Tipsy

The Remains of British Imperialism and the Age of Exploration

by Jay

Last Friday, throngs of Buffalonians crammed into Kleinhans Music Hall to hear Salman Rushdie give a talk about his works. Perhaps best known for the fatwa placed on him by the Ayatollah Khomeini, Rushdie spent about ten years in hiding as extremists attacked publishers, retailers, and translators for working with “The Satanic Verses.” It seems, he’s also known as a novelist.

India-born and Britain-educated, Mr. Rushdie combined wit, precision, insight, and intellect for his riveting talk. He spoke of the problems inherent with the information age, of the increasing need for literature as historical witness, and of his experiences before and after the fatwa. His dry humor and quick references kept the large audience engaged throughout. It was truly an honor to be a present for the talk.  

In keeping with the theme of British domination, we went to Betty’s for a post-Rushdie drink. I ordered a Hendrick’s & Lime. While this may sound commonplace, Betty’s staff makes a fresh lime juice blended with simple syrup that is divine. I made sure to have two cocktails because, obviously, one can never get enough Vitamin C. Scurvy may be a thing of the past, but that doesn’t mean I should neglect precautionary measures.

Choice Eats 2010

by Prichinna

 

I have the mentality of a 300-pound woman. Fortunately, for bathing suit sake, I don’t particularly care for the typical American fare. I would prefer to eat Thai, Turkish, Japanese, Afghani, or even Spanish any day. Since my preferred comestibles are not at my immediate disposal, nor do I yet have a personal chef, I do not eat as much as I would or could. While there is some diversity in restaurants around my zip code, they all seem to be watered down variants. So when I learned about Choice Eats, my inner glutton got really excited. 

 

The Village Voice has curated Choice Eats for three years now. It is a tasting event that features over 60 restaurants (64 this year) from the five boroughs of New York, handpicked by the food critics of The Village Voice. The restaurants represent 35 different ethnic cuisines. This is so my thing. Then I found out there would also be an array of beer, wine, and liquor to be sampled. This is SO my thing. As soon as tickets became available, I purchased two.

 

Tickets were $35 each, not bad for an all you can eat expo paired with alcohol samplings. For an additional $30, one could get in an hour early with no wait and access to the VIP area. A bit pricy for a perk but VIP included a few more tasting areas, unlimited Stella, Leffe, and Hoegarden, and mixed drinks from Dinner with The Band host Sam Mason. There was also a goody bag. The rockstar that I am, I went for VIP.

 

I traveled to the 69^th Armory on Lexington with my fellow food lover Lucy. Upon entering the VIP area, we started with dessert, why not? I sampled a mini-cupcake from Kumquat Cupcakery of NYC. The heavenly little chocolate cake was topped with vanilla frosting and a sprinkling of roasted pistachios. It was the perfect size to eat in one tasty bite. We then headed over to the special host Sam Mason who was pouring rhubarb gimlets. I like a gimlet and I like sour, but this concoction did not appeal to my palate. I switched to Leffe Blonde, an amber colored and fresh and fruity Belgian with a hint of caramel. Much yummier than the gimlet. My favorite sampling in VIP was from Tiffin Wallah, a vegetarian Indian restaurant located in Murray Hill. Much to my vegetarian friend’s delight, and to my taste buds, sweet rice with currants was topped with a spicy curry and savory yogurt sauce. I think I could have possibly eaten this all night.

 

But alas, we moved upstairs for the main event. Another advantage to VIP is that we got in earlier than the non-rockstars and were able to visit many tables before the place packed out, as it surely did. By 8:00 it was becoming hard to navigate a full belly through the crowd. I suggest if you attend next year, go VIP or get there early. So here are some of my tops, restaurants I look forward to visiting soon:

 

Patacon Pisao: A Venezuelan restaurant with a location in Inwood and another in Elmhurst. They served the Cachapa Sandwich, which was made of a sweet cornmeal bread wrapped around melted mozzarella and parmesan with a smothering of sour cream on top. Sweet and cheesy goodness.

 

El Almacén: Located in Williamsburg, the Argentinian chef/owner served up a delectable Peruvian sweet potato puree topped with melt in your mouth short ribs. The blend of meat and potato was superb. When I visit this establishment, I will be sure to try the avocado fries and chorizo and eggs for brunch.

