Gallen de Robuchon Reviews: Ninja New York

Sacrebleu! It's Gallen de Robuchon here. As my good friend Steve said in his Monday Morning Brain Fart, the author of his sister blog, Do You Hear That Buzzing?, celebrated her birthday last Sunday. Marci (the author and birthday girl) thought enough of herself to invite the Chef of the Century to her birthday (bold right?), which took place at Ninja New York, a gimmick restaurant in Greenwich Village in New York City that has a reputation for fine culinary fare. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much.

Restaurant Review:
Ninja New York
25 Hudson St.
New York, NY 10013

Ambience:
As any serious diner would tell you, gimmicks are not welcome when the main goal of the evening is the consumption of fine cuisine. Gimmicks are especially unwelcome when your clientele includes yours truly, the Chef of the Century. This restaurant, however, is a gimmick in and of itself, so I braved the tomfoolery in my quest for palatable delights. Upon entering the restaurant, you are given the choice of entering the dining area through the normal way or the "ninja" way. Being the incredible, brave man that I am, I chose the ninja way for myself and the group, despite the scared protestations of my colleagues. The ninja, who had previously tried to scare us at the elevator that took us down a level to the ninja way, separated from us in an effort to scare us again at the end of the path. He succeeded, as the thoughts of the chef's creations had distracted me from the peril that lay before me. We were taken to our table, in the dining area that looked like it was cut out of a cave, albeit a plastic one. As we were sat at our dojo, I immediately observed that this restaurant had one of the same flaws that Todd English's Olives had: it was too dark to take any pictures of the food with my non-flash phone camera. Piss poor. Also, my chair may or may not have been broken, as it flexed and somewhat reclined when I leaned back - perhaps not the original intention of a solid wooden chair. You would think that the Chef of the Century would be given a real chair. Clearly they did not know who they were dealing with.
Ambience Grade: C+

Service:
Ninja New York, when serving a large group like we had, has a lot of unfortunate quirks, the first being that they are 100% unable to accommodate a party of 17. Huh? They can do 16, they can do 18... they just can't do 17. Perhaps ninjas don't like odd numbers. Either way, this particular circumstance lead to a good friend of mine being unable to attend since his woman would not have been able to come under the restaurant's strict rule of 16. You do not disrespect a friend of the Chef of the Century like that and get away with it. Then we found out that a large party like ours needed to order from a fixed menu 3 days in advance, therefore being deprived of certain items on the menu that appeared scrumptious. Finally, in the build-up to the meal, the management kept harassing Marci with multiple phone calls to see if she wanted to order extra cake for those who ordered the fix menu that came sans dessert. Unprofessional. You would never see or hear anyone from L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon present themselves is such a negative light. During the actual meal, however, we found the ninjas to be quite accommodating, bringing our food and drink in a friendly tone and timely manner. Ninjas apparently are not just Asian either. They are white, black, fat, hipster... they come in all shapes and sizes. The cheap 3 buck Sapporos were a nice bonus as well. This good service could not overcome the inadequate build-up to the meal, however.
Service Grade: D

Actually, the last ninja we saw did magic tricks at the end of the meal. WHO DOESN'T LOVE MAGIC?!??!?!
Service Grade After Magic Considerations: D+

Appetizers:
My first appetizer at this fine establishment of Japanese cuisine was... a caesar salad. A CAESAR SALAD?!?!? AT A JAPANESE RESTAURANT??!?!? Consider the Chef of the Century appalled. And to make matters worse, they made you eat the caesar salad with chopsticks, and you can take the word of a culinary legend when I say: chopsticks are not the ideal utensil for the consumption of leafy greens. Anyhow, the caesar salad was followed up by a combination Spicy Tuna Roll and Shrimp Tempura Roll. Both were exquisite. The Spicy Tuna actually had a good kick to it, which is unusual I have found. The wasabi provided on the side was not needed. The Shrimp Tempura was delicious as well. It was a delightful bit of sushi to begin the meal. Too bad it was preceded by the most lackluster of salad ideas.
Appetizer Grade: B

Main Course:
My main course consisted of 2 main entrees, the first being the Roasted Salmon dish. The Salmon was served with a variety of vegetables in a Red Pepper Garlic Sauce mixed with Grated Apple. It was a wonderful dish, filled with a lot of flavor. The Salmon was cooked very nicely. It came apart easily, which was a bonus considering the onerous chopsticks we had to use to eat it with, and it had just the right amount of spices to give it that extra oomph. Just a beautiful piece of fish, though the sauce may have overshadowed it - it was truly delightful. A masterstroke by the head chef.

