Wednesday, October 27, 2010

M &T Bank Stadium--Baltimore

(410) 261-7283

The last time I wrote about something in Baltimore it led to a smattering of disappointment mixed with a healthy dose of shame. Sadly, this post is more of the same.

Let's begin with the obvious. I went down to see my beloved and currently beleaguered Denver Broncos teach the entire town of Baltimore how it is done. I wasn't alone in my "broncomania," though I was almost certainly alone in my New York snobbery, forgoing dressing like some orange and blue douche-bag by merely showing my support when appropriate. Fortunately for me I didn't have to focus on that much as the Ravens trounced the Broncos.

I sat at the second to last row on the fifty yard line, approximately six hundred feet from the field. The seats were so atrocious I had to bribe the beer man $10 just to make it up to the upperdeck. Because of the ten dollar vig, I inevitably managed to drink at least a dozen various light-beer tall boys. Whilst enjoying the sun, and the small little purple dots stepping all over the small little white dots several hundred feet below, I also started to notice the crowd in all of its belligerence. The light-beer took effect, and my curiosity slowly transformed into disgust, as the football fans continuously exhibited all that is gross, vile, and truly American.

Firstly, everyone is fat at these things. I mean FAT. If they're not fat then they're malnourished. I couldn't believe it. Obese, obese, obese.

And what's with the fucking camouflage? Purple camouflage is about as stylish as cargo pan..wait a minute they are cargo pants! Foiled again by the camouflage.

But what gets me the most was the utter devotion to the team when it is apparent that 80% of professional athletes are not devoted to the fans. Of course there are exceptions, but for the most part the teams are a conglomeration of self indulged super athletes, who are all much, much taller than the rest of us. Yet, all of these people, thousands upon thousands of them, have spent millions of dollars on jerseys and face paint and camouflage pants just to come to some stadium that charges ten dollars for a can of pee. It's like some wierd masocistic catharsis, where everyone has the opportunity to partake in something just slightly more shallow and callous than their own lives.

Jesus H Christ, I have become a snob. Yikes.



Friday, October 15, 2010

Roberta's--Brooklyn

(718) 417-1118

Finally an institution that I can handle. Well, a newfangled institution relative to some of the other restaurant's I've discussed but an institution none the less. Roberta's for those of you who don't know, is in Bushwick. Bushwick for those of you who don't know, is a rough and tumble commercial area in Brooklyn. It has a rather large project sitting right in the middle of it, which makes it less desirable for just about anyone who can afford to not live there. There are those who appreciate the commercial charm of Bushwick, the flat-roofed single story buildings that come with any industrial complex landscape. And I may sound like a priss when I say this, but I find these things hard to appreciate when getting jumped by a team of angry thugs.

Which is a perfect introduction to Roberta's, and oasis of hipsterdom in an otherwise arid land. Roberta's has a rich history, and is just about the only game in town. Essentially, Roberta's serves pizza. There are quite a few delectable pizza's to choose from, but the main reason you're eating here is because of two reasons: You live in the neighborhood and it's the only place in town, or you're visiting the neighborhood and it's the only place in town.

With that said this isn't necessarily bad as Roberta's does quite a few things well. Firstly, they have a nice garden which is excellent for warm weather boozing. As an added feature they grow many of their herbs from this garden and are exceptionally vigilant about sourcing all of their produce and livestock locally. They share their garden with Brooklyn Heritage Radio so you can watch a public broadcast right from your table; a selling point for any nerd that likes watching other nerds nerd out. And their food tastes good, though pizza is a pretty tough one to fuck up.

My only experiences have been of the black out variety: be it at some motorcycle rally, Halloween pre third ward, or just drinking bud mini cans because they're so fucking cute. I mean, really cute bud cans.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Collette--Brooklyn

No phone I could find....

See the ghost's of restaurant's past. A bad way to start but it popped into my head and I'm too lazy to start over. This spot has closed two respectable restaurants, Oznot's and Silent H. Kitty corner to Hotel Delmano the owner Zeb Stewart (also of Union Pool) decided to capitalize. First order of business: move the door! And that's all it took. Now the entrance is on 11th street as opposed to Berry and it makes all of the difference.

We sat at the bar, and I wasn't with my other wife this time, but my wife, and we had a quick dinner. I remember I wasn't drinking so had a glass of Pellegrino. We had a green salad and ceviche and the Mrs had a steak sandwich. It was nice. So nice.

There's not much more to report. I'm sure it will develop some offshoot scene that circulates between the two bars. And I'm sure that Zeb will continue making a pile of money. And good for him, he's certainly got the older hipster trend thing dialed.