 

Am-Thai Kitchen: Also in Brooklyn, this inexpensive and casual restaurant of Kensington served up two tasty Thai treats. The first was so delicious but I cannot remember the name. It consisted of a large soft noodle topped with vegetables and a delicious peanut-chili sauce. It might have possibly been the Dumpling in Peanut Sauce that is on the menu for $5, but I will have to go sample to be sure, woe is me. The second item was a crispy rice crepe filled with coconut, tofu, lime leaves, and cilantro cucumber salad. The crepes were quickly prepared right in front of us and made a wonderfully light finger food.

 

Fatty Crab: Last but not least was Fatty Crab. This Malaysian fusion restaurant has three locations. The Upper West side, the West Village, and a third just opened in Williamsburg which is called Fatty ‘Cue. Fatty Crab first got my attention in VIP where they were serving chocolate Fatty Bars. With two types to choose from, dark chocolate with chilies and roasted almonds was my favorite. On the main level, Fatty Crab was serving up deviled eggs. These were not your typical Sunday luncheon deviled eggs, but with a zingy Malaysian twist. This perfect two-bite treat could make one wonder what else this restaurant has to offer.

 

 

This event was S.W.A.K. worthy.

 

 

 

 

Portrait in Seven Slugs

Last night, ElMarko and I went to UB to see Wynton Marsalis and the Lincoln Center Jazz Orhcestra. They began with three pieces by other composers, but the bulk of the performance consisted of a work by one of their own called “Portrait in Seven Shades.” Ted Nash was inspired by works he’d seen at MoMA in Manhattan and set about to describe the artists musically. His focus varied – for some, he captured their art, for others, he used their life stories – but every one was wildly inventive.

This, naturally, got me thinking about the very same artists. Specifically, I began to wonder what they drank. So, here’s my very own Portrait in Seven Slugs:

Claude Monet surely stuck with French wine, but even then, he leaned to more subtle styles. He enjoyed Muscadet with fresh oysters and Vouvray with strong cheese. When leaning towards red, he went for lighter wines like Beaujolais or St-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil. He always steered clear of clobbering Bordeaux, or any other flavor that conquered others.

Salvador Dali drank gasoline. Or urine.

 Henri Matisse was a bold bugger. He wasn’t shy about enjoying the  buzz as much as he enjoyed his drink. He was all about Bordeaux. A big believer in la vie boheme, he also was the first to pop Champagne corks whenever possible.

Pablo Picasso was fiercely nationalistic. He was also fiercely masculine. He stuck to deep, rich reds from Rioja, at least until he made money. Then, he went with Priorats and never looked back. None of that sissy French crap for him.

Van Gogh was a pretty notorious Absinthe drinker, but I’ll guess that he also dug on Ricard and Pernod. When he was really broke, he hit the cheap gin. That never seemed to work out too well.

Marc Chagall was a man of contradictions; although he enjoyed Burgundies, he also had a soft spot for vodka and slivovitz. He could put on the show of being decidedly French in his palatial decisions, but in secret, he slurped borscht.

Jackson Pollack stuck to good ol’ American bourbon: effective and quick. Fuck wine.

 

 

Homeslice

by Jay

When I was considering my move to Buffalo from New York, I was not at all convinced that I would survive. After all, how would a dedicated food-slave like myself manage in what is oft-seen as a cultural wasteland? Imagine my surprise when my first stop while looking at apartments was Betty’s.

 

I arrived on a grim February day, which is to say a typical February day in Buffalo. (NB: While I find that most of the year up here is beautiful, February blows. Period.) There wasn’t nearly as much snow as I’d expected, so clomping around on the frozen grass in my snow boots felt a bit ridiculous. I had a half-assed map from the Lonely Planet and no clue whatsoever about the city. I did, however, have an appointment to look at an apartment on Hudson Street, so since I was early, I wandered down to Betty’s for a coffee.