The second dish of the main course was entitled "Volcano," with the directions "erupt your volcano to eat." The Volcano was a tender brisket slowly braised in a Miso Red Wine Sauce... or so the menu said. What the menu didn't say was that there would be cheese within the brisket, while the whole dish would be encased by an onion. Truly an odd concept, perhaps a little gimmicky like the restaurant itself. You would NEVER see the Chef of the Century venture into such absurd territory. First of all, the dish never "erupted," which was a letdown, for sure. Second, the onion was poorly cooked. It was rough - tough to break with the chop sticks and even tougher to chew. Not good. The brisket, despite being fatty, was quite good, however. It was very tender and very flavorful, though at times it was difficult to have a bite that was not mostly fat. The Volcano was a very odd dish that, while it had some upside, was poorly executed, and therefore brings the overall main course grade down. The chef would do well to listen to me, THE CHEF OF THE CENTURY, here - concentrate on the brisket itself and get rid of the fluff. Trim off the fat, can the onion - there's a good dish in there somewhere, I just couldn't find it on this particular day.
Main Course Grade: B-

Dessert:
The dessert provided to me by my fixed menu choice was a nice little piece of chocolate cake. Nothing bad. Nothing overly good. Just standard-issue chocolate cake that didn't really stand out, per se, but was a nice end to the meal. To be honest, I don't remember it at all. I know it was fine, but I also know it wasn't anything to write home about. Perhaps a second-rate chef like Emeril Lagasse would love mediocre fare such as this, but when it comes to culinary royalty such as myself, cake like this just doesn't stand out.
Dessert Grade: B-

Overall, if you're in the mood for a little gimmicky good time and a bit of family fun, Ninja New York is a decent option. It's like a theme park with pretty good food, only a theme park in a dark, rock castle filled with secretive, cloaked men who will kill you if you ever threatened to overthrow their respective empire's dynasty. However, those ninja's need to recognize that when the Chef of the Century is in the house, you need to step your shit up and provide a world-class dining experience. I've set a high bar, not only in food, but in life. I dare you to meet it.

Renee Walker is hard.

As I said yesterday, I was excited about the possibilities with Renee Walker. Turns out I was right.



Damn right you will sweetie. And apparently doing anything it takes involves sawing off a Russian's thumb while his arm is clamped in a vice. Excellent. She looks good, and is now a cold bitch. You can't measure my excitement level right now.

Also made props to Freddie Prinze, Jr. First he drove over a bomb to save President Hassan, then he was willing to let the assassin shoot him in order for someone else to catch him (of course Jack was there to save him)? That takes balls. Kudos, good sir. You have my respect.

MMBF - 1/18: LIFE IS GOOD AGAIN!

Hola chicos y chicas, and welcome to another edition of the Monday Morning Brain Fart, you're weekly destination for the most pointless crap you'll find on the internet. I hope you find yourself home from work on this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, unlike myself, and that this week brings you the utmost amount of joy that a mid-winter week filled with shitty weather can possibly bring you.

Friday night was of the relaxing variety, and as I kicked back in my sweats, sipping a delicious Rogue Dead Guy Ale and flipping through the channels, I stumbled across a classic from another time, American Pie 2. A great movie, one that truly brings you back to better days, when the biggest care in my life was whether or not I was going to take Ring-Dings or Twinkies with me to school for lunch (Twinkies usually won, by the way). Now 2 was certainly not better than the original, but it was hilarious to watch something that gave us this image of what college was going to be like while we were still in high school. Also, it should be mandatory viewing for high schoolers these days, instead of the crapload of straight-to-DVD American Pie movies that have been churned out in recent years - all crappy, and all starring the same Dad from the originals. I think Eugene Levy needs a career boost.

Jersey Shore never fails to be completely ridiculous, hilarious, amazing, dumbfounding and ludicrous, all at once. I've grown to like pretty much all of the characters, with the exception of The Situation and Sammi. The Situation is just a complete bastard, while Sammi is the biggest drama queen ever. How she can claim that she had nothing to do with Ron beating the crap out of that guy on the boardwalk is beyond me - she started it! Plus Sammi, Ron did not push you. Shut up. The rest of the cast is awesome, especially Pauly D. He NEVER stops being funny, and it only got better with that Israeli chick stalking him. I also really enjoyed the Jersey Shore vernacular when it came to describing fat chicks. I think in a period of 5 seconds, these big girls who were at the house were called zoo creatures, hippos, and my personal favorite, elephants. I love it. I'm going to be so sad after the finale this week.

