Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
I Don't Usually Drink Beer . . .
. . . but I do like a dry (Irish) stout for St. Patrick's day.
(Or: Yes, kids, it's time for Jack's annual post about dry stouts.)
In my experience, there is only one dry stout that can be found reliably here in Bend, and it doesn't come from any of the locals -- the local offerings are sweet, not dry.
No, it's Guinness for dry stout, and not just any Guinness, but their Extra Stout version. Not the Draught and not the Foreign.
The Draught is watery, and the Foreign isn't a whole lot better. Murphy's has a dry stout in cans but it's no more interesting than Guinness Draught. But Guinness Extra is quite a bit bolder: the roasted barley and the hops -- you can taste them both. It doesn't have much of a head.
I've heard that they have a "Foreign Extra," too, but I haven't seen it.
Yesterday I found the last six-pack of Guinness Extra on the west side. Newport Market said that they had purchased a case for the weekend but blew through it in less than a day. West Side Liquor didn't have it. But Marcia at Safeway took my call, found that last sixer, and held it for me at Customer Service.
Before someone quite reasonably points out that I have no taste in beer, I offer the following: (1) If someone in town made a dry stout, I'd drink it, and B), Beer is only an occasional beverage for me, because beer makes me fat.
Many men my age just grow the belly, and -- what the hell -- stop shaving. Rock that "garden gnome" look.* And, yes, I could go that route. But and alas, it is not just my belly that swells when I drink beer, but my butt goes along for the ride.
Fun fact: The fellow at West Side Liquor said that all they had was Guinness "Drot."
===========
* it was my friend Bruce Miller who pointed out the uncanny resemblance between older men with white beards and garden gnomes. Once seen, it cannot be unseen.
(Or: Yes, kids, it's time for Jack's annual post about dry stouts.)
In my experience, there is only one dry stout that can be found reliably here in Bend, and it doesn't come from any of the locals -- the local offerings are sweet, not dry.
No, it's Guinness for dry stout, and not just any Guinness, but their Extra Stout version. Not the Draught and not the Foreign.
The Draught is watery, and the Foreign isn't a whole lot better. Murphy's has a dry stout in cans but it's no more interesting than Guinness Draught. But Guinness Extra is quite a bit bolder: the roasted barley and the hops -- you can taste them both. It doesn't have much of a head.
I've heard that they have a "Foreign Extra," too, but I haven't seen it.
Yesterday I found the last six-pack of Guinness Extra on the west side. Newport Market said that they had purchased a case for the weekend but blew through it in less than a day. West Side Liquor didn't have it. But Marcia at Safeway took my call, found that last sixer, and held it for me at Customer Service.
Before someone quite reasonably points out that I have no taste in beer, I offer the following: (1) If someone in town made a dry stout, I'd drink it, and B), Beer is only an occasional beverage for me, because beer makes me fat.
Many men my age just grow the belly, and -- what the hell -- stop shaving. Rock that "garden gnome" look.* And, yes, I could go that route. But and alas, it is not just my belly that swells when I drink beer, but my butt goes along for the ride.
Fun fact: The fellow at West Side Liquor said that all they had was Guinness "Drot."
===========
* it was my friend Bruce Miller who pointed out the uncanny resemblance between older men with white beards and garden gnomes. Once seen, it cannot be unseen.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Wild Rose -- Northern Thai food . . .
. . . for the masses.
Don't get fooled by the white tablecloths and cute little bistro tables one sees at most Thai restaurants. Thai food is family food, not snooty high-end dining.
I don't blame Thai chefs and restaurants for trying to keep it classy: consider what has happened to Chinese restaurants: In the past thirty years I've watched them race to the bottom to cater to the all-u-can-eat-lunch-buffet crowd. Low prices, uninspired predictable food.
In a community with a vibrant Chinese community, the restaurants will be vibrant and exciting. Otherwise, you get tedious, predictable, and boring.
Like Mexican restaurants: they all serve the same thing.
If you compete in a race to the bottom, you have to be willing to live in crappier house or tent than your competitor is willing to do.
