"It was a 'Dark and Stormy' night..." at Ham & High

[12/1/2011: Ed. Note official word is that City Grill is moving their operation soon to the Ham and High location. So long Pimm's No. 1 Cup! :(] 

Whoops....Sparky would be mad.

These are what I meant....and yes I did have three.

Those of you who have been to Bermuda numerous times like I have will no doubt recall the favorite drink of the locals which they call the "Dark and Stormy."  The "Dark and Stormy" is a concoction of Goslings' ginger beer and dark rum.  At the Swizzle Inn you can drink them all day and "stagger out."

When I owned property in Bermuda--before the 1980s crash--I developed a taste for the good ole "Dark and Stormy." Alas, you just cannot find a good one in the Gump, at least I thought. That was until I took an heiress to Ham and High for dinner at Hampstead Saturday evening on what had been a dark and stormy afternoon of much-needed rain. Well, for accuracy's sake I should say that her chauffeur drove us in her Bentley.  But I did fully intend to pay if the need arose.

I had ordered my usual Jameson on the rocks and while the waitress was hunting it up I discovered on the back of my menu that they served a "H & H Dark and Stormy" with real Bermuda Goslings Black Seal Dark Rum. When the waitress returned to give the "bad news" that they were out of the Jameson, I advised her that was in fact good news because what I really wanted was the "Dark and Stormy" ... times three of course.

The heiress raised an eyebrow for a moment and ordered her usual glass of Riesling.  At this point in my life I could care less what she thought about my order. She is already well aware of my financial misfortune and had noticed I had become quite slow to the wallet when the tab arrives.  Sort of like a legislator.

When my drinks arrived I was pleased to see them authentically presented (but for the slice of lemon) and well mixed.  As I sipped my first one or two my mind floated back to my frolics with a gay divorcee twenty-five years ago (or so) on the pastel sands of the Pink Beach Club where I recall they served the most marvelous English breakfasts in our suite (until her ex-husband canceled her credit cards).  It was particularly troubling because all of my cards were maxed out at the time. But I, as usual, digress.

As you can imagine, by the middle of the second cocktail I was in my usual fabulous humor and ready to tackle the specialty of the house: Pork Osso Bucco. Yes, I said "pork" (not veal) Osso Bucco.

An volcanic island of Pork Osso Bucco with Dark and Stormy No. 3 in background.

The Oakview Farms pork shank was served, as you can see, on a bed of cheddar grits with garlic, mirepoix, and natural jus.  Thats "gravy" for those of you in P-Vegas. I won't even try to explain mirepoix to the rabble in Elmore County except you can see the mirepoix covering the pork.

And a nice piece of pork it was.  It was butter beast. No knives were necessary and it was delicious!  Did I mention it was tender?

For $20 or so U.S. dollars it was quite a meal. The service was slow but that was by design as this place touts its "Slow Food" logo. I do believe it is affiliated with The Village Kitchen on Old-Clo.  I gathered that from the fact that they also had another gentleman's drink (Pimms No. 1 Cup) on the menu. In any event, this is not a place to come when you are in a hurry to make your Harry Potter movie. It is a place to come when you want to savor a long dinner with a rich heiress with a platinum or titanium or iridium or Black American Express Card. Oh, I do love the smell of money, black plastic and pork osso bucco.

Very impressed with Ham & High overall.  Easy for me to recommend to those of you living outside the Gump or those who do not mind the 20-minute drive from the Gump (even if you have to actually man the wheel).  A stop by the "Tipping Point" before or after the meal is also recommended.

I give it three of four "Dark and Stormys" (yes there was a fourth back at her place :)"

Cheers! CNA.

GGP "Nibbles" Starved at "The Marina Bar & Grill"

Ed. Note: The Marina Bar & Grill has, as of July 2011, closed and the Capitol Oyster Bar has moved into the space. Check out the post for July 12, 2011 for the details. Nibbles and the Marina will be missed but the COB will be a great replacement....we hope.

Nibbles no more. (At least someone was happy about it).

It is my sad duty to report the loss in action of one of our fearless and expendable members of the elite Gump Guinea Pig Early Strike Force at The Marina Bar & Grill Friday. The LITG Gang had visited The Marina shortly after it re-0pened and gave mixed reviews, especially concerning the slow service. With the appearance of wonderful Spring weather and the heightened allure of The Marina, the GGPs were ordered in this week to perform a standard recon to ensure it would be safe for our faithful LITG followers.

Unfortunately, things went awry....slowly but seriously.

After one hour of nothing but water and ketchup, the heat and sun took its toll on Gamma Company. Nibbles (Code Name "Gnaw"), the jokester of the company, succumbed to exhaustion and hunger. He was originally thought to be faking severe hunger. However, when the rest of the company realized he was truly famished and there was no food in sight, it was too late. Nibbles, already too weak to make it out under his own power, had to be carried out by the rest of Gamma Company. The meager rations of red beans and rice were not sufficient to revive him. By the time they reached available food, Nibbles nose had quit twitching.

