A Nincompotpourri of Nincompoopery

We are declining as a society into a bunch of nincompoops. A recent article in The Washington Post documents how supposedly educated and successful people can accomplish a trifecta of nincompoopery such as (1) leaving their lights on; (2) with keys in the car; (3) with the engine running. (Well, "at least the battery won't run down...."). Well, so you say Missy.

Before embarking on my diatribe for today I must give credit where it is due. The idea for this little column was sparked by an article by Gene Weingarten that bears reading. You can find it here.

So, here's the secret poop of the nimh...

My brush with malevolent nincompoopery occurred at the Gump's exclusive Bushwood Country Club & Snobatorium. There, for years, one of the main attractions was the art of making cocktails as practiced by one known only as "Reggie." Famous Gump-wide for his performances at weddings, bat mitzvahs, receptions and parties of all ilk, Reggie was THE bartender you hunted and waited in line to be served by. When the nouveau riche and slightly tipsy MA mom would ask for a "light" vodka and water, Reggie would always smile and say: "Sorry ma'am, I just pour 'em, I don't weigh 'em," as he poured and the glass runneth over with the water of life. When the pleasantly intoxicated captain of industry would ask for "a half Scotch and Water" good ole Reggie would reply: "Sir, I failed fractions" as he handed the chocolate-brown glass back to the patron. Reggie, the world will someday acknowledge, was the reason we have the word "Reggied."



All in all, for years Reggie was the hero of the drinking class at Bushwood. His "fair pours" were legendary and the oil of much conversation. Why, it was once suggested that if Reggie served the leaders of the Middle East at a cocktail party we would have world peace by morning or, at least a real good start for Hangover III. Perhaps a slight exaggeration. The point is that members and guests at Bushwood received a more than fair quantity of their favorite adult beverage at the hands of Reggie. Things were, as some say, ducky. Extremely ducky. Leave well enough alone I say.

Enter the nincompoopery of one of our most brilliant and well-educated medical professionals in the Gump. A person trained at one of the finest medical schools in the country and in whose hands many have entrusted their most vital of organs. This "Dr. Sunshine" (as we will call him) has multiplied buffoonery times nincompoopery to produce a nincompotpourri of nincompoopery. This brilliant example of one of the Gump's finest families thought that because Reggie was so generous in his pours that he, the eminent Dr. Sunshine, was entitled to expect everyone at Bushwood with a bottle of whiskey in their hand to provide the same "fair" service as the Master. Accordingly, this paragon of judgment required another server to pour a drink approximating one poured by Reggie and was "outraged" when he was charged for a "double" (a triple would have been more accurate).

It gets worse.

Not satisfied with berating the innocent wait-staffer who presented a drink poured to exact specifications and/or from a jigger, this mental giant decided to bring the issue to the attention of management i.e. the one some call "the man." As anyone with a modicum of sense would understand, once confronted with the issue regarding the size of drinks the manager of Bushwood had to decree that all drinks be poured uniformly at the mandated 1 1/4 ounce amount with a jigger. Suddenly, the Picasso of the Pour, the Wagner of Vodka was forced to confine his art to the constraints of a precisely engineered amount, much to the dismay of the innocent drinkers who depend so much upon the artistry of Reggie, their bartender, guru and, when necessary, their ride home.

What makes this nincompoopery even more notable is that the perpetrator of this affront to the "League of Justice" (the self-named group of roguish ne'er-do-wells who inhabit the place), had no "bleeping" idea that his complaints to management would result in the opposite effect he intended. Now we all suffer equally, thanks to a Republican who hates socialism. I say man (masquerading as buffoon), unhand my bartender!

Where now can a gentleman of the Gump go to find a friendly, heavy-handed bartender who dispenses wisdom as generously as Jameson? Woe is me. Woe are we.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the new restaurant in the A&P development in No-Clo will provide relief. I suppose I should share that "Roux" will be opening for business June 1 (yes, I have stumbled into something topical). I, of course, have been invited to the pre-opening reception and, if I am able, I promise that one of the LITG regulars will report shortly thereafter (I hope I never become too lazy to tell others what to do). Until then, I shall see you at the Pine Bar on Mondays and wherever Reggie serves without the constraints of "the man."

For now, I must bid you adieu as I drown my sorrows at the loss of a fair pour at Bushwood and contemplate the depths of nincompoopery to which we have, as a people, sunk. Woe are we all. Woe are we all.

After Visit to "Cantina," Tojo Clings to Life

[Ed note: Cantina is kaput. Unfortunately their owner died and we wish his family the very best.  However, Jalapenos has opened in the space and they provide complimentary chips/salsa and fast table service.  Jan. 23, 2013]

So anyway, this morning the GumpPhone lights up and as usual it's the Cornbread Carp. Apparently one of the Guinea Pigs went to the new Cantina Tortilla Grill* in the Alley last week and lived to tell about it, so the Carp (who always gets his way) decreed that the Cantina was cleared for a full review by Lunch in the Gump.

