…after insisting on naming yet another winter storm
Category: Uncategorized
Very Similar Phrases Can Produce Extremely Different Results
Try this one at home or at work.
1. “Calm down.”
2. “Just calm down.”
3. “Just calm down, already.”
Morgan’s Barbecue: Bark Has Bite
Since hearing that Morgan’s had opened on Flatbush and St. Mark’s in Brooklyn, I’d been itching to go. Word on the street (by which I mean one of the managers of Dinosaur: Brooklyn I’d bugged one afternoon) was that one of the guys involved worked at Franklin BBQ in Austin. A couple of news pieces about Morgan’s backed that up.
So, last night, instead of going some place fancy for my birthday, I took a chance and had Cara take me to unproven ‘cue place. We all know how badly that can end in New York.
But I’m happy to report that Morgan’s met and exceeded expectations. It’s a sit-down place–which I’m fine with in New York, because I’d rather not get stuck with a tray of meat and nowhere to sit (Mighty Quinn’s). And the menu isn’t very big–again, this is a good thing.
We ordered brisket, ribs and pulled pork. All three–yes, even the pulled pork–showed that Morgan’s is, at heart, Texas barbecue. The ribs and the brisket had been rubbed down with ample salt and black pepper and had a great bark. This actually might be the spiciest brisket I’ve had in New York. Unlike the ribs at Hill Country, which are large and a little on the tough side for my liking, these were small (baby backs?) and extremely tender. Almost too tender for your barbecue sticklers. The brisket was excellent and, well, what do reviewers say about brisket? It was beefy? I don’t know. It was good. The pulled pork was surprising in that, unlike a lot of places around here, it wasn’t drenched in sauce or overly mushy. It had a strong garlic flavor, too, which I liked.
For sides, we had a loaded baked potato, which was good. And mac and cheese, which wasn’t cheesy enough.
Morgan’s has a solid bourbon and rye selection and the Shiner Bock was served at the perfect temperature.
I recommend it. And yall know how I am about barbecue.
Two Boots Brooklyn: RIP

Two Boots Brooklyn is closing for good this weekend. I haven’t been there in quite a while. In fact, last time I went, it was in a desperate attempt to get Cara something resembling a decent shrimp poboy. Attempt failed miserably. (Sorry, Two Boots! But the pizza was always good.)
But almost all of my other memories of the place are golden. Back when I first moved to Brooklyn, when the South Slope was mostly barren of bars, my friend Jason and I would go there for a little touch of home. Many nights, it was Jason, his wife Beth and me. This was back before they had kids, so it was easier. And I was happy to be a third wheel.
We’d drink a few beers, listen to some live music and have a good time. This was also back under different management. And there were plenty a week night when Jason and I would stick around so long, the bar tender on duty would lock us in and keep giving us beer while he got stoned — which always seemed to surprise the Park Slope parents who saw Two Boots as simply a pizza place to take the kids for a few hours on the weekend. But the fact was, Two Boots was pretty rock n’ roll.
Other memories. I met Jason and Beth there after my very first internet date. “We thought you were on a date,” they said. “Yeah, well, it’s over,” I responded.
Met another woman there once. She was wearing a Coney Island shirt and I was all smoove and said, “I was just there today.” We danced — or tried to. She actually knew how to swing dance and kept laughing at me. We exchanged numbers and went on an actual date that involved dinner at a restaurant and a concert in Manhattan. Kim Deal, I believe. And that was it. I went home. She went home. Never saw her again. But it was one of those times where I thought, “Huh, so that’s how a person meets a person in New York.” Christ, there was a time I had the energy to go to a concert in Manhattan for a date? And Kim Deal? What?
During the blackout — I was living in Prospect Heights at this point — I wandered into Park Slope and landed there. It was packed, since it was basically the first place other people from Prospect Heights were running into. God, that hangover was brutal. Didn’t help that I was helping Jason and Beth move that next day.
The Halloween party in the picture above. I was a cowboy. That’s real facial hair. Jason was a, uh, Mardi Gras person I believe?
Lots of good country and rock-a-billy acts, which opened my eyes to a different sort of music scene in New York, hiding right there in Park Slope. Check out The Hackensaw Boys. Go on. Do yourself a favor.
Anyway, the place is closing as of Sunday. These things happen. So tonight, we’re going to head there for one last Abita, maybe even a Hurricane served in a glass boot.
Banksy? Was That You?
A Few Thoughts on The Circle
You know how every once in a while, someone in Hollywood gets a “deep thought” and then builds a movie around it — one in which the characters all stand for something, the dialogue is a constant stream of polemic and there’s no mystery at all as to how things are going to turn out. That’s what David Eggers’ “The Circle” feels like. It’s about as subtle as a kick in the groin.
Put another way, “The Circle” is the literary equivalent of “Crash.”
Here’s the thing: I’m not ashamed to say that I was a huge fan of “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.” And I’m on Eggers’ side in the debate he’s trying to set up. For those who don’t know, “The Circle” is the story of a young woman who goes to work at The Circle, a company that is obviously a mixture of Google and Facebook, where all seems perfect as the young technocrats try to bring utopia to the world, whether it be through child safety, online payments or participatory democracy. But is this vision wise? Is this safe?
Of course not. Get off my damn lawn, you silicon valley (and alley) nitwits! Those who’d impose technological utopia are dangerous!
And that ground has been covered repeatedly in nonfiction and fiction alike.
