Memphis - Socializing and Predation

Coming in to Memphis, I ended up on 3rd St. on the way to checking out the location of my intended dinner destination. There was quite a wait to turn left at the stop sign off the highway exit from I-55 and I found out that it was because 3rd St. is a major location for cruising. I don't know what the proper au courant slang term for it is, but I'm referring to young people congregating for social purposes along a specific road to drive by slowly in one's freshly scrubbed vehicle; said road should also be lined with the parked cars of like-minded persons. A staple of teenage life for decades -- both urban and suburban -- it is disliked by law enforcement, and not immune to the impact of gas prices. I haven't witnessed many cruising scenes so it was interesting to watch folks lining a very industrial road to show off whips, dubs, rims, etc. in bumper-to-bumper traffic for about 0.75 miles. It seems like a broad and slightly impersonal social scene, as there didn't seem to be much interaction between strangers; I did not hear any communication between those who were mobile and those who were pedestrianating, and most of the vehicles were content to play music at volumes that precluded external conversation. I imagine that I may have seemed just a *bit* out of place in my dusty used Jeep. Yes, the music you hear in the background of the video is coming from my own car.



It turns out that my original dining selection (Interstate BBQ) is closed on Sundays so I had to go with an alternate. Central BBQ is highly rated and has won a number of awards, so it seemed like an excellent option. Getting there about 45 minutes before closing, I asked for recommendations and ended up ordering dry rub wings and a big combination plate with dry rub ribs, beef brisket, and pulled pork in order to try as many things as possible. Oh, the sacrifices I make. The fellow behind the counter was nice enough to throw in a bag of their barbecue sauce-flavored potato chips, a nice gesture as the meal was about $22. The wings were excellent, with a very crisp exterior that zinged with strong flavors (paprika? cumin?) and a juicy interior that some might consider just a tiny bit undercooked. It's worth clicking on the picture for a closer look at just how much texture is on the surface of each wing.



The ribs and brisket were frankly a bit disappointing, as both were a bit dry. Dry rub ribs have no reason to be dry on the inside so this is not cool. The flavor of the ribs was fine -- not as potent as the wings but distinct and tasty -- but it's hard to enjoy dry ribs. The brisket was a touch dry and much tougher than I would have liked. It almost seemed like the gelatin had been cooked out of the brisket, rendering the meat from tender back to tough. The pulled pork was fine but indistinct; by itself it did not bring much flavor to the table and was simply innocuous. The barbecue sauces are available at a separate self-serve bar and were outstanding. The mild sauce had the expected balance of various flavors, with a leaning toward the sweet and acidic, definitely in the treble clef. The hot sauce was not very hot, but was dominated by the broad, smoky flavor of bourbon or whiskey. It was delicious, like a smooth bassoon, and I confirmed with the dude behind the counter that it does indeed have a whiskey base. So, we have subpar meat and outstanding sauce, which to me does not equal outstanding barbecue. The brisket and pork provided blank canvasses for delivering massive quantities of sauce, but that's really not the point of eating barbecue, so I'm going to have to say that I'll look to try other places -- especially Interstate BBQ -- before returning to Central BBQ. On a largely unrelated note, it was interesting to observe that the proprietors and customers of Central BBQ were entirely Caucasian. I don't know if it is neighborhood-related but it makes me curious about how integrated Memphis is; is it a melting pot or a salad? I'm not saying that it isn't based on a meaningless single data point, but some cities are more seamlessly color-blind than others and my experiences with Memphis have been fairly homogenous. There also clearly isn't a racial component to producing superior barbecue, but I'm beginning to develop a personal bias. I would be very skeptical if Donald Trump decided to open a chain of barbecue restaurants.