Like so many redneck tragedies that start out "hold my beer and watch this shit," today's LITG review doesn't end well, and something tells me that a particular Guinea Pig, the one they call "Squeak," is going to lose his job over this. Yes, his furry little head is going to roll.

A gentle giant, when properly fed.

Thinking everything was safe, I grabbed my old pal Tojo Yamamoto and set off up Commerce Street to the Alley so we could check out our newest Mex joint. As loyal LITG readers know, Tojo is a man of very few words, and absolutely no articles, conjunctions or linking verbs. Tojo would sooner disembowel himself with a dull samurai sword than utter the words "and" or "the," or use a complete sentence, or speak in anything but the present tense, or refer to himself in the first person. But maybe that's why we all like Tojo so much... he uses his mouth as an insertion point for food and not for blathering on and on about meaningless crap like the rest of us do.

"Tojo hungry," he said. That's about all you're ever going to get out of Tojo.

We made our way past the intimidating pastel pink facade of the Rushton Stakely firm, walking in the middle of the street due to the never-ending sidewalk construction between there and the posh offices of 2WR Architects & Partyboys, LLC. This particular sidewalk project has been going on for so long that many of us downtowners wonder if it isn't really the Outer Loop, or a super-colliding superconductor, or maybe pyramids they're building. But I digress, as always.

Cantina is stylish & tasty, but over
the Tojo Line, pricewise.

Tojo was smiling, bowing to everybody and rubbing his impressive belly in anticipation as we entered the very stylish Cantina. He looked around. He sniffed the aroma. "Tojo like," he said. The Carp, Shadow Pup and Norm Peterson were already there and gave us the protocol. At Cantina, you order at the bar first, then find a seat and they bring your food out to you, pronto.

Tojo pondered the menu and as you might imagine, he was drawn to the category "Big Plates." His eyes narrowed at the $10.95 price tag, somewhat over the Tojo Line, but we all knew what was happening. If you bait a trap with something called "Big Plates" you will catch Tojo every time.

The big man ordered Cilantro Chicken from the "Big Plates" part of the menu. The dish was described as cilantro-marinated chicken breast with roasted corn, poblano peppers and saffron rice. Tojo was all over it. With tea and tax, Tojo's lunch tab came to $13.97, but since it came from the "Big Plates" category, he shrugged and forked over the dough.

About this time we all felt a strange rumbling, and the whole Cantina began to vibrate, as if a freight train was making its way through the Alley. Before the Cantina's patrons could panic, though, Tojo put them at ease. "Tojo miss breakfast, stomach empty," he said. We were relieved there wasn't a seismic event occurring in the Alley, but worried nevertheless because none of us had ever known our large Asian friend to miss a meal under any circumstances. Our boy was really hungry.

Luckily (or so we thought) they got the food out quickly and the gang dug into their excellent tacos, cuban sandwiches, garlic fries and such... but Tojo was crestfallen. Yep, it was a "Big Plate" all right. Big enough that the puny little dab of food on that plate looked like the Hawaiian Islands sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, as seen from the moon.

Visibly distressed, Tojo looked around the Cantina in hopes that a server would bring the rest of his lunch but alas, it was what it was... a scrawny little boneless Paris Hilton chicken breast sitting on top of a couple spoonfuls of rice with a little canned corn and maybe six or seven small bites of bell pepper thrown in.

Running out of options, Tojo had no choice but to immediately ingest the Cilantro Chicken, a process which took maybe ten seconds. But the rumbling didn't subside. Near panic, Tojo ran back to the counter (to the extent Tojo can "run") and ordered chips and salsa. With tax, that was $3.30 more! DIOS MIO!! Three bucks for chips and salsa in a place called "Cantina?" Tojo was out-of-pocket $17.27 and hadn't even replenished the 300 calories he had burned walking his big ass two blocks up Commerce Street to get there in the first place.

Tojo went pale and his eyes rolled back into his head, then he slumped over. The Cantina fell silent, except for the lingering tremors of Tojo's hunger pangs and Shadow Pup's incessant yipping. The paramedics were on the scene in a flash, but damn if they didn't have to call in a second unit because it took two gurneys to get Tojo out of there.

One particularly quick-thinking paramedic ran down the Alley to Saza's and commandeered somebody's Rigatoni Bolognese (the $16 dinner portion, I think) and was force-feeding Tojo as they wheeled him out to the ambulance. Also, one of Jerry Kyser's crew happened by with a refrigerator dolly and helped load him up.