 

It was a Saturday, probably around noon or so. Despite the lack of snow, it was very cold outside and I was chilled from exploring Buffalo on foot. Betty’s was very busy with the brunch crowd, and I have since found out that it’s got one of the best brunches in town. Not being of the brunch-going sect in NYC, I didn’t even think about that at the time – I just wanted something hot to drink. Only a little table by the front was open, so I grabbed that and ordered a scone and a coffee. The waitress brought a cherry and white chocolate chip scone and, I shit thee not, it was one of the best damn things I’ve ever tasted. (In fact, they have been consistently sold out every time since that I’ve gone.) I was thrilled once I had a look at the menu too: many vegetarian options, homey food with a creative twist. After visiting Betty’s and, later, the Allen Street Hardware Café, I figured that I could indeed survive in Buffalo.

 

Four years later, Betty’s is still one of my favorite places to eat. Through wine, I got to know the owners, Carroll and Doty, and I even held a wine tasting for the staff. (My god, they can drink!) Betty’s was recently expanded to include a full bar and I think my visits have increased in direct correlation to the added square footage. The bar area is surprisingly swank for the funk of Allentown, but it blends well with the warm restaurant. One of my favorite new features is a massive wood door Carroll found at Buffalo ReUse, and I’m determined to smuggle that bitch out at some point.

 

Last night, ElMarko and I went to Kleinhans Music Hall, another favorite, to see a performance for the Buffalo Chamber Music Society. I bought season tickets this year for the two of us because it’s one of the biggest bargains to be found, and that’s saying a lot in a very cheap city. It gives us an excuse to get gussied mid-week and take ourselves out, all classy-like. I donned a purpley dress with gold heels and a little gold jacket, which is not quite as tacky as it sounds. And, despite all of the higher end restaurants we could hit, we went to go to Betty’s. It’s around the corner from Kleinhans and I know that we, as vegetarians, are always able to have options other than a portobello whatever. The food is always great and the service is always friendly. The recently expanded wine list is well-constructed, and nothing is too expensive. In an industry plagued with the lackluster, Betty’s has found the perfect niche of warm, affordable, and most of all, delicious.  

 

 

Saturday the 13th...

 

by Kels

It was Saturday, the 13^th and feeling much like Friday the 13^th, as I was filled with the foreboding thought of the two tough days to come. My birthday falls the day after Valentine’s Day.  Just being recently at odds in my love life, and having the double whammy of Valentine’s Day AND my 39^th birthday back to back, I needed to get my mind off of this and just go have some fun. So, I of course turned to good friends. 

I hopped on a train and went down to NYC for the day. I first went to visit my dear lovie Joseph on the Upper East Side. On my way to his place, I picked up the most delicious scones from Corner Cafe & Bakery 3rd Avenue at 93^rd St. I bought one Cranberry and one Apricot Walnut and then popped across the street to buy some gorgeous yellow tulips. The scones were heavenly, melt in your mouth goodness topped with a pat of butter. The tulips were fresh and a vibrant, make-you-feel-good kind of yellow.

After spending a few hours hanging out and catching up with Joey and his pussycats, I went on to the second part of my day with my close friend and confidant Renee. We hooked up in Chelsea for some long overdue art viewing. It was really cold out, which made it physically shocking to pop in and out of the warm galleries. After a couple of hours, we were ready to find somewhere warm to hunker down and have a long chat so we wandered off to look for food and drink. And, like often happens when wandering in NYC, we stumbled across the perfect little place, Pepe Giallo, on 10^th Ave and 25^th Street, a very quaint and cozy Italian restaurant with loads of ambiance.

The front room is warm and filled with an amber glow from lights covered in paper bags. The large wooden bar in the back has a huge clear cylindrical glass vase of fragrant flowering branches that are probably 4 feet tall. It is strikingly beautiful. Although the back room has lovely garden seating, we chose to stay up front where is much cozier. On the front page of the menu was printed "no diet coke - no skim milk - no decaf coffee", so we knew we were in the right place.