To round out a disappointing night, I visited Beale Street at around 11pm. Keep in mind that this was a Sunday night, so it is not likely representative of a typical night. On approach, the flashing neon was reassuringly gaudy and music could be heard from quite a distance. Beale Street takes up a couple of blocks and is cordoned off by police so that patrons can walk about freely in the street with open alcohol containers. I started off optimistically with a large beer at the beginning of Beale, taking pictures along the way. There did not appear to be any other tourists around (or they just hid it better) and there were plenty of folks lounging outside of establishments eyeing passers-by. There really weren't that many people there in total, and the loungers slightly outnumbered the pedestrians. I was stopped 3 times in the next 30 steps by men trying to hustle me in various ways. The approaches were all initially friendly and disarming, but quickly got down to business. I got tired of feeling like a mark and put away my camera for the rest of my walk up and down Beale. There are the expected bars and restaurants, and many of the bars play the excellent live music (mostly blues) going on inside on outside-facing speakers. I walked the entire strip and then made my way home without stopping in any of the establishments. My visit as a lone Asian tourist late on a Sunday night was not particularly enjoyable, but Beale Street might be fun to do with a group on a weekend night. Did I do Beale Street justice? Did I do myself justice by leaving without checking the place out? Almost certainly no to both questions, but I'm comfortable with that. Sometimes, one is just done for the night. Plus, I wanted to be at the gates of Graceland bright and early the next morning to avoid any lines.









Miles Driven: 285 / 1305
Ratio of nights spent couch-surfing / in a motel: 4 / 3
Nights spent in a Super 8 motel: 3
Pairs of sneakers in the car for workout purposes: 1
Exercise outfits in the car for workout purposes: 3
Number of times I've exercised during the trip: 0

Roadtrip Map Updates

While I muster the energy to continue to catch up on blog posts, I've made a number of updates to the roadtrip map:

1) The route's level of detail has been improved significantly, so it more closely follows the actual roads driven.

2) Prior stops have been labeled: blue markers with dots are places where I did and/or ate something and stayed the night. The camera, fork & knife, and bed icons naturally depict places where I only did a single thing (I both ate and did some sightseeing in San Antonio, but the sightseeing wins out).

3) My current location is depicted with a red pushpin, while my next major destination is depicted with a green pushpin.

4) Eagle-eyed watchers will note that I've altered my route for the first time, leaving Interstate 10 well before El Paso and instead shooting up 285 through Pecos (TX) and Roswell (NM) to Albuquerque.


View Larger Map

St Louis - Strata and Holisticity

Brunch on Sunday was at Soulard Coffee Garden, a neighborhood cafe that seems custom-designed for a lazy weekend brunch. There are works from local artists on the walls, hip and mostly-pierced servers, and a full bar is available. While I appreciate the consistency and professionalism of corporate chains, I find that I'm a big fan of quirky, specifically-local establishments that don't mind showing off some character. The atmosphere of the place is colorful and relaxing, and the clientele ranged from families to quiet older couples to frat boys. The service is quite slow but the servers are not just lounging around, they chat with customers and are in permanent, low-key, unhurried mode. My friend ordered a bloody mary with gin and a server other than our own stopped by our table to tell us that she thought that sounded delicious, and we launched into a lamentation of Ian Fleming's influence in making people think that martinis are properly made with vodka (they're not; a true martini is made with gin). This is not the place to go if you're in a rush because chill is just how they roll. I ordered the Slinger, which is 2 eggs, 2 sausage patties, cheese, home fries, large pieces of raw onion, and chili with beans and cubes of meat ~0.75" on a side (a little less than 0.5 cubic inches by my estimate). As an aside, I learned from a Texan that chili does not contain beans. You can have chili with beans, but if it has beans you can't just call it chili. The chili here was alright, with sharp notes of chili powder, not much heat, and more than a hint of sweetness (molasses?). I always get eggs sunny-side up which seems to be an infrequent request from most, but I highly recommend it. I've never gotten salmonella poisoning and the creamy, luxurious yolkiness is a great way to start the day. The second image below shows a little of the Cholula hot sauce that I applied liberally to the dish. I like Cholula for the same reason I prefer Crystal hot sauce over Tabasco; Cholula and Crystal provide relatively neutral heat whereas Tabasco makes things taste like Tabasco (which is not always a bad thing). Cholula uses arbol and piquin peppers; the sauce is not too hot and the heat appears early and sweet like jalapenos, not late and diffuse like habaneros. The meal was about as ridiculous as it sounds, with a quantity of food that is not likely to be recommended by the Surgeon General. Because the ingredients are layered on top of each other instead of being compartmented separately, every bite was a mix of randomness, with the raw onions providing unexpected fillips. Washing it down with a local beer (Schlafly, unfiltered wheat) completed a very satisfying meal. Click on the pictures for a large-format vision of breakfast indulgence. Adelle Davis -- a mid-20th century pioneer in the then-fledgling field of nutrition -- often gets credit for saying: "eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper." It's good to be the king. All day.