Before heading out Saturday night, Rory and I were watching football and downing some of the finest beverages you'll find the world over, Keystone Light. Now, we didn't partake in the activity this time, but the last time we watched playoff football and enjoyed some of Keystone's Lightest was when we came up with the Football Drinking Game, which I will give you the rules to here. Basically, it's Kings with a football twist. You sit with your group around the boob tube and arrange the cards Kings-style, and every first and third down you pick a card, doing whatever game is associated with the card you pick (Kings card assignments are always up to the discretion of the group you're in). Then in the game, if there is a big moment like a touchdown or a turnover, you have to finish your beer. Plain. Simple. Fun. Drunk. An easy way to make football fun for the whole family, even if you do not have a vested interest in the teams participating, as I do not this year.

I think the Vikings-Cowgirls game was pretty much the worst football game possible for me. First, the Cowgirls were involved. Enough said. Then, The Gunslinger was involved. Gross. And finally, to put it way over the top, the announcers were Joe Buck and Troy Aikman. What the hell did I do to deserve this?! I couldn't believe I found myself rooting for The Gunslinger (or is it The Funslinger? He's just having fun out there), but the Cowgirls losing is way more important to me. Thankfully the Vikings won, and after watching them run up the score and seeing Keith Brooking cry like a little school girl, the weekend could have ended there and I would have been happy. Keith, just because your team quit doesn't mean the Vikings had to as well. Bitch. Also, I think Joe Buck has the same hairstylist as Donald Trump. Joe, you look like an ass, and please stick to baseball. You're really great at sucking the life out of big football moments.

Another thing that bothers me about the Cowgirls is how incredibly pompous they are - how after something as minute as a 4 yard run, Marion Barber always gets up yelling and screaming about how awesome he is, or how after an 11 yard reception where Tony Homo put it right in his hands, Patrick Crayton always starts yapping about how incredible at life he is, too. It drives me absolutely nuts. None of you guys have done anything of meaning in football. Shut the hell up. The most ridiculous thing about trash talk though is that it's always generic statements like, "Let's go!" or "You can't stop this!" or my favorite, "ALL DAY BABY!" What is all day? You yelling like a moron? You running for 3 yards without having to break a tackle? But what if the trash talk was highly educated? I think that would be hilarious.

Upon stopping a running back for no game, the linebacker yells, "SIR! I BELIEVE YOUR OFFENSIVE LINE IS DOING AN INADEQUATE JOB OF OPENING UP A PROPERLY-SIZED GAP FOR YOU TO PASS THROUGH. IT IS UNFORTUNATE FOR YOU, YET ADVANTAGEOUS FOR MYSELF AND MY TEAM! BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!"

Upon successfully defending a pass, the safety yells, "GENTLEMAN! EITHER YOUR QUARTERBACK LACKED THE REQUISITE ARM STRENGTH TO DELIVER THE BALL TO YOU ON TIME, OR I SUCCESSFULLY FULFILLED MY DUTIES THAT ARE LAID OUT IN MY JOB DESCRIPTION, BUT EITHER WAY THE PASS HAS FALLEN TO THE GROUND AND IS THEREFORE INCOMPLETE. MY TEAM IS BETTER FOR THIS!"

Upon running for 2 yards on 4th and 1 to seal a game, the running back yells, "MR. DEFENSIVE LINEMAN! IT SEEMS AS THOUGH YOU WERE UNABLE TO PROVIDE THE AMOUNT OF FORCE NEEDED TO STOP MY FORWARD MOMENTUM, AND THEREFORE I WAS ABLE TO ACHIEVE MY TEAM'S GOALS FOR THIS PARTICULAR PLAY! IT REALLY IS JUST A BASIC PHYSICS EQUATION!"

See? Hilarious! Well, either that or I'm an easily-amused idiot. Yep. Probably the second one.

I decided over the weekend that if I ever had the financial means to waste a ton of money on a sweet arcade game for my house/apartment/cardboard box on the street, it would totally be Big Buck Hunter. You can't tell me that if you ever go into a bar with Big Buck Hunter in it you want nothing more than to just stand there forever, cocking your plastic shotgun (no, that's not a euphemism for masturbation. Get your mind out of the gutter) and killing elk. It's awesome. It never gets old. It has everything you'd want in an arcade game. There were other candidates, like NBA Jam, Ms. Pac-Man, old-school Atari Football (the table-top one with the spinning wheels), a Mega-Touch for Erotic Photohunt purposes, and Mortal Kombat, but in the end, it's always Big Buck Hunter for me. What about you?