Anyway, Tojo appeared to be coming around when the ambulance pulled away on Commerce Street, narrowly missing a gaggle of Beasley Allen secretaries who were walking in the middle of the street because the sidewalk can't seem to get paved in two year's time. Sheesh, you can put a man on the moon but you can't pave a half block of sidewalk so that legal secretaries don't get run over by paramedics hauling ass to keep a Japanese rassler from starving to death.

Oh, and if anybody has seen "Squeak," tell him he needs to see Bidgood Bob ASAP.

[Ed. Note: 9/1/2011: Today the Cantina served a very nice chicken bisque which went well with the steak tacos.  Fine if you are not someone who needs tons to eat at lunch...like Tojo.]


* Footnote: Seriously, Cantina is a great addition to the Alley. The food was excellent, the decor is as cool as the other side of the pillow, it's fast and they should do a great business once the liquor license comes through. They need to work on portion size relative to price, in our opinion, or maybe it's just the early-stage baby steps. We'll be back... next time for margaritas, drunk-talk and secretary-chasing. 


Also, Tojo is recovering nicely. Luckily, Chris' Hot Dogs, Scott Street Deli and Hamburger King were all on the way to Jackson Hospital and it looks like our boy will be okay. The only problem was Blue Cross, which balked at Tojo's dietary needs... at first.

Squeak Peek: Cantina Opens in the Alley May 12th

[Ed note: Cantina is now closed. Jalapenos has opened in the same space.  1/23/13]

Squeak in a fine disquise

I’ve been to Cantina on an elite solo mission. It opens for lunch to the public tomorrow but got a squeak peak today. My $3 (a piece) pork taco and a similarly priced steak taco left a little to be desired in the taste department. My beans side was cold and so was the (albeit tasty) cheese dip....Could just be the kinks. The menu also emphasizes “fresh” ingredients, but I saw staff members hauling in bagged lettuce earlier today. Otherwise the décor and killer outside bar were outstanding. No wait staff today, and there probably won’t be at lunch for the time being. You’ll come in and order at the counter and then sit and wait for your food to come. At night, the place will gain servers, but the menu won’t change.

A full LITG meeting is in order to determine whether first impressions are always best or if the confirmation bias can be overcome.

Over and out,

Squeak.



El Menu



Sal's Reincarnated as Midtown Pizza

The news has been a roller-coaster ride recently which has caused a disturbance in the usual LITG posting schedules. Royal weddings, tornadoes and real commando raids have (in some cases) rightfully taken the national interest above mundane lunch ramblings in the Gump. I exclude the royal wedding from that list because, actually, I was more interested in where the Gump Guinea Pigs might be deployed for pizza than I was with "Kate's Poise." Of course our hearts go out to the victims of the recent storms and we urge you to support relief efforts with your time and money. However, we did have a new restaurant open up in the Gump and we have to let you know about the Midtown Pizza Kitchen.

Hopefully, the escapades of our little furry and expendable commandos (the Gump Guinea Pigs) will continue to entertain. We know their role is not even comparable to the importance of double-tapping Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan, but they do serve a role-if not nearly as dangerous or as important-in making sure we in the Gump are not exposed to poor lunch spots. At least we have the comfort--small that it might be--of knowing that if the GGPs have been in and made it out alive, it is probably a safe bet for lunch.

It was in this spirit that last week (before the tornadoes and death of OBL) that the commander of GGP Commandos ordered the group to lunch at what is now called Midtown Pizza Kitchen on Zelda Road a/k/a the "Z-Red" District. We had previously reviewed the Sal's Pizza that had occupied that space before the sad demise of the Nancy Paterson food dynasty. The reviewers had given the place glowing marks.

But when new management opens a similar themed restaurant in the same space, in the interest of gastronomic safety, it requires a squeak peek job for the Pigs. What we found was that Donovan--the on-site manager of Sal's--is still there and, we were told, chef Christophe Zagagliais is back also. So you can expect similar northern Italian pizza and pasta selections that you saw at Sal's but with some new items and names. We hit the "Zelda" because of the delicious Italian fennel sausage and found it to be very different from the type of southern Italian pizza you will get from pizza delivery joints.

The team happily devours a Zelda Road on Zelda Road.

As with many new openings, the places are often slammed and the service staff overwhelmed (especially on weekends). So although the food was good and reasonably priced (especially if you stick with the cheese pizzas), the service could be improved and we have no doubt Donovan will have the staff ship shape in a lot less time than it took to plan the Royal Wedding.

After our foray into Z-Red, the debriefing was pleasant and the opinions uniform that Midtown Pizza Kitchen was going to be a hit. One of the team even bought a souvenir.


Some of the GGPs are smarter than others....