Canaletto--Manhattan

212-317-9192

Ah faithful eight.  How long has it been since I've written about a solid Manhattan eatery.  Years?  Months?  Days? 

This place is a go to for my lunch.  I eat here with the bigwigs of my company and go off menu for the chicken parm.  Since lunch is so quiet, you can hear the chef whacking away pounding that chicken breast to a 2mm depth.  Then a little pomodoro, some mozz, and bam, a disc of deliciousness.

This place is a legit Italian restaurant.  No fan fare.  No gimmicks.  Nothing but solid cuisine prepared a la minute with fresh ingredients. 

Huh.  A rather tame post here.  Shit fuck pussy balls.  There, that's better.

Detroit

You heard it here first good people. Detroit is where it's at.   Take it from me.  Detroit is on the rise.  I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure how, but it brings me back to the good ol' days in Williamsburg about 20 years ago.

Foundation Hotel
313-800-5500

I'd say this is the crown Jewel of the Detroit, recently mentioned in Conde Naste (here's a fucking link!  www.cntraveler.com/gallery/the-best-places-to-visit-this-summer A link!  Can you believe it?!?) .

To be honest, I feel like it was at a water-downed Schillers (RIP) or Reynard's.  The problem is none of the kids working there had a frame of reference.  They all tried really hard, but they don't know exactly what they're doing so it didn't come off correctly.  A few examples:

1)  Huge bar, tons of seating, separate menu which would be great if it were bar food.  It was way too gourmet. For instance...
2)  The cauliflower on the bar menu (which was okay) was served in a bowl.  Try cutting through cauliflower in a bowl.
3)  The bowl was plastic, but the knives where heavily weighted.
4)  Then, even though I told the bartender I wasn't super hungry, from out of town, had no place to go, he pushed the burger, and then fired it well before I was ready.  I was still struggling with the cutting the fucking cauliflower.
5)  The bathroom was an absolute fucking disaster.  Toilet paper all over the place, no hand towels, trash can over flowing, no one had attended to it for the entire dinner service.

The Hemingway's were spot on. And, I guess it's the best downtown Detroit has to offer.  For whatever that's worth.

The Sugar House:
313- 962-0123

Absinthe bar.  Their drink menu was absurd.  This place is in Corktown, the Williamsburg or Silver lake of Detroit.  In the shadow of the old train station and now new ford electric-vehicle factory, I must say this place seemed authentic.  The drinks were, again, spot on.  The panini was not bad, but way too much cheese.

Sister Pie:
313-447-5550

 No pie.  They had run out of pie.  A pie place, with pie in the name had no pie.  It had a good vibe though, and since my ass hurt from riding a bike all over the place, I was happy just to take a beat.  In Indian Village, a somewhat expansive and vast neighborhood, and this appeared to be the only place nearby.  The coconut cookies were pretty solid.  Laid back with a ton of talent.. er...maybe that's the pie they were talking about?

Turnbull and Porter. 
313-496-1400

This is where I stayed.  It's an old cinder block something or other, and though it checks all the boxes, I think it's over reach to call it a cool hotel.  I drank in the bar a few times (didn't know how to make a Hemingway) and though it drew a pretty big crowd, I'm not sure why.  Sugar Cube seemed much cooler to me, and there was nothing out of the ordinary to this place.  I think it's just a phenomenon of buzz.  I will say that there was a huge ass roach rolled up with my bath towels.  So that's a shitty amenity.

Batch Brewery.
313-338-8008

This place was right across from the hotel, and it was my first stop in Detroit after checking in.  Decent beer, good scene, awesome pretzels.  A lot of the beer had fruit in it, which was odd.  I also learned that Michigan has a ton of microbreweries.  Who knew?

John King bookstore.
313- 961-0622

Fucking worth a stop.  They have a ton of titles.  I got a 1st edition Foster Wallace.  Seriously, Strand-sized bookstore and well organized..