I cannot believe that his Jets team keeps winning. After beating the Bengals last week, they beat perhaps the hottest team in the NFL yesterday, the San Diego Chargers, to advance to the AFC Championship game against the Colts. Unreal. Watching my roommate Rory go through the emotional rollercoaster that is an NFL Playoff run made me miss the good ol' days when the Giants won the Super Bowl. I miss the feeling of waking up on game day, nervous as all hell, hoping for a good performance but dreading the infamous Eli Manning-4 Interception-Playoff Game. I miss the ups and downs, how one minute you could be standing on top of a mountain, and then the next minute you're pre-menopausal. And most of all I miss that feeling of rooting for the underdog who wins the big one, and how every positive emotion in the world runs through you all at the same time, like what happened to Rory yesterday after the Jets won. My body went numb after we won the Super Bowl, and even if that was me having an actual stroke, who cares?! I want it back.

And finally, life is good again for one reason, and one reason only: JACK. IS. BACK. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Last night was of course the premier of season 8 of the best show on television, with 2 hours of unmitigated glory for all, along with tighter pants for me. A few of my thoughts on last night's premier (**SPOILER ALERT**):

- This season takes place in NYC, meaning I can look right out my apartment window in the JC and see all the ass kicking Jack is doing in-person. AWESOME.

- CTU chief Brian Hastings is a waste of time, and he is CERTAINLY no Bill Buchanan (may he rest in peace.) If Bill was still running the show, the whole issue of finding the guys behind the assassination plot of President Hassan would be solved by now. Also, Hastings needs to get it into his thick skull that there's no IT person in the world better an Chloe. But I'm sure he'll figure it out soon enough when the rest of his staff screws the pooch and Jack and Chloe have to save their asses.

- I think Freddie Prinze, Jr.'s character, Cole Ortiz, will be a force for good. The thing I don't understand is how the hell he is Latino. Freddie Prinze? An Ortiz? Hmmmmm. I'm also really excited that Renee Walker will be back, because A) she's a redhead, and B) she got badass at the end of last year when she finally realized what needs to be done in order to save the country. I'm excited about the possibilities.

CORRECTION: Freddie Prinze, Jr. apparently is Latino. Oops!

- It's understandable that President Hassan's brother would be the one behind the assassination plot (or perhaps just a pawn in a much larger scheme, which is probably the case), because he probably thinks that Hassan has given up too much in the peace treaty that he's about to sign with the US, but you would think that family would mean more here. Unacceptable.

2 night, 4 hour premier continues tonight!!!! GET EXCITED!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE LKJEdbf;kJSDNv;lENBvoiwENv;lkeNmv;lkAEJf!!!!!

I'd also like to wish the genius behind our sister-blog, Do You Hear That Buzzing?, a very happy birthday (you can give her blog a clickaroo over on the right side bar). We celebrated her birthday last night at the restaurant NINJA New York, and our pal Gallen de Robuchon will be stopping by later to provide a full review of the place. Also, and I know this will be sad for you, but I will be away on business again next Saturday through Wednesday, so the Brain Fart will be put on hold for a week.

Ugh. Another week of work.

Introducing Gallen de Robuchon - Plus, first Restaurant Review: Todd English's Olives

A Spanish teacher of mine back in high school thought it was hilarious that my last name was a measurement of milk as well as other liquid substances (albeit spelled differently), so while everyone else in the class was named Juan, Jorge, Esteban, etc., I was named Gallen de Leche. That has stuck with me through the years, with my college buddies giving me such esteemed nicknames as Gallen de Letdown, Gallen de Disappointment, Gallen de Motorboat... you get the idea. Now, the past few years Coach Louey (of classy pocket square fame) has gotten me into Top Chef, which is an unbelievable show. If you haven't watched it, I suggest you start. But anyway, this past season, one of the guest judges during one of the episodes was Joel Robuchon, a French chef who was given the title of "Chef of the Century." He is literally the greatest chef of the last 100 years. Absurd right? WRONG. The man is a genius. So I decided that I would take on a culinary altar-ego in honor of this cooking legend. Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce you to - Gallen de Robuchon. Gallen de Robuchon (or the Chef of the Century, as he's commonly referred) will be popping up here and there to give you his honest assessment on various dining experiences that he has, the first of which is in this post. Chef of the Century, take it away!