It took me a while to realize that my favorite restaurants are not necessarily the ones with the best food. There are a number of places with incredible food that are not at the top of my list of places to go. It's the places where I know I'm going to walk away happy that really do it for me; dining happiness has multiple facets -- ambiance, service, food, etc. -- and restaurants that consistently deliver a great overall experience get gold stars. Just as beer companies sell a lifestyle and cosmetic companies sell hope, restaurants sell more than just food. Soulard Coffee Garden is not likely to win awards for its food or its service, but I'll be back next time I'm in town. After I hit Roper's for ribs.

Miles driven: 0 / 1020
Songs I helped add to my friend's list of 100 river-party chill songs from the 60's and 70's: 17
Speed traps noticed between Chicago and St. Louis: 3
Cracker Barrels noticed between Chicago and St. Louis: 3

St Louis - Connection and Reflection

The roadtrip just keeps getting better, as dinner in St. Louis was the highlight of the trip so far. As with many stories, it started out with a misstep since I had originally intended to eat at a place called Super Smokers where I used to eat pork steaks with a couple of colleagues at the time. I've never seen pork steaks available outside of St. Louis -- gooey butter cake being another regional item -- so I was looking forward to another 12-14 oz. portion of boneless porkaliciousness. Unfortunately, while on the road I discovered that they're no longer in business (which explains why their name isn't hyperlinked here). Props to Don for coming to the rescue, as I asked him to find the best pork steak in St. Louis while I was en route. He came up with a place called Roper's Ribs, though he warned me that it might not be in the nicest of neighborhoods. Arriving at 9:30pm (they close at 10pm on Saturdays), I did find the area to be a little rough. The establishment resembles Chinese carryout places in economically-challenged neighborhoods in that there were 4 2-top tables in a small room -- maybe 12' x 16' -- facing a solid floor-to-ceiling wall with a small counter at which to place one's order. There were pictures to go along with the menu of food items above the counter so although I had come with the intention of ordering a pork steak, the pictures led me to order the tip and snoot combo. Yes, that's pork rib tips and pig snouts. The food takes a while to prepare so I finally retrieved my food a little before 10pm, with no other customers present since they all carried their orders out.

I'll pause the story here to describe the food. The standard styrofoam container was very heavy, being filled to the brim with tips, snoots, and sauce. The layer of rib tips was covered with the snoots, which were about 1.5" x 3" in size. Each piece had folds much like brains do (more on gyri and sulci here) and were fried very crisp; they could not be pierced with a plastic fork so I had to use my fingers. The snoots required significant force to bite through, nearly as hard as rock candy. Curiously, the snoots did not shatter into small pieces upon biting through as expected; the snoots aren't brittle -- perhaps being softened by the sauce -- and seem to have the architecture of a series of air pockets like fried pork rinds, though far denser. The inside is not as hard as the outside, but still very crisp. They don't have a strong flavor by themselves -- it's just slightly porky -- but do an excellent job of absorbing sauce. They're pretty tasty but not something I'd prefer to have as the central focus of a meal. The rib tips were fantastic. One of the keys to barbecue is that the meat is not supposed to be falling-apart tender; the connective tissue needs to be rendered down into gelatin but there still has to be a little tooth and texture to the meat. The rib tips were right in that zone, and the little cylinders of cartilage (~0.33" in diameter) embedded within were crunchily edible. Anyone who's seen me eat chicken wings knows of my fondness for cartilage. I categorize barbecue sauces first by thickness: if the surface of the sauce is flat then I think of it as "thin", a textured surface means that the sauce is "thick". Roper's sauce rates as thin by this scale but is far from watery; it rests lightly on the tongue and coats it, whereas a sauce made up of mostly water or vinegar will not coat the tongue. The sauce is less sweet than the Kansas City style and is not hot, but blends enough spices that I couldn't pick any specific ones out. Apparently some people just drink down the sauce by itself and I can see why, as there's a warm, slight pepperiness to it that is very savory but not insistent. I tend to think of flavors in terms of musical pitch: citrus and acid flavors feel like high notes to me, while earthy and savory flavors are in the lower register. Roper's sauce plays in the mid-upper range with a nice bass line. The key is that the dish is about the meat, not the sauce. I think of Roper's use of sauce as that of a skilled supporting actor, displaying consummate ability without diverting attention from the star of the show. The ribs were just as good several hours later as a late-night snack, perhaps because they were submerged in sauce and had no opportunity to dry up. I'm forced to say that my favorite ribs used to be from a literal shack by the side of the road in Kansas City called LC's, but my favorite is now Roper's.





