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Monday, November 22, 2010

The Blue Benn -- Bennington, Vermont

So upon entering Bennington, we asked Maggie Gyllenhall(our GPS device) how to get to a little gem called The Blue Benn, a nice homestyle diner recommended to us by our wonderful hostess, Chelsea.  Chelsea's an adorable Japanese cartoon of a lady who is about to graduate from Bennington this Spring with a degree in Bodies Outside of this Galaxy.

Alright, so it's been brought to my attention that the term, "Slam Pig", has existed for a quite a while now, and not only has many urban definitions but has also been used as a name for a faction of some sorrostitutes from some college back in the day. So, my apologies to everyone who knew about this awesome combination of words before me, and i will now proceed to set my Give A Shit Lasers to "Don't".

Hey!  Our food's here!

Fortunately for Mr. Smith and myself, The Blue Benn had a whole page of their menu designated for vegetarians!  Mr. Smith had the eggplant almond enchilada with rice and diarrhea re-fried beans, which judging by his cleaned plate at the end of his meal, was enjoyable.  I had the veggie melt, which was a bunch of mushrooms, onions, peppers, sprouts, Vermont white cheddar, and what i believe was canned spinach, but it could also have been the type of shit they prep at the beginning of the night and let sit in a six pan.  My sandwich was a solid seven, but I'd have to say the star of tonight's dinner was the butternut squash puree:

Shit is so basic, yet SO TASTY.  Roast some butternut squash for a couple of hours(honey drizzled on top is optional), get some butter, salt, and pepper, and consider it done!  If you're feeling extra sinful, throw some heavy cream in that bitch.  Anyway, The Blue Benn definitely nailed it, and along with service which I would call comparable to hanging out with your crazy Aunt Flo, I'd say you should go ahead and check it out.

So after dinner it was time to go to one of my favorite places on the planet, Bennington College.  In my six or seven years of being a travelling musician, I've definitely placed this joint on a pedestal.  I associate it with super good times to the extreme, like partying so hard your friends have to walk around campus with a button with your face on it just to find you.  Or, I dunno, sitting at "The End of The World" while having 90's alternative sing along time with your good buds and this girl who's majoring in never having her clothes on.

But it seems times have changed, my friends.  Gone are the scenarios where your fearless touring dudes will accidentally run into raging orgy room because we were trying to avoid a conversation about a threesome with a hippo, right before we were going to have lesbian sex, and then wake up on a couch in a room where it looked like all the dudes whirled their used condoms in the air like a helicopter.

It's not too say this is a bad thing, because you know what?  We got blasted "fun for the family" style!  We built a nice cozy fire, B-rock tried out chat roulette for the first time(BR:  How are your balls?  Stranger:  Hungry;  BR:  What are you chicks up to?  Chicks:  Looking at you, ya freak."), and we even went ghost hunting!

We also played a round of B-rock's favorite game, Hide the Banana:

And this happened, too!

*Sigh* Good times!  Come to think of, I'm pretty sure it was exam/term paper time, so maybe next time we're there it will be back to the good ol' days of the 60's version of "The Wicker Man", but if not, Bennington still rules.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Providence, RI -- AS220

Dude, it's so hard to write this blog chronologically, cuz im just waking up in philly and now i have to write about some shit i ate like 3 or 4 days ago; and all i really want to talk about is how this janitor at an upstate new york rest stop was sweeping at my feet from neighboring bathroom stalls as i was answering the call of nature(by that, i mean "sleucing a deuce", and by that i mean crapping some poop).  Srsly, dude!?!?!?  what the fuck is wrong with you!?!??  that is so uncomfortably weird.  How bout next time you're copulating i'll just go ahead and bust out my lint roller.  fuck you, man.

anyway, so we woke up in The City and were treated to Eggs Á La Pennock.  That means some scrambled eggs made by our boy Matt Pennock.  Mother fucker's got skillz.  The mix of scrambie included black beans, corn, tomato sauce, and hot sauce.  He killed it!  This guy is also a poet.  Oh, you need evidence of this?  fine, well this is just what dude's refrigerator poetry is like:

Consider youselves moved.