Restaurant Review: 
Todd English's Olives
At the W - Union Square
201 Park Ave. South
New York, NY 10003

Ambience:
Olives, at first glance, is quite the classy establishment. Lots of chic New Yorkers mingling at the bar just outside the hostess station; exactly the kind of clientele that I, the Chef of the Century, prefer to associate with. The kind hostess then took our coats (I was with my paramour, who has had the great fortune of being with me for 4 years now) and led us to our table. This is when our experience took a turn for the worse (and we'd only been there for 5 minutes - not a good sign). The dining area was incredibly dark, which made menu reading exceedingly difficult. The poor geriatric next to me needed the table candle to read his menu. I also couldn't take pictures of the food because of how dark it was and my phone doesn't have a flash, so I apologize for that. The area was also very cramped and tight, so much so that the woman who sat at the table next to us was forced to rub her plastic surgery-induced ass against my ear as she passed by. The aforementioned table candle's flame was extinguished every time I breathed hard, making it even more difficult to see. And the restaurant was also playing this annoying techno music, which would have been ok if it wasn't so loud. The Chef of the Century prefers to speak at normal volume when holding a conversation. He doesn't want to shout. Unacceptable.
Ambience Grade: D

Service:
Service also turned out to be one of the poorest aspects of the dining experience at Olives, as our waiter... what was his name again... oh right, HE NEVER TOLD US HIS NAME. The first thing I train my waiters to do is tell our clients their names. It fosters a more casual dining experience when your waiter is on a first name basis with you. So because he refrained from telling us his name, I decided to name him Fuck, after the amount of times I had to say, "Fuck, where the hell is our waiter!?" Fuck apparently also wasn't interested in making his restaurant any money, because after our first drink (mine was a Jack and Ginger - the Chef of the Century's beverage of choice. It was weak here.) he never offered to get us another. He also never asked us if our food was cooked properly or if we were enjoying our meal, at all. Then after our main course was done and our plates had been cleared, he proceeded to re-set our table with dinner utensils: a fork and a steak knife, then looked at me like I had 14 noses and had just insulted his wife when I asked for the dessert menu. Then he realized what an idiot he was and gave us the menus, as well as the correct utensils. I'M THE CHEF OF THE FUCKING CENTURY. TODD FUCKING ENGLISH HIMSELF SHOULD HAVE BEEN WAITING ON ME. Todd, if you're reading this, Fuck had dark, greased hair, was about 6 feet tall and was on the skinny side. Fire his ass immediately.
Service Grade: D-

Appetizers:
The bread brought to our table was delicious, and would have been better if they had only provided some butter to go with it. The only spread given was this olive pate nonsense. They should know that the Chef of the Century does not enjoy olives. GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS TODD. As a formal appetizer, the beautiful lady and I had 2 servings of their Carpetbagger Oysters. These crispy oysters were adorned with beef carpaccio and truffle mashed potatoes - magnificent. The oysters were the perfect level of crispiness, and the accoutrements added just enough to put them over the top. Some of the best oysters I've ever had. A must-order if you patronize Olives. If it wasn't for the grotesque olive spread for the bread, this would have been an A+ experience.
Appetizers Grade: A-

Main Course:
I, Gallen de Robuchon, the Chef of the Century, am an aficionado of duck. A good roast duck is a precious thing, and has become increasingly hard to come by as more and more "chefs" are coming out of the woodwork and producing duck dishes at very low standards. It's preposterous. Todd English, however, is not one of these impostors. His Long Island Roasted Duck was a wonderful piece of meat, cooked to perfection. Great texture. Even better flavor. Simply stupendous. The downfall to the dish, however, was the loads of random crap that was piled on the plate with the duck. The menu hasn't been updated online (seriously Todd?), so I can't tell you exactly what else was on the plate, but it was some sort of nut thingy with some raspberry puree stuff, and I think some ginger. All wonderfully tasting, but all getting in the way of a perfect piece of meat. Todd, my boy, let the meat speak for itself. Let the meat sing! That duck was begging to be enjoyed on it's own, perhaps with just a touch of these sides off to the side of the plate, not all over it. I give you credit for a delicious piece of meat, but I beg that you leave the duck alone. It's too delicious to be overshadowed by excess.

