Tag: food (Page 3 of 3)

Mmmmm, Breaded Pork

May 24, 2004 / DB

People ask me all the time about the differences between Kansas City and Indianapolis. I generally tick off the things that aren’t different first, then say, “The food is much better in Kansas City though”. People here are often surprised by that statement, not in defense of Indy, but because they don’t know about the tradition of food in Kansas City. As I’ve learned, it’s not really a matter of there being no good locally owned restaurants here. There are plenty of good local places tucked between the PF Chang’s, Chili’s, Outbacks, etc. It’s more a case of there being no place like Southwest Boulevard, where you have your choice of dozens of Mexican restaurants to chose from if you’re in the mood for something spicy. It’s a matter of the racial divide being more rigid here, and people in the suburbs are not as willing to drive into the hood to eat barbecue as Kansas Citians are. Saturday, when we were out with some friends driving downtown, we passed a couple down home looking barbecue places. “Wow, I should check those out sometime.” The reaction I got was a cross between absolute disbelief and wondering if I was just being funny. But the biggest difference is that there’s no nationally known “Indy food”. Tell someone you’re from Kansas City, and chances are, even if they’ve never been there, they know about Kansas City barbecue. They may not know about the Boulevard or the huge number of nationally recognized steak houses, but they’ve heard about Kansas City barbecue.
In fact, Indianapolis does have a signature food item, the pork tenderloin sandwich. It’s appropriately the most popular food item during race weekends at the Speedway. I’ve yet to have a tenderloin since moving here, so I clearly need to get on that. The two articles below from today’s Indy Star may make your stomach rumble, so you might want to read after lunch.

Yum Yum
Local Style

Dec. 1

December 1, 2003 / DB

I’m trying to get some work done today. Really. But it seems like I lose my network connection every five minutes. Outlook hasn’t worked for about 30 minutes. That’s all I need, when I’m in the proverbial donut week at work. Holiday last week. This weekend, visitors from Kansas City. Next work week, a trip to California and Arizona. Next weekend, a trip to Kansas City for a KU game and the Sinatra Party. I don’t need these motivational land mines.

December 1. To me, that’s the official start of the holiday season. I like a buffer between Thanksgiving and Christmas. No shopping the first weekend of the season for me. Hopefully you and yours had safe and happy weekends. Thanksgiving in Carmel, IN was uneventful, save a plumbing incident. We fed 12 people until they were happy. We played bad games. I took several long naps, read a lot, watched three movies (including the first of many viewings of Christmas Vacation). Funny thing, when you’re cooking for 12, you don’t have time to sit down and watch any football. I saw a total of five minutes of football Thursday, which was a little disappointing.

On the food tip, it was a very traditional Thanksgiving week here. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, corn, rolls. All book ended with sushi on Tuesday (My first eel experience, which I was pleased with) and Indian food Saturday (I chose the Tandoori mixed grill. Outstanding!). Pretty traditional.

Speaking of plumbing, I enjoy dropping $250 to have a guy come run 35 feet of steel cable between our house and the main sewer line. Plumbing sure is some racket.

Whatever Frenchie came up with the term “a la mode” deserves a Nobel Prize.

I began this discussion with a couple of your this morning, but what’s the deal with Dan Dierdorf? Is there a worse announcer at a high level than him? The bombast and In Love With His Own Voice qualities of Dick Vitale without any of the charm and passion Vitale brings. The apparent obligation to comment on everything. And I mean everything. Worse, most of his observations aren’t good and he laughs as though he’s made some great joke every ten seconds. I think my favorite broadcast experiment was when ABC let Dierdorf do college games by himself for a year or two. He had no problem filling the airspace normally reserved for 2-3 people on his own. But, of course, he went to Michigan and he’s smarter than everyone else. I got to listen to him last week doing the Colts game, then yesterday for the Chiefs. His flaws are exacerbated by Dick Enberg, who’s about 20 years past his prime. Is it really that hard to put old announcers out to pasture?

Post KC Trip

October 13, 2003 / DB

Finally back home for a stretch, sitting in front of the TV preparing for my firs extensive use of picture-in-picture this year (Red Sox-Yankees in the main frame, Monday Night Football in the PIP frame).