He will be missed. Especially, by his 3 dozen children. "Fortunately," his commander Squeak said, sunflower seed in cheek, "there are plenty more where he came from."

The debriefing suggests that LITG fans avoid The Marina on Friday's during good weather between the hours of 11:30 a.m. and 1:15 p.m. The 31 tables cannot be covered by the two waitresses in time to provide nourishment to those used to eating in less than 1:15 minutes. Alas, this warning was too late for Nibbles but, after all, we sent him in because he was expendable.

Goodbye brave Nibbles. Next time take a snack if you are going to The Marina on a Friday.

How the Irish Saved Western Civilization...and Whiskey Making

St. Patty wondering if you can make whiskey from a shamrock (he actually wore blue you know).

On St. Patrick's day I dined at the Gumpwood CC and Snobatorium where they served an very fine Irish Whiskey dinner. On the menu was a wedge with Jameson Blue Cheese followed by a corned-beef brisket simmered in Jameson Irish Whiskey. Both were positively superb. During the dinner we sampled 12 and 18-year-old Jameson and a single-malt Michael Collins. Dessert was a divine chocolate cheesecake served with hot Irish coffee. After dinner I enjoyed Arturo Fuente 8-5-8 cigars and a ride in a new Porsche Panamera S which was unfortunately not mine. Why am I telling you all this?

Because, my dear, we would be speaking Arabic now but for our dear Irish ancestors and their perchance for copying and hiding historical manuscripts along with making what we now know as Irish Whiskey from barley, yeast and water.

Being a decayed Irish gentleman and our resident snob, I offer the following history lesson as a public service to those of you protestants who wrongfully drink Scotch out of ignorance or spite.

You all probably know that between the fall of Rome and the rise of medieval Europe Irish monks hid the famous manuscripts from Rome and Greece, as well as the new testament from the mongol hordes during the dark ages.  They also copied them adding beautiful illustrations by hand.  My alma mater, Trinity College in Dublin, is the home of the Book of Kells which is one of the earliest such preserved copies of the New Testament. Most copies of historical manuscripts that we have were saved from destruction by the Irish monks.  By the way, the St. Patrick we celebrated today was the former slave who lead the scribes who copied the thousands of Greco-Roman and Judeo-Christian manuscripts which served as the repositories for our culture. Without their brave and devoted service, there is no saying what we would be boring our schoolchildren with today nor what language we would be jibberbabbering. But enough about that,  on to my personal favorite: The Story of Irish Whiskey!

In the middle ages there were over 1,300 distilleries in Ireland making whiskey.  By the end of the 19th century, Catherine the Great of Russia confirmed the general belief at that time that Irish Whiskey was the finest whiskey in the entire world.  Unfortunately, because of prohibition in the U.S. and elsewhere, most of the distilleries in Ireland failed and due to our dust-up with Britain, Irish products were banned from England during WWII so that the American G.I.s were only allowed to drink that disgustingly peaty and smokey product from Scotland.  Hence, millions of G.I.s returned to the U.S. with a taste for Scotch unaware that a finer and smoother whiskey was available across the Irish sea.

Today, there are only three distilleries in Ireland and only one is still owned by an Irishman. Bushmills Distillery (located in Northern Ireland and not something any respectable Catholic Irishman would drink) is the protestant distillery. Middleton (Jameson) Distillery in County Cork serves the good Catholics. The Cooley Distillery in County Louth is still Irish owned and produces the brand Michael Collins, who was a leader in the Irish rebellion which lead to Irish independence from Britain in 1921. The English would call him a terrorist but he is revered in the Republic of Ireland. Michael Collins is generally less-expensive than Jameson or Bushmills and is now available in our state-run liquor dispensaries oddly called ABC Stores.

Scotch and Irish Whiskey are made with exactly the same ingredients. But because Irish Whiskey is made with barley that is mostly* malted in gas-fired ovens (i.e. not fueled with that smelly peat-moss), it has a smoother and less smokey taste. Most Scotch drinkers given a choice and a blind taste test would choose any blended Irish Whiskey over any blended Scotch, I mean those with functioning taste buds would.

*The single-malt Michael Collins is "slightly peated."

If you are currently a Scotch drinker and take nothing from this post I trust you will show some humanity and gratitude for the hard work of St. Patrick and his monks and put in an order at your favorite pub for a spot of the finest whiskey in the world.  And that would be a spot of the Irish Whiskey!

Happy St. Patty's day to the lot of you! Sláinte! (Cheers!).

Celebrating the End of Winter at La Zona Rosa

Winter is over when the Chile Poblano does not see its shadow

Forget that stupid ground hog from PA, I know winter is over when I hear laughter from the al fresco diners on the La Zona Rosa balcony wafting down into the parking lot as I walk up the stairs to the entrance of this local "Mexican" favorite. Yes, I know that this is not "authentic" Mexican food. I know the cuisine here is some sort of bastardized combination of Central American dishes prepared to Southern American tastebuds, but that does not stop me from returning regularly, especially when its a beautiful day in the Gumperhood. The price (entrees under $8), as they say, is right and the service is quicker than Speedy Gonzales. Since everthing tastes the same to me I say order any number between 1 and 50 and you will be satisfied.