My lovely companion had the Lamb Porterhouse, which was accompanied by a crispy merguez samosa, za'atar parsnips, kefir cheese, and pistachio vinaigrette. Once again, the meat was perfection. Todd English's lamb was a thing of beauty, perfectly cooked, perfectly seasoned, delicious. I can't use the word perfect enough to describe the lamb. But once again, Todd, you fell into the trap of putting too much on the plate. Like the duck, the lamb would have been good enough on its own (in this case actually, the lamb was less overshadowed. The samosa and the kefir cheese were off to the side as their own entity). While the parsnips and the vinaigrette were very good, I could have used less. I can't stress enough how excellent the lamb was. Let it be. As for the samosa - awful. A failed attempt at an Indian delicacy. But the samosa notwithstanding, the dinner was a resounding success if you ignored the plethora of flavor decoration and really enjoyed the duck and lamb for what they were: exquisitely cooked and flavored pieces of meat.
Main Course Grade: A

Dessert:
For dessert the lady and I shared a warm chocolate pudding cake with some ice cream/mouse/chocolate happiness all over it. It was simply delightful. Not too much to say except: Bravo, Todd's Pastry Chef. A perfect way to end the meal. They also provided delicious little carrot cake samples with the check, which was a fantastic touch and a welcome departure from the traditional after-dinner mint.
Dessert Grade: A+

In conclusion, Todd English's Olives performed poorly in some aspects, namely the ambience and the service, but delivered in the most important aspect of a restaurant experience: the food. The oysters alone were worth the price of admission (and what a price it was), but the perfection to which the lamb and duck were cooked simply left the Chef of the Century speechless, a feat not often achieved these days, and especially not here in America. But let me emphasize again to my friend Todd - Let the meat be enjoyed for what is, not what you think you should put on it. And also, recognize when a legend such as myself is in your restaurant and leave the piss-poor wait staff at home.

MMBF - 1/11: Double the Fun!

Hola, and welcome everyone to a special 2-week super double bonus edition of the Monday Morning Brain Fart. Due to my inability to post anything last week while away on business, I'm combining my bullshit from 2 weekends ago with my bullshit from this past weekend, so be prepared to be 2 times as bored with my nonsense as you usually are. Onwards.

Last weekend was, of course, New Years, so let me begin by wishing you and your family a very happy New Year. All of us here at New Jersey is Clean, Idiots hope the new year brings you as much good fortune as it typically does to Steve Jobs. Anywhoo, me and 250 of my closest friends had a big blowout in NYC, with an open bar for 6 or 7 hours. That, however, was not the best part of the evening. The best part was the infinitely classy pocket square that Coach Louis was sporting during the evening. Kevo and I slaved over the pocket square with a hot iron, pressing each crucial crease to achieve the highest level of pocket square crispness. We gave him the very prestigious Three Stairs Pocket Square, which you can learn how to fold here. The ladies were swooning. Louey looked gooooood.

The annual Winter Classic hockey game was on New Years Day. It was between the Boston Bruins and the Philadelphia Flyers, two teams I hate. But like always, the game was quite the spectacle and was fun to watch. However, there was one moment that was particularly atrocious and dragged the whole event down. Towards the end of the game when the broadcast returned from commercial, instead of them actually continuing with the hockey game, they went down to field level at Fenway where Denis Leary and some obnoxious fruitcake in a fur coat led the crowd in singing, "Sweet Caroline," which I guess is a Fenway Park tradition. It was AWFUL. Red Sawx Nation, no one cares about your "traditions" or how together you used to be in sports misery. Stop trying to make us care about you. You're all annoying. Possibly moreso than Philadelphia fans.

I was appalled to see a commercial about Dark Chocolate Reeses Peanut Butter cups. It is a complete bastardization of an American tradition; an abomination in the truest sense of the word. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups are made of milk chocolate and whatever that peanut butter concoction is in the middle. Nothing else. Stop catering to fat people who think dark chocolate is healthier for you, and thereby spitting in the face of Americana. Dark chocolate isn't even that good.

I hadn't seen BASEketball, the superb comedy from the creators of South Park, until last weekend, and believe me when I tell you this - it contains one of the funniest moments in American cinematic history. Please observe:



I mean SERIOUSLY! The raccoon was just SITTING there in the road, and the car, which just happens to have a dashboard camera recording everything, just plows into him! Then they hit skunks, opossums, even a kangaroo! HILARIOUS! I kid you not, the first time I saw this, I was crying and I couldn't breathe, that's how hard I was laughing. My only hope in life is that some network is smart enough to bring Roadkill: Caught on Tape to television, so I can watch this genius everyday of my life. Prepare to be clogged, DVR.

