A Restaurant Owner’s Nightmare
In case you were wondering, I am that nightmare. Boo.
Just yesterday I got my first really hateful comment in a long time. Which probably means that I’m getting soft. Actually I can feel my standards slipping on a daily basis. I had thought that the trip to D.C. would really shake me up and put me right back on track, but it didn’t quite do the trick.
It was wonderful to be in deep ethnic enclaves like the Vietnamese Eden Center in Falls Church, Virginia. And of course it was a great treat to get some good Ethiopian food.
But there was one thing in particular that stood out as being better in Albany. When ADS and La took me down to the Maine Avenue Fish Market to get some seafood, I couldn’t help but dismiss the fried clams as not holding a candle to Bob & Ron’s.
I say this in part to show that I don’t hate Albany. I don’t hate all of the restaurants here. But still I understand that I can be a nightmare for restaurant owners. After all, for the most part, I think ours should both be better and less expensive.
Going Back Home
This vacation is over. It’s time to pack up the car and hit the road back to Albany. So I do not have a lot of time. There was a lot that I learned on this trip, but much of it doesn’t quite fit into the FUSSYlittleBLOG project. After all, this isn’t a travel blog.
Once I’m back home, perhaps I can think of some way of incorporating more of these recent experiences into my ongoing efforts of improving food in Albany.
Until then, there are three issues I have written about in the past that have come up over the course of this trip, and I thought that this would be the perfect kind of quick post for a travel day. Especially a day when I cannot call on the copy editing skills of Mrs. Fussy.
Eating My Will To Live
So the past few days I took a little side trip, leaving the farm in rural Pennsylvania for the bright city lights of Washington D.C. There I met up with my oldest friend ADS and together with our childhood chum (let’s call her La) we proceeded to eat ourselves silly for the better part of 72 hours.
The whole ordeal reminded me of a disturbing smoking cessation program that was around when I was growing up. Part of the regime was that the smoker would be locked in a room with a carton of their favorite cigarettes. But they weren’t allowed out until all of the cigarettes were gone. The idea was that at the completion of this treatment, even the thought of a cigarette would be entirely unpleasant.
This was never my intention. But seriously, I may not eat for another week.
For those who are interested in taking the vicarious journey, and see the grotesque amount of food consumed in a brief period of time, please click on through. I am recording it for posterity, because this is the first time that food finally got the better of me. Or maybe it was just the mighty combo of ADS and La.
Wine Round Up
I’m still on vacation, but now with a twist. I’ve left the farm all by myself, leaving the children and Mrs. Fussy behind, to go on some crazy eating bender, that I can’t quite believe myself. I may share some of the details later.
But I mention this because
a) Mrs. Fussy isn’t here to copyedit my post
b) I’ve been so full I can’t even think about food when I’m not eating
c) If I don’t get this post up quickly I’ll never get my reliably good cappuccino
Given that, and the fact that it’s Sunday, what follows is a bit of a roundup of a handful of wine posts that for whatever reason never got the attention I thought they deserved. To make them a bit juicier, I’ll also try to put them in context. So get ready to click on some links.
Roadside Confession Number One
I am not without sin. There are plenty of things that I do concerning food of which I am not proud.
But for some odd reason, when I am ashamed about something, instead of keeping it hidden, I feel the need to scream it from the hilltops. There is nothing quite as freeing as admitting one’s own shortcomings.
I have admitted to the positive feelings I have about Starbucks brewed coffee, despite knowing its many failings all too well. And I confessed that despite my love for well-made classic cocktails using only the highest quality ingredients, I have a soft spot in my heart for Fat Tuesday’s phantasmagorical slushies.
Well, I have another jaw dropper for you today.
Going to Pennsylvania
There is good food everywhere. The trick is finding it.
It is time yet again for another weeklong trip to rural Pennsylvania to visit the in-laws. I haven’t come up with good nicknames for them, but maybe we’ll discuss it when I get there.
Last time I had some marvelous scrapple and discovered basted eggs at an amazing diner in Altoona. There was the masterfully fried cauliflower with a light and greaseless, almost lacy coating, at a family-style pizza joint in Johnstown. Of course nothing beats my father-in-law’s buttermilk pancakes, with locally made breakfast sausage and pure grade B maple syrup.
And no matter how many times I’m there, there are still some joints and dives that I have yet to hit, even after all of these years.
Sardo(nic) – Part One
It has been a long time since I was a regular at a local cheese shop. Granted, part of this is about me, and a change in my overall diet. Trying to lower cholesterol without going on pills isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds. But the other part is about not finding a cheese shop in my newly adopted city that inspires me to throw caution to the wind with the sensual intensity of its wares.
Despite my absence from the front of the cheese counter, I still know a fair bit about cheese. But I’d be lying is I implied my cheese skills were as keen as they once were.
Since it’s summer, and I’ve been getting a weekly supply of stunningly aromatic basil from Roxbury Farm, I have had true Genovese pesto on the mind lately. Marcella Hazan’s take on the recipe suggests using Fiore Sardo cheese, should you be able to find it.
What are the chances something like this could be found in Albany? Some might say slim to none. But there is one thing we have in spades, and that is Italian markets. And if you are a regular reader, you should know by now that if anything, I am a prisoner of hope.
Mamma Mia
How last year at this time I was able to post an Ask the Profussor is a mystery to me. You see, July 5 is my mother’s birthday. And birthdays are a big deal for her.
Perhaps this has something to do with the proximity of hers to the 4th of July. But we just celebrated her birthday last night with friends and family at Tanglewood, which is one of her favorite places on the planet.
I like packing up a picnic and eating on the lawn with some wine and maybe a beer or two if it’s particularly warm. For me it doesn’t really matter who is playing. For all I care it could be a canned recording of James Galway, and if it were a beautiful day, I would be perfectly happy.
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