Atwater Brewery.
313-877-9205

Batch is better in terms of lay out, but I'd say this place has a better location.  Rent a bike (with a comfortable seat) and you can ride right along the Detroit River and the path stops basically at this place.  The neighborhood has a cool old cobble-stone meatpacking district feel, and you can get a beer and relax.  Again, a shit ton of fruit beer and the menu is pedestrian at best.  Beggers can't be choosers.

Alto Paradiso--Manhattan

(646) 952-0828

Holy shit faithful 8!  It's been so god damned long since I've been able to write about a place with such conviction, such fervor.  I mean, a real gourmet place sans the pretension or buzz, at least to my knowledge, and from the looks of the crowd a pretty mellow place.  As important, perhaps more important, this was an old-school double date with the ol' wifey wife and the other ol' wifey wife, sometimes referred to as the 2nd wife for those following a decade ago.  I'd have to search around to know for sure, but know that it's been a long time since we've dined at a place we didn't own or that didn't suck.

Iconman, shut up, how was the food?  In a word: great.  We had just about all the menu had to offer, and I can tell you that it was all masterfully executed.  The cuisine lends itself to simplicity, and the ingredients were high quality so there you go.

More importantly, however, was the excellent waiter and staff.  Friendly, yet knowledgeable, they were able to navigate the menu with knowledge but lacking condescension or what I am now coining "faux service."  You heard it here first, faux service.  This is what people who don't know what they're doing hang on to the little that they do know, and then do that so much and in such a pronounced way that they look stupid.  It happens quite frequently in the food and beverage industry, as you can take a little fragment about something, say where a wine was made, and be so confident in your delivery that people automatically assume you know what the fuck you are talking about.  When you know one detail about one region in one country in the whole world of wine producers.  Faux service manifests in many different ways:  walking around the dining room with your arms behind your back being hyper observant, like Morpheus if he were a host.  Or spouting fun facts and histories about the pastas, but mispronouncing the accompaniment.  Or writing a badly written blog. It saddens me, as it is incredibly difficult to know, I mean truly understand, a menu like Alto Paradiso.

Any who, no faux service here.  This place is legit as it gets.

Red Rooster--Manhattan

212.792.9001

Holy fucking honey butter.  Went here for a business lunch on a lovely spring day that must have been graduation day for some local college.  The place was fucking packed.  We muscled in, grabbed a high top table before anyone figured out it was available, and hunkered down for a two hour lunch. 

The wait was long.  I mean it took us 2o minutes for a beer.  Given the lack of urgency with the bar staff, I though a peter lugering was in the making and about to go apeshit when our waitress delivered that honey butter with home made cornbread.  It saved me, us, and the lunch.

We all ordered a crispy chicken sandwich, which was good except that it was covered in hot sauce.  Not too hot, but it changed the texture from crispy to soggy.  Fortunately for me I was so hungover from the night before I devoured it with little fan fare.

This place was slow.  Granted, it was packed.  So packed it makes me want to re-think the whole State Liquor Authority ban on licenses within 250 of a church, which is why Harlem is still a veritable no-man's land of fine dining and night life in an largely gentrified neighborhood.  Any who, this place is a solid B, for butter.

Malibu Farm--Malibu

310-456-1112

If you're hanging out in Southern California, and the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping and you'd like to be surrounded by beautiful healthy people then this place might be for you.  Talk about picturesque, this place is pristine. Nestled right on the ocean, we enjoyed freshly made by liberal laid-back hotties (both men and women) serving the ultra-rich LA types.  Tons botox laden housewives drinking wheat-grass infused teas, and eating avocado toast. 

Pricy, yet fresh, the food was passable. If you're a health nut then you're gonna be psyched.  Freshly made and flavorful, it was a touch veggie heavy for me.  I had the quesadillas, and we split a bunch of other crap that I didn't touch.  Even the ice cream was somehow healthy, with real fruit (you could see the seeds) blended with freshly organic cream massaged out of the cow while two hippie-nymphs whispered into its ear.  Perhaps the crowing achievement was convincing my 5-year-old that cauliflower pizza was real pizza and then watching her unknowingly eat an entire plate of vegetables. 