2 weekends ago was the final weekend of the NFL's regular season, where the AFC still had a few playoff spots up for grabs. The Pittsburgh Steelers were one of the many teams trying to secure a wild-card spot, but they needed the Jets and Texans to lose, among other teams. Lamar Woodley, a linebacker for the Steelers, decided to say to the world that he thought the Bengals and the Patriots, who were playing the Jets and Texans, respectively, would lose on purpose so that the Steelers wouldn't make it into the playoffs, thereby ruining the integrity of the game. The Jets and Texans won of course, and the Steelers didn't make it in. Lamar Woodley was angry. Hey Lamar, how about you beat shitty teams like the Chiefs, Raiders and Browns so that you can assure your own spot in the playoffs and not have to worry about others? Yeah, that would work too. Idiot.

I've told you in the past how good Deli Plus is at the Journal Square PATH Station in Jersey City. I've even based an entire evening around it in the past. Well this past weekend, after celebrating a friend's, nay, brother's birthday in Alphabet City in NYC, I decided a trip to Deli Plus - alone, at 4:30 in the morning, in 5 degree temperatures - was a great idea. Boy, how right I was. Typically when I get a sandwich there it's a traditional turkey sandwich, but this time I decided to try the bacon, which is a staple of A-1 deli sandwiches. Hot damn, does Deli Plus do bacon right. It was hot, and had the perfect level of crispiness to really end my evening on a high note. I highly suggest you pick one up for yourself if you're in the area.

I was kind of rooting for the Jets in their playoff game with the Bengals on Saturday, because it'd be nice to see an area team do well since my team is shit. But I was also kind of rooting against them, because I enjoy the fact that the Jets are the ugly stepchild to the Giants, kind of like how the Mets are to the Yankees. The world is just right that way. But anyway, I was surprised at how easily the Jets won, though perhaps it shouldn't have been too surprising considering how terrible Marvin Lewis was. He wasted his challenges in the first half faster than Andy Reid typically does, which is saying something. And they were on calls that were clearly right. Idiot. Also, Braylon Edwards sucks, and the NBC B-team of Tom Hammond, Joe Gibbs and Joe Theismann was the worst broadcasting crew I have ever heard in my life. Hammond looks like a tranny and kept making mistakes with players names, Gibbs is too soft-spoken and never says anything of value, and Joe Theismann, well... there's a reason he was fired from the Monday Night booth on ESPN a few years back. If that ever happens again, I'm going to find Dick Ebersol and push him out of a window.

Luke Wilson must be really struggling these days. I haven't seen him in any movies of note recently, and now he's in these awful AT&T ads that are the answer to Verizon's "Map" commercials. First of all, he's put on some pounds. Come on Luke, let's get it together. You're clearly letting yourself go. Second of all, since when do legitimate movie stars have to resort to crappy cell phone commercials? I almost feel bad for the guy. Then I remember how much money I'm sure he's made in his career and I don't feel bad anymore. FATTY.

Other thoughts on the weekend's playoff football action: PHI-DAL - I really hate Philly, and I really hate Dallas, so their matchup caused a great moral dilemma deep within my soul. I want both of them to lose, but obviously that wasn't going to happen, so I decided that on this particular day I wanted Philly to win so that Dallas' streak of not winning a playoff game in 16 years would continue. I LOVE seeing them lose. Of course they won, but at least Philly is out of the playoffs! Then I got to thinking - maybe Dallas winning was a good thing. A) Philly is out, and that is always awesome, and B) Now it looks like Wade Phillips will stay, which is phenomenal. He is an AWFUL coach, and now because they won a playoff game, he'll probably stay for a while instead of Dallas hiring a real coach. I'd like to think that Wade Phillips could never win a Super Bowl in this life, or else clearly there is something wrong with this universe. So now Philly is out, and Wade Phillips is around for the Giants to own for a few more years. Awesome! NE-BAL - I thought it was absolutely hilarious that A) David Tyree now plays for the Ravens, which had to tear at the very core of all Pats fans, and B) They kept playing this Pepsi Throwback commercial during the game that had Tyree making the Helmet Catch in Super Bowl 42. I was waiting for him to do something epic that would beat the Pats again, but the only epic thing that happened was the Ravens taking the Pats behind the woodshed and givin' them a ripe ol' beatin'! Yee haw! ARZ-GB - Finally, the first good football game of the weekend, and it was the last one! Fun game to watch, and very ironic that the game ended in overtime on a good defensive play, when both defenses clearly demonstrated they couldn't stop my old high school team yesterday. Great entertainment, however.