But as long as the character is convincing and the story is good, who cares? I’m not going to claim to be any champion of subtlety. I went after Mike Bloomberg’s foolish food laws with a hammer. But I’d like to think it was a funny hammer — or hammers. And they worked fast.
Sadly, Mae, the main character isn’t one I felt much of anything for other than frustration. I’m a big fan of unlikeable characters. I’m not a big fan of characters who seem to just coast along toward evil with no clear motivation other than a vague insecurity or two and a need to be liked. Now that might actually be how the real world works, but ultimately I felt like Mae was, at best, a bit of a needy dimwit and, at worst … well, a bit of an oblivious, needy dimwit.
Some could claim that I didn’t feel much for Mae because she’s a woman and a Millennial. Which is horseshit. I love me an interesting female protagonist, whether it be written by Kaye Gibbons or Marian Keyes. And as much grief as I give Millennials, I don’t actually believe their generation is that much different than any other generation — and I do believe that there are at least a few of them with some critical thinking abilities.
The story, too, is a problem. While it’s mildly interesting to watch the progress of the Circle, at no point is there much — if any — tension. There are a lot of speeches, though. Quite a lot. And the one thing that’s supposed to be a mystery — I’m assuming the mysterious stranger is indeed supposed to be mysterious — was so obvious that Scooby Doo could have figured it out without the help of the rest of the gang. (Yes, I had a fairly obvious twist at the end of my last one, but that wasn’t set up as a key mystery running throughout the book — and Scooby would at least have had to call on Shaggy for help on that one.)
Hell, I don’t know. Maybe the kids growing up on the OTHER side of the digital dividing line — the ones who’ve always known a world in which everything can be shared in a cloud — will need to read a book like this to understand how stupid and dangerous some of the techno-utopian preachers can be. And that privacy is a good thing. And you don’t need to share every damn thing in your life (says the guy who posts 100 poodle pictures a day). I certainly think everyone should be aware of that.
But I was just hoping it could be packaged in a more entertaining story.
The Great Brisket Experiment: 2013
If there’s one thing I like almost as much as stuffing my face full of smoked brisket, it’s barbecuing it myself.
Okay, that is a lie. Barbecuing brisket — and pork shoulder for that matter — is one of those things I really, really look forward to doing. And I maintain the kid-on-Christmas-morning glee until one of the following
- The shopping trip turns into a shit-show of an obstacle course
- The weather decides not to cooperate
- Five hours into the proceeding and I’m just trying to stay awake
- When the food is served and everybody’s all, “THIS IS AWESOME” and I’m thinking “This is shit. It’s crap. It doesn’t taste like Black’s or Franklin’s or Hill Country or Brisketlab. AND OH MY GOD, DID YOU JUST PUT SAUCE ON THAT?!?!”
But this last barbecue? It was going to be different. Because I’d learned something while in Texas with Nick on our Fabulous Brisket Tour. And it was game-changing.
An Open Letter to People Who Write Open Letters
Dear You,
No one asked for your opinion, so please put a cork in it. And even though I might find myself in agreement with some of what you have written, I have to wonder why you (or your assistant) just couldn’t find an email address — or, god forbid, a snail mail address — and send an actual letter to the person you’ve decided to lecture in public. Why, if I were a cynical sort, I’d suspect this was some sort of publicity play, some need to get a little bit of the old spotlight on yourself. But I’d hate to cast aspersions.
Of course, you could argue that maybe your intended target of shame wouldn’t see or respond to personal communication. Do you think they’re going to respond to your public grandstanding? They might! But not in any sort of positive or constructive way.
But what I’d really like to get across is this: Shut up.
Regards,
The rest of us
Freaks of Nature
Note: So that news story about the feral pig getting drunk and fighting a cow? Anyway, I wrote this way back in 1997 or 1998, based on a post-card writing assignment given to me by Luis Alberto Urrea.
Me and Bobby had our annual meeting last night up by the south bank of the lake. It was a good night for a meeting. Oh, me and Bobby meet every night, just to shoot the shit and what not. But last night was the Official Meeting.
We both belong to the International Society of Freaks of Nature — ISOFON for short. And the local chapters meet at least once a year. We’re the only two freaks in the area and we’ve never met any of the other guys, but it’s nice to feel like part of something. I think that’s very important, to be part of something. I remember this scraggly yellow dog tried to join up once. Called himself O’Brien and the only thing freakish about him was his extraordinary use of foul language and his obsession with sex (from what I hear he couldn’t get it up). Well, me and Bobby decided not to let him join. Found out recently that he got shot while on the prowl. Kinda feel guilty about that. Wonder if it would have happened if we’da let him join.
Continue reading “Freaks of Nature”
About That Michael Bloomberg Legacy
What with all the Michael Bloomberg retrospectives going on, I feel like I haven’t been invited to the party. And I wrote an entire novel based on his legacy! Well, the food legacy at any rate. And who doesn’t want to talk about food and politics (and sex and crime)? Hell, even Fran Lebowitz jumps on the soda thing in her Times interview.
Anyway, since I never talk about myself or my writing here, I figured I’d give another free taste of Bacon and Egg Man. (Okay, fine, every other post I’m talking about my writing, but since I’m averaging about one post every two months these days …).
This is Chapter 18. Setup? You don’t need no stinking setup. Interestingly, Bloomberg isn’t even mentioned below. But his shadow, it is long. Bacon and Egg Man can be purchased in print or e-book here, here and elsewhere.
Continue reading “About That Michael Bloomberg Legacy”