The place was prime for people watching, I mean, I already mentioned it was on a pier in Malibu. LA is funny as it's so sprawling you somehow forget that it's a huge ass city which comes with a robust cast of characters.  It's easy to think that you're looking at some unsophisticated wanna-be, until you watch them pull away in a fully-loaded Audi and realize their net worth is 100 times yours.  I don't blame anyone for dropping anchor in Malibu and eating at a place like this.  If I had the money and time, it's exactly where I would go too.

Mohunk Mountain House--NY

845.765.3286

When I heard about this place I figured we'd take a nice, rustic, quiet weekend at what looked to be a hidden gem of a family friendly trip.  Then after scant research, I realized that there's no way we could afford $1,100 a room.

So, we opted to piss away slightly less money and drag our two small children up to the most expensive buffet lunch in history.  After getting passed the front gate--and the only way to prevent people from avoiding the food and beverage extortion, you take a very scenic drive up a windy mount road to a staggering reveal of the house.   And given that introduction, I started to wonder if the price was worth it.

The place was clean, but refurbished twenty years ago.  Upon scrutiny, the cheesy faux-rustic creeps out but is not remotely cool, as though it was a deluxe Marriot with zero soul or genuineness. This poorly outfitted retro only advertised the fact that it was clearly a money maker--an inauthentic rustic vibe fabricated to fool the masses.  There were day time conferences, bachelor parties, and the unmistakable garb and odor of European travelers all duped by the views.

The lunch was laughable.  Similar to the decor, the buffet looked just a touch antiquated and the food had a stale and un-fresh quality; barely over the bar set by school cafeterias.  If I were paying, say, $15 a head for this buffet, I'd be content with the views and crappy volley ball courts.  But you're there for the pristine quality of the lake and hiking, that's what your paying for not the hotel or the food, and in that regard I'm not sure the views are worth it.

Virgina

Had a whirlwind tour with the ol' wifey wife.  I don't think I've ever done a post about the lover's state, so better late than never.

Virginia Beach:

Cavalier Club:
757.428.3131

As this is a private club, not sure you're gonna be too interested beloved eight.  Unless, of course, you're a retired Jew!  The food and service are exactly what you expect from a club--sub par.  The reason being, is any serious cook/waiter/chef, is at a real place working for cash or at the very least a higher hourly rate.

Great golf course though.

Croakers:
757.363.2490

Now here's a really legit shit-hole crab shack.  Low frills.  Mis-matched furniture several decades old.  And a bunch of bloated, tan regulars parking their full-sized pick up trucks to saddle up and drink cold bottles of whatever domestic piss water they prefer.

The food was basically a vessel for drawn butter.  Plenty of Old Bay and lemon kicking around.  Not a bad place, not a culinary epiphany.

Richmond:

Jefferson Hotel:
888.918.1895

Now we're talking.  Let's go 180 degrees the opposite direction from Croakers to the prim and stuffy Southern Jefferson Hotel.  Talk about swanky, this place left no amenity un-turned.  Fuck a bitch.  I mean they had video in the mirrors.  A great pool.  Turn down service.  And the robes, like being draped in a plush shroud of Turin.

Iconman, who cares, how was the food?  The food?  We had brunch and it was brunchy.  The service and quality were commensurate with everything other gilded aspect of this place.

821:
804.649.1042

Welcome to Hipster Richmond.  Quite a departure from the swankiness of the Jerfferson this place was comfort food royale.  I had a chicken salad sandwich with cumin, my wife had a great burger, and my little one rocked a grilled cheese.  The server was mindful of kids, and there was a cool, laid back vibe to this place.

The Roosevelt:
804.658.1935

It helps knowing the executive chef.  And considering that, we basically tried everything on the menu.  And everything was great.  I mean everything.  Great.  Fuck an A man, I'd be hard pressed to find a place in New York that had such a consistent menagerie of unique dishes.  Maybe Diner.  Maybe.  In fact, I'd gander outside of NY and Europe, this place is the best meal I've had.

If you're in Richmond, and looking for a place to eat.  This should be your only selection.