Finally, I always enjoy a good bit of sexual undertone in a commercial, and a KFC commercial I saw over the weekend clearly fit the bill. It was for KFC's new Fire-Grilled Wings, and they showed some montage of hot women eating the wings, fire, hot peppers shooting all over the place, blah blah, yadda yadda, etc. One particular shot caught my eye, because it was of a woman taking a suggestive bite out of a hot pepper and taking a nice juicy shot in her face. I don't think I need to explain that any further, other than it illicited a large guffaw from me when I saw it. Shot. In the face. He he.

Ugh. Another week of work.

Random Thoughts from Enemy Territory

Let me begin by offering my most sincere apologies to my 3 dedicated readers for not giving you the Brain Fart this week. I was away on business during the beginning of the week and was unable to write anything since I still don't own my own computer. BUT LUCKY YOU! You get a special bonus double edition of the Brain Fart this coming Monday that will encompass both weeks of nonsense! Oh boy! Anyway, where did I travel for work, you may ask? Well, I was deep within enemy territory. I was in the home of the Cowgirls. I was, of course, in Dallas, TX. The following are notes I took as I saw different things during my first time in Big D. (The "D" stands for douche of course.)

My flight landed at around lunchtime on Monday. What was the first thing I saw as I emerged from the gate? A Cowboys store. Staring back at me, welcoming me to Texas, were freshly-pressed Tony Homo jerseys. Awesome.

So apparently Dallas-Ft. Worth International Airport is neither in Dallas, nor in Ft. Worth, but instead is about a half hour away from the city. Phenomenal. So on the way I observed that the cops call themselves "Constables," (what is this England? I thought they were called the PO-LEESE in the south?) the old Cowboys stadium in Irving, which is an absolute dump, and a ton of "adult bookstores." Those Texans love them some porno!

I arrived at my hotel, checked-in, and headed up to my room on the 26th floor. When I got there, I opened the shades to check out the view. What did I see? For miles and miles around, there was absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Just desert forever... and high school football.

After working all day, we headed to the bar at night to throw back a few cold ones and relax. One good thing about Dallas is that we're west of the Mississippi, which means... Fat Tire beer! Sweet Jesus yes.

While prepping for our meeting, we ran out of toner in the printer, which necessitated a trip to Staples. Apparently nothing is close to anything in Dallas, so I had to trek out about 10 miles to find a Staples. But you know what? It doesn't matter how far away things are when you're rollin' around town in one of these:



BOOM. Check my ride, bitches. Respect the Nav.

After seeing a ton of Sonic commercials here in the JC but never getting to go to one since they didn't have any up here until recently, it was nice to see that the chain actually does exist, as I found one by the Staples and enjoyed a few of it's culinary delicacies for lunch. Mmmmmm.

At Ithaca senior year we used to go to Chinese Buffet every Sunday to eat glorious Chinese food and discuss the past weekend's various shenanigans for about 3-4 hours. I consider that Chinese Buffet to be the best China buffet of them all, but I may have found a competitor to that title here in Dallas:



GRAND CHINA SUPER BUFFET?! ARE YOU KIDDING??!?! Not only is it Grand, but it's Super too. Unreal. I'm eating there next time I go.

Dallas is a dead town. We left the hotel to go to dinner at about 8:45 on Tuesday night, and there wasn't a single car on the road. Not one. It was like the town had a 7:00 curfew or something. Maybe it's just me being used to busy cities, but it was ridiculous how quiet and empty the city was. Even during the day there was no traffic whatsoever. Weird.

And finally, I can't believe everyone in Texas isn't dead with the way they eat down there. Typically fast food restaurants have local flavors to them, but they take it a little too far down in Dallas. A bacon, egg and cheese... BURGER at IHOP? Christ. CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK at KFC? Oh my. It's like each meal you eat has to clog at least 43% of your major arteries. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger at the hotel bar on Monday, thinking it came on your regular, everyday bun. Nope. It came on two pieces of thick, greasy, garlicky, Texas toast. My heart hurt after just one bite. Then that night I ordered a BBQ Brisket chopped salad, thinking I would get a few greens in me. The salad was good, except that it came on top of a cheesy-bread pizza-like thingy! WHY IS MY SALAD PLACED ON TOP OF A PIZZA? I felt a stroke coming on at this point. Again, how everyone isn't dead down there is beyond me.