We ordered a bottle of wine to start. Valpolicella Superiore - Zenato (Veneto) 2007. It’s a dry & robust Italian with a velvety texture and current, black cherry, & spicy aromas. It immediately warmed my insides. For dinner, I began with a salad of yummy goat cheese, apple and tomato over organic greens. Next was a heaping bowl of Pappardelle with sausage in spicy tomato sauce. Sorry, all you herbivores, but I like-a de good-a sausage and have no regrets. It was fantastic! The pasta was very fresh pasta and homemade sauce with exactly the right amount of spice so it didn’t burn my taste buds off. Service was mellow; slow, but just right if you want to enjoy your wine and company without feeling rushed. The waiter was very handsome, friendly and quite helpful. Pepe is the perfect haven after braving the elements of the city in February.

After finishing every last bite, we  rolled down the street to find a place for another drinkie poo or two (or maybe 3) and came across Le Zie. Yes, another Italian place. It is also a restaurant but has a separate lounge. A long couch sits against the main wall in front of a bar, buzzing with people coming and going. It is quintessentially New York. We were chatting up a friggin’ storm about loves gone wrong as we indulged in our vino. I have no idea what we were drinking, just knew it was warm and rich and felt good going down in the company of a good friend.

Babelling

by Jay

One of the many interesting things to do around Buffalo is the Babel series. Every year, Just Buffalo Literary Center brings in 4 authors, international up to this point, to discuss their works. This has been my first year attending; when I saw the roster of speakers, I bought season tickets. So far, I've seen A.S. Byatt and Ha Jin, and last night, Azar Nafisi spoke. Her best-known work is "Reading Lolita in Tehran," and given the uprising in Tehran after the elections, I was very eager to see her.

 Ms. Fafisi is by far the most dynamic speaker to date; she is genuinely passionate about literature and education. She claims that she wants an amendment to our constitution that guarantees the right to imagination because only with imagination can we obtain empathy. Her talk was the most political of the three that I've seen, which I of course loved. (The previous two were more about their writing processes, which is also fascinating; as a non-writer, I'm always in awe of successful fiction authors.) Ms. Nafisi also seemed greatly influenced by the philosophy of Mikhail Bakhtin, which would make sense because his works were re-discovered around the time she returned to Iran.

Next up is Salman Rushdie, who I am dying to meet. I have to figure out a way to sneak backstage. I would try to flirt my way in, but the dude was married to Padma Lakshmi, fer crissake. I don't have enough time between now and then to get a complete face and body overhaul. Dammit.

Big, Dumb Wednesdays

by Jay

Since I decided I simply had to go back to school yet again, my Wednesdays have become exceedingly long. I teach chitlin all day and then fly to UB for intellectual acrobatics until 10pm. I question my wisdom and/or sanity every Wednesday morning. Yes, I truly do love school, but I know how very many hours I have stretched out before me and I know how very ‘on’ I have to be for all of it. It’s impossible to tease apart the nuanced differences of heteroglossia and polyphony when one isn’t feeling up to par.

I suppose that this weekly day-long stress-fest is what began my quest for Big, Dumb Reds. One bitterly cold Wednesday, all I could fantasize about during my last hour of getting learned was a deep rich red and a long hot bath. Simple needs, you see.

From then on, my BDRs became A Thing. On occasion, I’ll meet up with my husband at Sterling Tavern and get my fill there. But no matter how I feed the BDR monkey, I can rest assured that it will screech its demands until it is placated.

This past Wednesday was no different. I raced from work to a store to grab something inedible that I could edib in the car en route to UB. For the next six hours, I worked my way through the complicated processes of qualitative and quantitative research, language acquisition through writing, and the convoluted ramblings of a Russian philosopher about double-voiced dialogic discourse. Needless to say, I was tapped out by the end of the evening, fit for little more than staring at the wall and mumbling not-so-witty retorts. Enter the Big Dumb Red. I don’t have to think about it; all I need to do is sip the dark, heavy Cab or Merlot or Whatever and let the day run over in my mind.

I met up with my husband at Just Vino on Main Street in Buffalo. I geekily joined their 100 Varietal Club thingy but hardly ever go there. I didn’t really want to go out, but ElMarko lured me with the promise of red dumbness. ElMarko was already working on a glass of Freedom Run’s ’08 Pinot Noir; he’s very much enamored with the savory splendor, and we are equally lucky to know the winemakers (hi guys!).  After much debating, I settled on JR Zinfandel, and it was perfectly stupid. It was HUGE. It’s got big, bold mulberry and black cherry fruit with a hearty dose of smoky wood. And yes, it finishes hot. I tried a Grenache as well, but it wasn’t doing it for me. ElMarko ordered Heba, a Morellino di Scansano. 100% Sangiovese, it’s not a big dumb red, but a delicious and more complex one.