So after a couple of episodes of 30 Rock, it was off to Providence, RI.  This was the Hand's second visit to the second or third largest city in New England, and also our second visit to god's gift to vegetarians, AS220.

From their website:  "AS220's new food offerings, like all of its programs, is highly mission driven and reflects the founding principles of the non-profit organization. First and foremost, we want everyone who walks through the doors of AS220 to feel welcome and have access to the programs and benefits therein, regardless of financial constraints or other limitations. Because we feel a healthy meal and comfortable gathering place should be open to all, we aimed to create a restaurant that always has affordable options on the menu. We want AS220's food & drink spaces to be a meeting place, a social "melting pot" and a forum for new ideas and collaboration, as we have always sought to provide."  Uhm, so this is place is fucking delicious.  Not to mention they were playing some obscure doom metal band on the house speakers when we walked in.

For an appetizer, Mr. Smith ordered the sweet potato fritters with honey mustard sauce:

So good!  And only four dollars.  Imo,  it didn't really need the honey mustard sauce, maybe a marshmallow sauce?  Am i stoned?  I ordered the fake chorizo sandwhich that came on grilled pita bread with cheddar, crumbled tofu, hard boiled egg and "R1 hot sauce", which basically just tasted like Texas Pete Extra Bold(which means it was super good).  I also had sauteed kale and chard, cuz shit has powerful antioxident properties and is considered to be anti-inflamitory, and i just happen to be a flaming shit vessel.

The beauty of sauteed kale and chard is that you don't really have to do much in the ways of seasoning, but if you're cooking at home, i'll go ahead and recommend minced garlic and soy sauce(tamari if you have it), you can thank me later.  My sandwich was delicious, but I wish I had what Tom ordered:  the biggest fucking bowl of mac n' cheese with broccoli.  Hey Tom!  You better E. Honda that bite fast before Chun-li blue fire-ball kicks that shit out of your hand!!

You know what's weird?  No one at our table remembers seeing that chick at all.  And we're the type of dudes to notice chicks from like, two miles away.  We're going with she's a ghost.

AS220 is located at 115 Empire St. in downtown Providence, RI, about two blocks from a music venue called Hell, which is a music venue that can garglge my balls 4 lyfe.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Peter Pan -- Greenpoint Brooklyn, New York

So if you've known me for, say, I don't know, more than two hours, then you probly know that there's one thing I enjoy more than anything else:  being a fucking Slam Pig*.  But there's something about being in The City that reaallly cranks up my being a SLAM PIG to 11.  We're talking eat leek quiche out of maggie's mouth, get high with two sexy bitches I just met outside of Zebulon, say a bunch of made up of shit to some over-attractive British band who Vice flew over just to play a party, sing The Beatles' “Yesterday” with b-rock at the karaoke bar, and pass out in the bathroom, Slam Pig.  So it's this level of Slam Pig that requires the kind of meal that's gonna make your heart cuddle with your brain after it makes passionate love to your stomach.  And where does one find this meal?  Oh, well they have that at a little Polish joint called Peter Pan in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

So basically this place looks like it's stuck in the 1950's, right down to the bad ass uniforms they make all the sexy Polish chicks wear.  And btw, it's just girls who serve you, the way it fucking should be, by golly.  God I love those girls and their amazing accents.  I like to think whenever they speak to each other in Polish and giggle, they're actually talking about how much they wanna slam my pig(see what I did there?).  Sorry, im getting a little side tracked.

So I usually go with a bagel sandwich, but I overheard Deaner and B-rock order their jams on a gee dee onion roll, and I was all like “oohhhh shiiiit, sen!”  That's totally the way to go.  The rolls have the perfect amount of crisp and crunch on the outside, and the almost-texture of cotton candy on the inside.  You wanna know what I had on that bitch?  Egg and cream cheese -- like a boss.  I paired my sandwich with two cups of just about boiling coffee, New York Kosher Pepsi(does that mean that it was prayed over or something?  That's fucking rad, dude.), and what these fuckers are known for:  dog nuts.  I'm not sure what you dick heads know about dog nuts, but I'm about to educate you:  Peter Pan's dog nuts are THE BEST FUCKING DOG NUTS YOU WILL EVER PUT IN YOUR MOUTH.  Holy shit, man.  If you actually find a better dog nut, for pete's sake, don't tell me, cuz ill probly throw myself out of the nearest window.  Oh, you guys gotta hear this shit, you're gonna have a mind explosion.  