My guess is that most Thai restaurateurs took one look at that business model and said, "I don't think so."
And I think that's why most Thai places look pretty upscale when compared with the crummy old-school Chinese restaurants offering large quantities of low-quality food at low, low prices.
This reporter's introduction to Thai food was in the late '70s in Ventura, Calif.
Thar I wuz, living in a one-bedroom apartment with the first Mrs Elliott. I was working for minimum wage in the display department at Montgomery Ward, she was a housecleaner. We discovered this new restaurant downtown. It was dimly-lit, funky, it was never crowded. We'd never heard of Thai food. The table service was done by a white guy wearing traditional Thai clothes.
The food was amazing, the flavors shockingly bold, the cost was low.
The guy was American. He'd lived in Thailand for a while, met a woman, married her. He, she, and her mother, moved to Ventura where they opened a restaurant. The mother provided the recipes, her daughter helped with the cooking, the husband served the tables.
My eyes were opened to fine, inexpensive, bold Thai cooking. But that was a long time ago.
Since then, Thai food has become more popular, but in the process, more generic, less interesting, less exciting. Thai restaurants have learned to cater to the American palate -- sweetness has been elevated, heat has been lowered. The jarring contrasts between sour tamarind paste, rich peanuts, hot red chiles, and fresh mint have been toned down.
What passed for medium heat is now a -1 on the scale of heat. And I got bored with Thai food.
Anyway, long story not even close to short.
Mrs Elliott and I went to Wild Rose Thai on Oregon street today for lunch.
Best Thai I've had in a long time.
It's northern Thai cooking, they say. There's no Pad Thai (the "chop suey" of American Thai restaurants, I say). No chopsticks (back in 1970, the guy at that restaurant in Ventura told us that chopsticks are not used in Thailand). No white tablecloths. Oilcloth, in fact. Casual, but in the funky sense, not in the slumming sense. But a full menu -- currys, soups, small plates -- and I could sit there for a while. A full, though modest, bar. Moderate prices. Fine service, not officious. The place felt ... if not family ... homey.
The food was rich, tasty, flavorful, bold, interesting.
Check them out.
(Note: they rank their food's fieriness on a scale from "1" (baby food) to 5 (their hottest). I ordered both my soup and plate at "4". They were what this SoCal boy would call a "2". Maybe a "1". PNW palates are timid. -Ed.)
Don't get fooled by the white tablecloths and cute little bistro tables one sees at most Thai restaurants. Thai food is family food, not snooty high-end dining.
I don't blame Thai chefs and restaurants for trying to keep it classy: consider what has happened to Chinese restaurants: In the past thirty years I've watched them race to the bottom to cater to the all-u-can-eat-lunch-buffet crowd. Low prices, uninspired predictable food.
In a community with a vibrant Chinese community, the restaurants will be vibrant and exciting. Otherwise, you get tedious, predictable, and boring.
Like Mexican restaurants: they all serve the same thing.
If you compete in a race to the bottom, you have to be willing to live in crappier house or tent than your competitor is willing to do.
My guess is that most Thai restaurateurs took one look at that business model and said, "I don't think so."
And I think that's why most Thai places look pretty upscale when compared with the crummy old-school Chinese restaurants offering large quantities of low-quality food at low, low prices.
This reporter's introduction to Thai food was in the late '70s in Ventura, Calif.
Thar I wuz, living in a one-bedroom apartment with the first Mrs Elliott. I was working for minimum wage in the display department at Montgomery Ward, she was a housecleaner. We discovered this new restaurant downtown. It was dimly-lit, funky, it was never crowded. We'd never heard of Thai food. The table service was done by a white guy wearing traditional Thai clothes.
The food was amazing, the flavors shockingly bold, the cost was low.
The guy was American. He'd lived in Thailand for a while, met a woman, married her. He, she, and her mother, moved to Ventura where they opened a restaurant. The mother provided the recipes, her daughter helped with the cooking, the husband served the tables.
My eyes were opened to fine, inexpensive, bold Thai cooking. But that was a long time ago.