The added benefit of Big Dumb Wednesdays, for me, is that they always fall on Wednesday. I can’t overindulge because the morning after comes too quickly. Hey, I need that safety net, ok?

Mundane Mondays? Try Boisterous Bingo at Amiable Avino’s.

by Prichinna

So maybe I am just preparing for old age? Or maybe things in suburbia just get so bad during the winter stretch that I will try anything? But “Who knew Monday could be so fun?” is what my new bingo buddy Brian said to me at my first Avino’s Bingo night.

For those of you who are not familiar with the south shore of Long Island in the winter time, there is not much to do. Particularly in the little village of Bellport I tend to frequent. During the warm months, the locals restaurant-hop, boat-hop, beach-hop, and quite possibly even bunny-hop. And there is much hopping to be done. But it all comes to a stand still during this dreadful wintry time of year. With most of the village restaurants closed on Monday nights, it seems to be left to Avino’s Italian Table to satisfy the restless natives.

And that is where I spent my most recent Monday night. I was first enlightened of Avino’s bingo night by my dear friend and hair-colorist, Cristian. When he asked me to go, I honestly didn’t think I would make it back out of my house after the back-to-work shock I was experiencing. While Monday’s aren’t easy for anyone, Monday nights are not any easier. After receiving a few ‘where are you’ texts, I decided “Ehhh, why not self? If it was the summer you would be out!” So I threw on a sweater, grabbed 20 bucks for the 20 cards, and off to the village I went. 

I was pleasantly surprised to see the parking lot packed. This would mean lots of company. But it also meant I had to park across the street; could be dangerous getting back across after a few hours of gaming. Nevertheless, I walked in to find a packed bar and a full restaurant. Seemingly, many groups had come down to first eat dinner and to secure a prime spot in the main dinning room.

I quickly located my lot of friends seated inside the dinning area, just outside of the bar. Just apps and drinks for us, but we still were able to sit in a cozy little corner of the main dinning room. Bonus! We were right next to the bingo caller and I had a bulls-eye view of the board. I ordered a Bacardi and Ginger - pint glass please - there were five games ahead of me, each with three chances to win.

So what were we all there playing for you wonder? Our hostess/bingo- caller/owner/proprietor displayed our choice of fine prizes on the mantel above just one of the three fireplaces that Avino’s has to offer. The prizes ranged from bottles of wine, such as a Kris pinot grigio, to gift baskets of movies, popcorn, and candy, to ‘Avino bucks’. There were even ‘point’ prizes (wink, wink) that ranged from 25 points to 260 points by the last game. I was ready for the fun to begin.

And it ensued. This was not your grandmother’s bingo. While it started of slow, like my sips of Bacardi, the game quickly picked up the pace. Subsequently, so did my drinking.

Before long, crayons were snapping as numbers were feverishly being colored in. Those out on the streets could hear our hoots and hollers. Ever so often a false bingo was called. The boos quickly turned to ahhs as we realized we still had another shot at a prize. A woman at my table continuously insulted the continuously winning table. “Your sister wears short-shorts!” she would yell every time they gave notice of being close to a win. When my colorist won the movie gift pack, his starburst became little missiles to be launched at that table we were quickly growing quite suspicious of.

In between games I nibbled on spicy hot wings from the six-dollar bar bite menu. They were a perfect degree of spicy. Enough to keep you sipping your drink, but not creating the need to dab your tongue with a paper napkin. I shared a delectable plate of Gnocchi Bolognese with another friend I enticed down to take part in the entertainment. The chocolate chip cookie pie and tartufo from the dessert menu were delicious as well.

As the last prize was given away, I realized that bingo is not just for grannies. Nor is it just a clever attempt for teachers to try to make learning fun in school. For some, it might just be about putting a few bucks in one’s pocket. But I think bingo is more about an evening guaranteed to be filled with laughs. An evening of much needed fun for the social scene of a small village stuck under the winter gray.

This event is SWAK worthy.