So my prettier-than-you friend, Jocelyn, tagged along with us and was all like, “okay, what I want you to do is take that whole wheat glazed doughnut over there, right?  So I want you to cut it in half.  Great.  Now you see that seasonal pumpkin ice cream you have in that case over there?  Yeah, go ahead and throw a scoop of that shit in between our newly halved doughnut.  Aweesooome.  So now all you have to do is change Jon Bray's boxers seeing as how his dick just barfed all over them.  Oh, looks like his jaw's on the floor, too.”  She actually doesn't talk like that, she's a suitor.

Peter Pan's:  changing lives since, well, I dunno how long they've been open.  Why don't you google it, you lazy slam pig?


*Slam Pig [ŜłāМ - pÏĠ☻] 1.  Term originally coined by Dana Ratcliffe meaning, “Basically filthy, potentially disgusting, or fat gaping whore depositories”  2. Extreme Sin  3.  Invisible Hand's new favorite term

Poon Jobs -- Lower East Side Manhattan, New York

I can't really think of any good anecdotes to get this fucker started, so I'll just give the run-down of what we stocked up on for van food.  My mommy was nice enough to take me to the ol' Sam's Club before tour because she fucking rules.  She also kind of looks like an Ewok, and Ewoks are pretty known for their hospitality and cuteness amongst other Yub-Yubberies.  One day I will look like an Ewok.

So the theme of my Club trip this time around was health.  If there's one thing the Invisible Hand excels at while on tour, it's eating like retards, and eating like retards about once an hour as long as we're awake.  So I figured I'd get a bunch of healthy snack shit:

-One large jar of Men's Health Formula One-a-Day Multi Vitamins
-One large jar of Skippy All Natural Peanut Butter
-A big ass box of single serving Pringles(the single-serving is pretty croosh, because you can fly through those bastards faster than you think)
-A bag of seedless oranges
-A box of of Fruit by the Foot and Gushers(remember Gushers!?  Yes, they're still awesome, and they totally still make your head turn into an enormous exlploding fruit when you bite 'em)
-One case of Low Sodium(we don't need to be gainin no water weight) V8 Vegetable juice

Mr. Smith also picked up some granola bars, pistachios, peanut butter crackers, a case of water, and pub mix(cuz you never know when you're gonna need to pair something with your road beers).  The Invisible Hand:  pooping more solidly one snack at a time.  On to New York.

Pun Jab’s in the Lower East Side of Manhatten is easily one of the most imperative food spots for poor ass touring musicians.  It’s cheap as all fuck, very wholesome and actually quite delicious regardless of the fact all the food is microwaved.  It’s a shitty little hole in the wall and more often than not, some completely socially inept miserable cunt of a dude or two is working behind the counters.  But that just adds to the “we kind of wish you weren’t here, and we kind of wish we weren’t here, either” ahmbeeyonce’!  So here’s how it works:  underneath an arsenal of microwaves is a large deli case filled with vegetarian curries, pakoras, and somosas.  For a measley $3, you get a bowl of rice, and your choice of two curries.  You tell the dude what you want by the number in front of the curry.  Today I chose two and six, which was some spinach looking shit, and some green pea shit, and it was tighter than a toddler!  Squirt a little bit of spicy tamarind sauce up on that bitch and call it a day!  And definitely spend an extra buck for a samosa, cuz why the fuck not!?  $4 for a gigantic tasty meal?  Shut the fuck up, Pun Jab’s.

