wet towel club

Greeted by abdul, the young one, he recalled our previous dinner. ‘You guys really went for it.’ We ordered the soup and the white beans. Then walid stepped in like rick at ricks cafe americain in casablanca. We then went Salta, haneeth, and segar - what was basically like lamb al pastor _ fantastic, different, and aromatic like a forest of holiness. It was, obv, step by step, a fucking outstanding meal. Each plate took us deeper into a mouthful of earth baked wonder. The salta is so unique, so stone cold incredible, and followed by haneeth its like a one two punch from Ali in his prime.

Then tea.

Walid and I discussed a little food history, yemeni history, yemeni food vocab, a funny hot sauce story, wet towel plans, and his new outdoor oven that he says will make the most incredible wood smoked lamb dish known to man – one we’ve never had – that he will contact us when the oven is in. It is the only of its kind in ny.

Walid + haneeth equals wet towel.

on various bailouts of the past week…

23 different kebabs and a few varieties of something he referred to, lovingly, as ‘meat pouches.’ this was after he described his time in the soviet army while berating me on my lack of knowledge regarding the gulag archipelego.

friend refuses to stop bragging about the torta

http://heavyinthestreets.blogspot.com/2008/09/obamix-by-king-most.html

THE WHITE HOUSE

Office of the Press Secretary

For Immediate Release October 7, 2008

Yom Kippur, 5769

For on this day shall atonement be made for you, to cleanse you; from all your sins shall ye be clean before the LORD.

Leviticus 16:30

Yom Kippur is the Jewish Day of Atonement and the most holy day in the Jewish faith. From the time the Kol Nidre is recited until the Shofar is sounded, Jews around the world will draw nearer to God through acts of atonement, fasting, and prayer. Jewish tradition teaches that on Yom Kippur, God remembers every name, listens to every petition, and offers forgiveness to the repentant.

On this day, Americans are reminded of the great blessings of religious freedom and the unalienable rights bestowed upon all people by the Creator of life. May God grant us peace, comfort, and hope for all the challenges we may face in the year ahead.

Laura and I send our best wishes for a blessed day and a most meaningful fast.

GEORGE W. BUSH

# # #

One beer stands clear…made possible by Hensley & Co.

http://soul-sides.com/2008/10/alton-ellis-rip.html

and coming apart at the seams, the man still knows what he wants.

obviously, lamb highlighted in yellow…

…to our thus far less-than-effective guest leadership

beef jerky and papaya salad…

best yellow rice south of 149th

“It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment, change has come to America.”

exciting moment for wet towel – leadership praises decision

in the city that never sleeps

and what costume should the poor girl wear

sid’s pick: bbq bologna sandwich

cozy corner, memphis TN

missing artifacts demand administration instigate inquiry

family meal at sripraphai

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The town, literally, had a tumbleweed problem. taylor cafe, number 4 in texas monthly’s barbecue issue, was not what one would refer to as a self reflective establishment. it was a place where men come to drink – and it just happens to have food (that just happens to be incredible). I entered through the back – the front door was locked.

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The cigarette smoke was so thick I immediately feared lung cancer was but moments away. Looked around. Old men. White. Mexican. Old. Drinking. Early afternoon. No sound but the ambient noise of bottle bottoms softly hitting the bar every so often.

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The waitress – hair and scowl as if the character Flo from ‘Alice’ had been laid off and angry about it and working here because there was nothing left out there – had no idea the place had been mentioned in any ‘awards ceremony’ and could have cared less. she said there was ‘meat in the back, if that’s what you mean.’ There was a menu on a wall across the bar from where i took my seat and ordered, as in Rome, a can of Bud. I absolutely did not want to cross the room and take a picture of the menu. It was the kind of place that did not want its picture taken (for free). But, alas, wet towel leadership weighed heavily on my shoulders as I slipped off my stool to look upon the menu’s full glory.

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I ordered the mixed meat plate (but, of course) and drank that beer in advance appreciation as if it was nectar from the ‘gods only’ stash of nectar. the plate came, heavy: beef ribs, beef sausage, brisket…adorned by a couple of pickles, a very smoky baked beans, a scoop of potato salad, and two slices of perfect wonder bread.

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it was the beef sausage that took it over the wall. the part of the dish that made me roll my eyes at the absolute insanity of it all. an earthy, smoldering flavor and texture reminiscent of street kielbasa in eastern Europe but wearing big boots and a darker skin. A great, great plate.

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As I paid, leaving a New York tip, I passed the row of old men, taking their time because there was no other way they cared to know. The oldest of them, the man sitting in that chair, is the owner and cook at Taylor’s Cafe in Taylor, Texas. And in that chair he soundly sleeps. Nodding every minute or so. And dreaming of things unknown to me.

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A smear of butter across the slice of dark Russian bread could do little to prepare us for what was to come – an elegant culinary street fight rolling in from the East only to be referred to, from this day forward, mythically, as ‘The Devouring.’

A classic Brighton Beach starting line up featured pickled watermelon, fatback with a dollop of mustard, aspic congealed around hard boiled eggs, a lively eggplant dip, a touch of herring. Beer. Vodka.

Sleeves were rolled up over Siberian pelmeni and a second pierogi-esque dumpling platter of the highest order – the kind of pelmeni that forces you to roll your eyes into the back of your head and conjure images of the Rapture. Yes, that good. Then chicken. If the northern Italian provinces have their chicken under a brick, then the Russians pan-fry theirs squarely under a townhouse. Crisp. Flavorful. Insane. Beer. Vodka. End scene.

McFadden & Whitehead were right as stopping was simply not an option as a shepard’s pie type contraption entered the fight and revealed itself as a volcano of kasha and pork sausage. Unbelievable. This dish, alone can leave even the heartiest eater on his knees, yet it was unfathomably accompanied by a fried dumpling platter sleeping comfortably under a thick blanket of short rib. I remember mumbling something about Genghis Khan. Beer. Vodka.

A caramel soaked napoleon (fitting) and then we began to hallucinate. A sweet cheese pelmeni introduced itself as a vital soothsayer to the sour cherry vareki that, literally, destroyed what was left on the battle field. Our Host for the evening closed the deal, raising the capital necessary to bail out the table. Frozen pelmeni to go.

Wet towel conversation, typically as bubbly and rich as a Georgian lambchop bathed in cava, spilled onto Coney Island Avenue as both new faces and tried and true politburo members parted ways, some for the B, others for the Q, as Leadership and Special Counsel slipped into an ink black towncar.

The car, gently speeding around the bend of the Beltway, approached the sprawling Verrazano Narrows bridge, which hovered like a monument, illuminated brilliantly, silently celebrating our heroic stand. Virtually asleep in the back seat. Famous. Anonymous. Alive.

patraj

Question:

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What do you do if a mango falls off a tree and lands at your feet? In this particular case there are two answers. The first, and obvious answer, is that you peel that fucker and eat it right then and there with your juice-slicked hands. And there is glory to that answer. The second option, however, brings such nuance that it literally made me lose balance when I ate it. The second answer, my god, is that you curry it. And then you eat it. And then, the light…

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To Miss Trimm’s, the curried crab and dumplings went quickly…

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The landscape a lush green home to goats who roam the hills…

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until they are called to a higher duty…

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Street corners in town, dead end dirt roads, shacks by the airport vanish before your eyes, transforming into portals to the otherworldly delights of the buss up shot and g-d’s own mighty, mighty doubles…

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doubles

When our friend cooked mahi mahi spiced with with local ‘peppa’, I offered my help. He shook his head with a calming grace unfathomable off the island and quietly replied, “Leave the dangerous work to me.’

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