended with a performance at Carolines, which was taped in broadcast quality. This guarantees you a variety of performers of different levels, from “Impressive” to “The horror, the horror!”
My acquaintance, a bartender/manager who I will call Fuel, closed the show and his timing was impeccable… easily the best performance there. Fuel had a great support group of friends, co-workers and acquaintances in the audience cheering him on, especially with the two drink minimum/no maximum going on.

A seventy one year old woman was the penultimate act. Nothing is less funny to me than older women or men talking about risqué things, because it’s tired and a majority of us will be that age someday, and I plan on talking about risqué things until the day I die, and would appreciate not being laughed at about it, thank you very much. This woman was different however. It got off to a slow start, but after she related to us her story of how she came to discover that she was “AC/DC,” I started warming up a bit. Not because she was bisexual, but that she used the term: AC/DC.

I had not heard that term in quite awhile, and apparently a lot of people in the audience didn't even recognize it. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language says that its origin is: From the likening of a bisexual person to an appliance that works on either alternating or direct current. Now that is a creative metaphor. Maybe it’s just me and a lack of electrical systems knowledge, but that is not what comes to mind when the term AC/DC is uttered. No, instead I think of this AC/DC, of which I can probably name one song off the top of my head: Highway to Hell. As you can imagine this is probably not the best association that one could come up with when hearing a euphemism for Bisexual, but I digress…

Eventually she got around to talking about gay couples who are parents, and how she thinks that it’s a great step forward. She went on to, I guess, look at some of the decriers of this new fangled thing called Gay Parenting. She referred to gay parents singing songs to their kids, but with a twist. At this point she started to sing the classic children’s song: Where is Thumbkin? However, at the point when Thumbkin and the thumb trying to locate Thumbkin came out from behind her back, they were both wearing French Ticklers. Now this woman was about the same age as my Nana when she used to sing this song to me, and of the same build and height, and all I could think of was my Nana with French Ticklers on her thumbs, singing me to sleep. This image was temporarily displaced when the comedienne was singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star as she was raising a light-up, rotating vibrator at the end of her act. Yet, as she was done, my Nana was back in my mind with French Ticklers on her thumbs. Fortunately, Fuel took to the stage at this point, and I felt safe again to enjoy the performance.

After the show, and congratulating Fuel, my friend and I went up to the older woman. We congratulated her on a job well done, and then my friend asked the most important question. The older woman’s companion replied that we could purchase props similar to the one's used in the act at The Pleasure Chest on Seventh Avenue in the West Village.

Fuel's Comedy is My Drug.

Oh dear...

I wonder if this is covered by insurance...

A Vengeful Mouse is My Drug.

Book Review: Garlic and Sapphires

I just got done reading Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise the new book by former New York Times restaurant critic Ruth Reichl. It's a great look at her history at the Times.

When Reichl heard that restaurants all over the city were putting up her picture and physical statistics, she decided to come up with a cast of different characters to disguise herself as. This turns out to be a fascinating excercise, as she is treated very differently at Le Cirque (one of her first reviews for the Times) as her first character Molly then as herself.

Humorous and well written, the book is a quick read. Also nice are the recipes that Reichl herself cooks for her family. It's a great read.

A Good Restaurant is My Drug.