I didn’t do my Purdue friends justice with a full accounting of my trip to West Lafayette two weeks ago as I had done for my trip to South Bend. It was a beautiful day, the Boilermakers pounded Illinois, we spent the entire second half in the parking lot tailgating, and I ended the evening puking on the side of I-65 on the way back to Indy. That’s a solid day right there. For the crowd who knew me in my lightweight days, when each weekend seemed to bring a new vomiting experience, this was my first alcohol induced purge since the first Sinatra Party in December 1998.

Being back in Kansas City for a week was great, confusing, happy, sad, frustrating, and fulfilling all at the same time. It had been almost four months since I had spent any real time there. Arriving last Monday was kind of like coming out of a coma; things had changed a little, but not in real significant ways. The grass and trees weren’t as green as they were in June, the billboards had changed, people were fired up about the Chiefs instead of the Royals, and not surprisingly I heard most of the same songs on the radio. It was like stepping out of a room for awhile, and when you come back, all the furniture has been moved just a little; enough that you notice, but not enough that the basic set-up of the room has changed. It was great seeing everyone, not to mention my epic tour of KC eateries. I managed to squeeze in Jack’s Stack, California Taqueria, Manny’s, Oklahoma Joe’s, Jim G’s in Raytown, Bryant’s, and the Falloon. Not bad work, although my waistline and cholesterol count aren’t all that appreciative.

Game three of the ALCS was one of those epic events that I’ll never forget. Pedro Martinez – Roger Clemons at Fenway. You knew something big was going to happen, and given each pitcher’s mental make-up, there would probably be some kind of ruckus. I can’t say I expected events to reach the point where Don Zimmer charged Pedro and Jeff Nelson and Karim Garcia are beating down a Boston groundskeeper. In retrospect, though, that’s the only way things could happen. Sox fans had to arrive with their hopes high, only to have them crushed. That’s the way of the Red Sox.

Is there anything better than playoff baseball in Fenway Park? Yankees fans are exuberant, but expect to win. Cubs fans are just happy to be there. Red Sox fans, on the other hand, live and die with every pitch. They know their history, so each high point could be the moment that changes everything while every low point is another sign of the inevitability of their cause. Despite being the smallest park in the majors, Fenway has a roar unlike any other park. However, it also has an eerie silence you hear nowhere else. It’s as if Red Sox fans have been punched in the stomach so often that they can’t bring themselves to make noise when things go bad. (Derek Jeter hits a ball down the line that hits third base and flies into short left field, scoring a run. That’s Red Sox baseball, right there.)

I’ve seen one movie in the past five months, and that was Old School on DVD, rather than in the theater. My expectation is to see Kill Bill one night this week when S. is working, then hope to get her out to School of Rock and Mystic River after she completes boards next week. What’s this mean, for you, the loyal reader? Well, some movie reviews perhaps. I must admit, I’m horrible at remembering things from a movie the first time I see it, and I don’t know if I’m ready to splurge on a pen with a light on it just for you jokers. But I’ll see what I can do.

Now, back to the posting. I’ll not keep you wanting this week. A brand new Listening Post will be published this afternoon…

D’s Notes From LA

September 4, 2003 / DB

Some notes from the coast (well, Ontario at least) while watching the NFL opener and letting my In ‘N Out Double-Double settle happily in my belly.

My favorite thing about In ‘N Out Burger isn’t the food or the name or the Fletch reference. It’s the fact I ALWAYS get some sauce on my shirt when I eat there. I love that little reminder the next time I wear the shirt (In ‘n Out sauce is a bitch to get out of cotton. Probably explains why it’s so hard to digest.).