Since then, Thai food has become more popular, but in the process, more generic, less interesting, less exciting. Thai restaurants have learned to cater to the American palate -- sweetness has been elevated, heat has been lowered. The jarring contrasts between sour tamarind paste, rich peanuts, hot red chiles, and fresh mint have been toned down.
What passed for medium heat is now a -1 on the scale of heat. And I got bored with Thai food.
Anyway, long story not even close to short.
Mrs Elliott and I went to Wild Rose Thai on Oregon street today for lunch.
Best Thai I've had in a long time.
It's northern Thai cooking, they say. There's no Pad Thai (the "chop suey" of American Thai restaurants, I say). No chopsticks (back in 1970, the guy at that restaurant in Ventura told us that chopsticks are not used in Thailand). No white tablecloths. Oilcloth, in fact. Casual, but in the funky sense, not in the slumming sense. But a full menu -- currys, soups, small plates -- and I could sit there for a while. A full, though modest, bar. Moderate prices. Fine service, not officious. The place felt ... if not family ... homey.
The food was rich, tasty, flavorful, bold, interesting.
Check them out.
(Note: they rank their food's fieriness on a scale from "1" (baby food) to 5 (their hottest). I ordered both my soup and plate at "4". They were what this SoCal boy would call a "2". Maybe a "1". PNW palates are timid. -Ed.)
Monday, March 3, 2014
Serendipity & Lou Reed
I missed out on Lou Reed. He died last year. Didn't mean much to me. He was an East Coast artist, and I was into West Coast music, so I am unfamiliar with his work.
For the past several months, we've seen adverts for the Sony's Playstation 4 when watching shows on streaming video. Here's the video. Cool video, interesting song, I thought. Could not place it, didn't know what it was.
A couple weeks ago while getting a lift from our friends, Barb and Robin, the song came on the radio. Different singer, same song. "Lou Reed," sighed Robin.
The only Reed song I recognize is Walk on the Wild Side with its famous two-bass (electric & upright) double-stopped opposing glissandi intro. Well, it turns out that the song Sony used is from the same album: Perfect Day from his album, "Transformer" (1972). I just got a copy and it's a very fine album.
Most of you already know that, so I'm late to the game, but I'm happy to have discovered it.
For the past several months, we've seen adverts for the Sony's Playstation 4 when watching shows on streaming video. Here's the video. Cool video, interesting song, I thought. Could not place it, didn't know what it was.
A couple weeks ago while getting a lift from our friends, Barb and Robin, the song came on the radio. Different singer, same song. "Lou Reed," sighed Robin.
The only Reed song I recognize is Walk on the Wild Side with its famous two-bass (electric & upright) double-stopped opposing glissandi intro. Well, it turns out that the song Sony used is from the same album: Perfect Day from his album, "Transformer" (1972). I just got a copy and it's a very fine album.
Most of you already know that, so I'm late to the game, but I'm happy to have discovered it.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
My Favorite Academy Fact
The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Formed in 1927. Tasked to "raise the cultural, educational, and scientific standards" of film.
Ever since the "Planet of the Apes" won Best Makeup in 1969 over the more interesting costuming and makeup work for the prehumans in "2001: A Space Odyssey"; the same year when the forgettable "Oliver!" won Best Picture over Kubrick's influential film, I have wondered -- who does the voting?
I know someone who is a voting member of the Academy. But she's only one person. How about the rest?
Well, a survey taken two years ago by the Los Angeles Times found that the members "proved to be ninety-four per cent white and seventy-seven per cent male, with an average age of sixty-two, and artist tastes to match." ("The Talk of the Town." The New Yorker 3 March 2014: 23)
Well -- no surprise then. Old white men.
Okay, I was 18 when I first saw 2001. I'm an old white man now. But I still think the Academy makes lame choices. "Inside Llewyn Davis" should win. But it won't.
They'll pick something stupid. A sentimental favorite. Safe choices. Hand-jobs all around.
Ever since the "Planet of the Apes" won Best Makeup in 1969 over the more interesting costuming and makeup work for the prehumans in "2001: A Space Odyssey"; the same year when the forgettable "Oliver!" won Best Picture over Kubrick's influential film, I have wondered -- who does the voting?