Poon Job’s is located a couple blocks away from the Cake Shop if the Cake Shop is on your left, and then you like, walk a few blocks.  I think it’s on Houston?  Oh wait!  It’s across the street from Katz’ Deli.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Highway Rapery #1: The Maryland House

Welcome to the first installment of our never ending series pertaining to Highway Rapery!  I'm only predicting that this will be a never ending series because I have faith that the highway will always figure out new and exciting ways to fuck you non-consentually.  First up, The Maryland House, which is on 95 about 20 minutes outside of Baldimore.

So why the hell do always stop here!?  Why does anyone stop here?  It really just comes to convenience, and these shitty dicks exploit the hell out of that.  There's just certain parts of the country(New Jerzeeeee, im looking at youhooo) that to simply pull off at a random exit to go to a snack factory just takes more time than it's worth, so you settle for ten dollar jars of peanuts and four dollar bottles of water just so you can get in and out promptly.

On today's trip, I decide to really do it up Maryland style and get some good ol' fashion greasy seafood from a little joint called Phillip's Seafood Express!

Phillip's:  Welcome to Phillip's!  How may I help you?

Me:  Well, Phillip, I've got ten bucks on me, what can I get for that?

Phillip's:  Well!  You can either have 8oz of our famous lobster bisque, OORRRR, a tiny ass pretzel with some crab and cream cheese in it!  Did I mention we let the pretzel marinate in a grease bath all fucking day?  MMmmMmmm!

Me:  Hey Phillip?

Phillip's:  Yes?

Me:  I haven't even ordered anything yet, and your boner is in my butt.

Phillip's:  Indubitably!

Me:  I'll have the damn pretzel.

As you can see, B-rock is NOT happy.  As a matter of fact, I'd say this dude is down right indignant!  That's the face of a man who's getting filled.  But you know what?  It was delicious!  Of course it was!  You could crap in my mouth, call it Pot de Creme, charge me ten dollars for it, and I'd swear up and down that it was a culinary masterpiece.  I split it up between the four of us, which was a good decision according to B-rock, who was convinced if one actually ate one of those to themselves, they would have explosive diarrhea.  He's probly right, but touring isn't really conducive for solid healthy poops anyway.

We played at Haverford college that night and had burnt popcorn and egg-drop ramen for 4th meal.  Got stoned as FUCK, got in my snuggy, and watched a really mediocre David Cross stand-up special.  ROCK.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Harrisonburg, Virginia - Clementine's

One of the best things about going to H-burg is probly the drive there if you're coming from the ville during the changing of the leaves -- God's country, sen!  Shit makes you think about how fullfilling putting things to rest (in life, that is) can be, cuz like, you know, the trees are all dieing or whatever, and they look really good doing it, and then they like, re-birth and shit in a few months, and it's all like, "yeah, man, fucking life!".  yes, im stoned.

Definately not a picture i took, but whatever, that's what the shit looked like on the way over.

So we celebrated the release of our new jam at a joint called "Clementine's", and I never found out why exactly the place is called as such, but at the same time, I never tried to find out why.  I'm just gonna go ahead and say it's named after some southern beauty who would get the vapors whenever you said her name in any form of context.
southern gentlemen:  "I do declaiyah - it seems as though i done wiped my ass too much and got a case of the ol' hemorroides, Clementine.  I say, I might have to apply some sassperella to my anus piece."

southern beauty named Clementine:  "Oh, mercy!  these vapors would make me faint if i didn't have hopes of you taking me to the fish fry/catillion on good friday, oh heavens!"[continues to make satin dress for catillion whilst not knowing what hemmorides are]

I'd date that.  oh yeah, this is a food blog.  food pics!

Mr. Smith and I decided on sharing a couple of plates:  The black bean veggie burger, and the falafel burger.  The black bean jam piece was quite delicious;  it had all the texture and spice you crave after driving on the highway for an hour, but shared the similar fate of all "house-made" veggie burgers in which the mother fucker just falls apart after you're half-way through the dude.  Let's not take away points for this, as this is a problem for every "house-made" veggie burger you'll ever come accross.  Morning Star Farms, we're gunning for your shit.