For the record, I’m officially comfortable with football being on tonight, although let’s all admit the NFL on Thursday isn’t completely correct. While Mother Nature may have conspired to give most of the country football weather of some sort last weekend, it still didn’t feel like football season. If I’m ever elected president, in addition to banning large trucks from the roads during rush hour, I would mandate strict limits to sport seasons:

Football: Starts the weekend after Labor Day. All regular season college games must be completed by the weekend of Thanksgiving. No bowl games before December 20. None after January 2. Super Bowl must be played the last weekend of January (keeping the NFL from expanding the season).
Baseball: Opening Day must be the first Monday of April, with all games that day being day games. No regular season games should be played in October (shorten the season to 154 games to guarantee that.) No playoff games after October 30.
Basketball: No NBA games before November 1. No college games before the week of Thanksgiving. The one exception is for the preseason NIT, which would receive a one-week waiver so the campus rounds could be played in time to get the four finalists to New York the night before Thanksgiving. The NCAA championship must always be played the first Monday of April. We really need to do something about getting the NBA Finals over by June 10 too.
Hockey: Eliminate the entire regular season and just have “playoff hockey” between April 1 and June 1.

Peyton Manning has a shit-load of endorsements, doesn’t he? Jerry Rice is the greatest player ever, and probably has fewer endorsements in 20 years than Peyton has racked up in seven.

Is there anything dumber than free agents who switch teams and then talk about proving to their old team that they let someone good get away? You were a free agent! You had the freedom to negotiate with every team in the league, you got to weight the offers, and you chose the one that was best for you. Shut up and count your money.

You would think I might be a bigger fan of Lisa Guerrero than Melissa Stark. In most competitions I would be (although Ms. Guerrero is showing her age a little, but it’s kind of cool that ABC didn’t go with some 21 year old hottie), but when you’re talking fully clothed, chest-up shots all night, I think I go with the Phi Beta Kappa rather than the D Material candidate.

East Coast fans are the best. There’s really nothing like them. East Coast fans just sound different, they have a roar that the rest of the country can’t reproduce. West Coasters are bandwagoners, and can always find something better to do. Midwesterners are too forgiving and mild mannered. East Coasters, however, love their teams with a passion but will rip them when they do wrong. Their teams are an extension of their city, their neighborhood, even themselves. West Coast fans look at athletes as celebrities. In the Midwest, we view them as regular, good guys. In the East, however, players are all your hopes and dreams wrapped up in a living, breathing package.

I should have gone to Jack in the Box. I could have gotten a Raiders antenna ball. Whoo wooooooo!!!!!

I saw a story on the local sports tonight about a basketball player named Demetrius Walker. Kid is a 12 year old in the LA area that is already 6’3’’. Some people are calling him the next LeBron. How much would it suck to be 6’3’’ when you’re in the sixth grade, live in the LA area, and have people comparing you to the Next Great Thing? Something tells me he already gets laid more than I ever did in college.

While we’re on the subject, why would any athlete not go to UCLA? If you’re going to be a jock, cruise through classes, live off $100 handshakes, and drink for free, wouldn’t you rather do it where you’re sharing the free pitchers with models than with Tammy from Oak Grove?

It took me 150 minutes to travel 75 miles today. I love LA!

I had about two hours to kill in St. Louis Wednesday. St. Louis is probably my least favorite big airport. It always feels like a big, cold cave that is stuck in the 1970’s. Probably my favorite thing is the artificial sky view between terminals B and C. There are fake windows with a view of clouds, as if you’re 29,000 feet up in a Boeing jet. Other than nine-year-old boys, who is interested in this view? Put up a gaudy, fake arch. Paint a mural of famous St. Lunatics. Something to let me know I’m in St. Louis and not Peoria.

It was very odd to be flying near Kansas City and not be landing.

Do any of you remember Sniglets? Comedian Rich Hall made entirely too much money in the 1980s (and earned a gig on SNL) by coming up with funny words that described everyday events or items that caused bemusement and consternation in people. Does anyone know if there was a Sniglet for the first automatic faucet you choose in an airport restroom never working? I’m seriously on a 28-29 faucet streak where I had to wave my hands in front of at least two faucets to get some tepid water to come out.

Speaking of nine-year-old boys and airport restrooms (whoa!), on our way to St. Lucia, we admired the automatic seat covers in O’Hare. Awesome invention! Along with automatically flushing, a new plastic sanitary cover slides itself over the toilet seat. I wonder how many they waste each year because idiots like me and every nine-year-old boy who’s ever walked into a stall there makes it flush five times so we can marvel.