I have tried the "Especiales de la Casa" No. 46: Burrito Zihuatanejo (shredded beef and beans wrapped in a tortillia topped with a white cheese sauce). It looked and tasted just like the No. 48: Chimichanga Tojo ordered and the Burrito Especiall of Fat Clemenza. How the waiter tells them apart must be similar to the way parents of identical twins distinguish their offspring. Nevertheless, everyone was satisfied with the meal and I liked the XX on tap with a lime slice. The bottom line is that this is a well-run restaurant that consistently serves decent food at a very reasonable price and we in the Gump are easily pleased.

Fat Tuesday at Lunde's: Every Baby Needs a King Cake

Babycake likes Mini-Moonpie!

Is there a more appropriate or better place to lunch in the Gump on Fat Tuesday than Lunde's? Mardi Gras beads, moon pies, red beans and rice, Louisiana Hot Sauce and King Cake (complete with baby!). Laissez les bons temps rouler! Our favorite NOLA-transplants lunch spot with all the carnival trappings without the liquor license.  Drat. Plenty of King Cake babies though and in all sizes. Some were so big they were the size of toddlers. ("You go right back up there and get me a toddler. I need a baby, Hi. They got more'n they can handle.") Here we see how one baby helps the smaller baby with the Marine haircut jump back into a moon pie. It's all about how we all can help each other get along and have fun at the same time.

Come on in, the Moonpie's warm...

What's even better is that after you eat at Lunde's you can watch them tear down that building next to the old Jeff Davis Hotel--one brick at a time. I could watch people tearing down buildings for hours. Outside Lunde's you can do it at no extra charge.

View from Lunde's

All in all a great Fat Tuesday: Got the baby out of the King Cake and saw a building get torn down. Hard to top that especially since when in between you can savor some fine red beans and rice.

A hearty dish on Fat Tuesday.

Now, after this big splurge what to give up for lent? Hmmmm. I've got it: Moon Pies!!

At least it's a start.

Click on this to go to urbanspoon reviews

Ed. Note: Today we debut our Informational Values label mandated by the FCC (Food Communication Commission). These labels supposedly allow consumers to make smart choices about what they read. We shall see.

The % of Daily Value is based on a 100 pt. scale with 100 equaling a post that brings total consciousness and 1 equaling a simple fart noise.

The Deli at Alley Station and the Laws of Unintended Consequences

A municipal inspector slaps the face of a street fruit vendor in Tunisia and the next thing you know a 23-year dictatorship crumbles leading to further uprisings in the Arab world, the flight of Hosni Mubarak and the impending doom of that tragically comic figure Muammar Gaddafi, recently falsely rumored to have been shot by his own troops. Of course, in between these events Mohamed Bouazizi, a 26-year-old fruit vendor, set himself on fire.  His protagonist, Faida Hamdy, a 45-year-old daughter of a police inspector with an unblemished record, could never have guessed what she started when she slapped Bouazizi for trying to stop her from confiscating the scale he used to weigh his fruit.

What the hell does this have to do with The Deli at Alley Station? Probably nothing. But the thought occurred to me today that we have not had many meetings of the LITG gang since the Alley Deli opened and today, I believe I discovered why:  The opening of a semi-deli downtown has spawned a rash of mastergumption!(It's a word!  If you do not believe me, look in the LITG Glossary). If this rash of calling in take-out orders to eat alone at your desk continues, it could mean the end of the lunch in the gump world as we know it.

I mean, for those of us working downtown in excitement central, especially during good weather, it is just so easy to pick up the phone, dial 263-2922, order a Cuban panini, and then 10-minutes later walk to Alley Station, pay your $6.95 plus tax and walk back to the office to eat in peace while you surf the latest NY Times book reviews (or the latest Charlie Sheen exploits in classy living).  Why I, myself, have done this way too many times since the place opened in early February.  The Reuben, the Grilled Chicken Breast, the Classic Club (one of my favorites); and the Italian are just some of the sandwiches I have ordered in the last month. The Reuben, according to Tojo, is the touchstone of any good sandwich shop, and the Reuben at The Deli passed the Tojo test (even though it isn't really corned beast).  Everything we have had so far has been decent if not really good. No, this is not the Carnegi Deli, but it is a decent deli (with a small-"d") on lower Commerce across from the Big Bronner Hotel and, by the looks of the crowds you see there in the "to go" line for breakfast and lunch, the instance of mastergumption must be hitting epidemic proportions.

Of course, you can eat in the Deli with friends at a table and actually have conversations that make a true lunch experience. But the time and trouble of arranging convenient times and hassling over which place to visit and waiting for the latecomers to show all make eating alone in your office that much more appealing to someone who has just heard about enough of the exploits of that tree poisoning nut, our budget woes, Charlie Sheen, and, (now we come back to the beginning), the unrest in Libya. There, I've tied it all back together and it makes sense...sort of.  Maybe.  A nice new deli opens in February and by June we are all zombies eating lunch alone in our cubicles or something....worse?