The falafel burger, however, maintained it's sturdiness throughout all the chomping.  dude was like, "im crispy, and goddammit, im gonna stay crispy" thoughout the whole masticating(im probly gonna use this word a lot from her on out) process.  Points for that, and the red pepper spread -- although, i gotta say, dude could've benefited from some serious sauce action.  a side of tsa-tsiki perhaps? 

recommendations aside, these fuckers held their ground with ahtourity because of the sides. 

1)  Baller French Fries:  it's hard to fuck up a fry, but if you actually get it right, then you just made your meal the righteous titties.  I will totally forget about having to fork and knife the rest of my burger if you know how to crisp some other shit.  these assholes nailed it.  crunchy on the outside, mashed shit on the inside -- DONE.

2)  Grits --  I orginally wanted to make this whole post about grits, but ima save that shit for later.  essentially, these dudes understand that the key to good grits is making them a vessel for fat.  it has NOTHING to do with the grit.  grits are an excuse to consume straight heavy cream, butter, and/or cheese.  in the case of clementine's:  pepper jack cheese.  and they brought it.  some of the best grits i've had south of the mason dixon.

Clementine's in h-burg!  fucking dawg it.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Baldmoowah, MD - The Golden West Cafe'

Greetings you stinky dick lickers!  I've gotta say, b-more has one of my favorite skylines.  When you approach skylines like new york and chicago, you get that nervous little kid at christmas anxiety, but with the baldmore skyline, it's more like, "You know what?  This is might be a little forward sounding, but i think you're pretty and I would love to buy you a drink.  In a well-lit area, of course".

You want a crazy awesome aquarium?  Yeah, they got that.  Oh, you want high class gentleman's club immediately upon exiting I-95?  sure, dude.  Oh, you're on a high school field trip?  Well feel free to smoke weed on the 3rd story balcony of the castle sized Barnes & Noble(that's actually a true story)!

So, The Golden West Cafe (1105 W 36th St - website still under construction[srsly?  it's not 1999, you either have a webite, or you don't]) gets a two boners up BNM.  The food menu specializes in hipster vegetarian cuisine, but there's plenty of flesh for you murderers out there as well.  We'll talk about that food in second, but first you guys HAVE to check out our waitress:

 DYAAAMN, Sen!  That's right, Chloe "the boy to my yoi-yoing" Sevigny was our goddamn waitress.  Well, not really, her name is Brie, and she just happens to look exaaactly like her.  But she was a fantastic, attentive server and was a total sweetheart to us.  and you know what that combination gets you?  over 20% of our discounted bill plus a single dude who'll try his damndest to not keep checking you out, cuz you kiiiind of smell like boyfriend.  on to the food:

The boys and i decided to order vegetarian family style because somehow our taste buds and bodies predicted that we were gonna eat like complete dog shit the next couple of days.  Here's a smart phone pic(can't seem to get the digi-cam working):

Everything came out at once, which is fine by me, but that just means that one of the dishes is gonna get middle-childed -- so i'm sorry nacho salad with veggie chorizo, but i totally only took like two bites of you, but you were tasty.  You know what else was tasty??  the size of your head burrito stuffed with black beans, veggies, corn, guac, sour cream, and, get this FRIED PLANTAINS.  If you would've told me 15 years ago that i was gonna masticate(huh-huh) a burrito with bananas in it, i would've said, first, "that's a weird thing to tell a ten year old", and secondly, "You're out of your goddamn mind!".  It was delicious.  Props to the salsa verde.

The star of the show?  The motherfucking chilli-mayonaise.  how did you assholes know the only thing i like more than spicy is fat!?  seriously, i couldn't go a bite and a half of burrito without having to dip a tot in the awesome sauce.  btw, how the FUCK do you make a tater tot?  like, the ones you buy in a frozen bag?  it blows my mind.  someone google that shit for me.

you guys aren't going to believe me, but for dessert, i shit you not:  BAKED TO ORDER HEATH BAR COOKIES.  nuff said.

anyway, i think im going to ask the golden west's hand in marriage.  so back off, dude.