I know someone who is a voting member of the Academy. But she's only one person. How about the rest?
Well, a survey taken two years ago by the Los Angeles Times found that the members "proved to be ninety-four per cent white and seventy-seven per cent male, with an average age of sixty-two, and artist tastes to match." ("The Talk of the Town." The New Yorker 3 March 2014: 23)
Well -- no surprise then. Old white men.
Okay, I was 18 when I first saw 2001. I'm an old white man now. But I still think the Academy makes lame choices. "Inside Llewyn Davis" should win. But it won't.
They'll pick something stupid. A sentimental favorite. Safe choices. Hand-jobs all around.
A Quiet Sunday Afternoon.
And I have the pictures to prove it.
EXHIBIT A. Sleeping cat.
EXHIBIT B. Sleeping wife.
Me, I have a Steak, Mushroom, and Irish Stout Pie in the oven. And a glass of prosecco in hand. Someone has to man the fort. It's a tough job.
Postscript: At 4:20 I turned on the TV for the Academy Awards' Red Carpet on ABC. The sound was muted. Within minutes she woke up. Her sixth sense must have alerted her: "Gowns!"
EXHIBIT A. Sleeping cat.
 |
| She doesn't do a lick of work around here. |
EXHIBIT B. Sleeping wife.
 |
| She works too hard. |
Me, I have a Steak, Mushroom, and Irish Stout Pie in the oven. And a glass of prosecco in hand. Someone has to man the fort. It's a tough job.
Postscript: At 4:20 I turned on the TV for the Academy Awards' Red Carpet on ABC. The sound was muted. Within minutes she woke up. Her sixth sense must have alerted her: "Gowns!"
Necktie Killer at Silver Moon
I met a friend last night at Silver Moon. We went to hear Necktie Killer. (Facebook page here.) Neither of us had high hopes of being able to hear Necktie Killer very well. We've both had disappointing experiences with the sound there. It's been a blurry mess. You could see the players playing but the sound was just a roar. Lyrics unintelligible.
Well. That wasn't the case last night. It was better. They have a sound man now (didn't the last time I went). We could tell because he wore a Silver Moon t-shirt with "sound man" printed on it, and he was paying attention and he dialed the sound in after a few songs.
It still wasn't great sound, the place is too reverberant for real clarity, but it was full, and loud and there was enough detail so a fellow could hear all the players. Well, except during horn solos -- the sound man didn't notice and raise their levels -- so they were buried in the mix.
Quibbles aside, the band is great. Seven pieces (guitar, sax, trombone, trumpet, bass, lead singer, drums), and tight. High energy, a lot of work on their arrangements, with crisp breaks and rhythm changes. And a big fat sound -- in the select spots where they played unison, it's as powerful a sound I've ever heard.
I can't comment on the lyrical content of their songs for two reasons: 1. I have "lyric deafness," meaning I don't pay much attention to the words of a song, and (b) The sound was too blurry to pick out the words anyway.
Like them a lot.
Well. That wasn't the case last night. It was better. They have a sound man now (didn't the last time I went). We could tell because he wore a Silver Moon t-shirt with "sound man" printed on it, and he was paying attention and he dialed the sound in after a few songs.
It still wasn't great sound, the place is too reverberant for real clarity, but it was full, and loud and there was enough detail so a fellow could hear all the players. Well, except during horn solos -- the sound man didn't notice and raise their levels -- so they were buried in the mix.
Quibbles aside, the band is great. Seven pieces (guitar, sax, trombone, trumpet, bass, lead singer, drums), and tight. High energy, a lot of work on their arrangements, with crisp breaks and rhythm changes. And a big fat sound -- in the select spots where they played unison, it's as powerful a sound I've ever heard.
I can't comment on the lyrical content of their songs for two reasons: 1. I have "lyric deafness," meaning I don't pay much attention to the words of a song, and (b) The sound was too blurry to pick out the words anyway.
Like them a lot.
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