Just as the fellow behind the counter was locking the door at 10 sharp, 3 preppy-looking Caucasians walked in; I only note this because we stood out as ethnic exceptions to the clientele that I had witnessed during my visit. They indicated that they had driven down from Wisconsin for a wrestling tournament, had specifically ventured here because they had read internet reviews of the place, and were willing to take whatever food items were available just so they could say they had eaten there. They must have said the magic words at some point because the dude behind the counter indicated that he would ask one of the owners to come and say hi to them when their food was ready. I should note that I had indicated that I was from DC and visiting during a cross-country roadtrip, and did not receive a similar offer. So Denise Roper comes out a little while later, and she has the kind of presence that fills a room and draws one's attention not because of volume, but because she is so genuinely open and friendly and welcoming. She took pictures with the Wisconsinites and then I piped up -- with a mouthful of snoot -- that I'd like some of that action as well. The Wisconsinites left during that time and I began chatting with Denise about my trip and the different styles of barbecue that I was looking forward to eating. I mentioned the Memphis dry rub preference and she told me that Roper's tried introducing dry rub ribs some time ago but it failed because St. Louis is all about the sauce. We did a little analysis of the involved marketing challenges, sparking a plan to re-introduce dry rub on the menu. We continued discussing various aspects of running the business and some time later a gentleman with an apron stepped out and joined the chat; this was Carl Roper, Denise's husband and the man behind the meat. We launched into a spirited discussion regarding the challenges of the local clientele and the different things that they've done to weed out undesirable customers, from pricing to numerous menu alterations -- they took tripe off the menu because it involves too many variables and they were getting too many unfounded complaints -- to simply deselecting certain individuals. One of my professional areas of interest is customer valuation so it was fascinating to explore the ways in which the Ropers intuitively grasped the concept without the buzzwords the corporate world uses and implemented a large number of very thoughtful adjustments. They've had this shop for 17 years (and have been making barbecue since the mid-70's) but only started really making significant adjustments related to their customer base in the past 7 years or so. Long story made only slightly less long, we talked for well over an hour after closing time and it ranks as one of the best experiences I can recall. It's not every year that one gets to discuss food, business, and human nature with two warm and engaging people who were responsible for the best ribs one's ever had. As an aside, Denise's business card is actually printed on a thin sheet of hickory, since that's the wood they use to barbecue.



Three cheers for taking chances and a small sense of adventure, as it would have been very easy to have bypassed Roper's for a safer-looking neighborhood, it would have been very easy to have ordered the pork steaks instead of the tips and snoots, and it would have been very easy to not have requested a picture with Denise. The rewards of curiosity far outweigh any number of missteps.

Miles driven (Naperville, IL to St. Louis, MO): 275 / 1020
New friends made: 3 / 21
Police cars flying by with sirens blaring during dinner: 6
Bugs cleaned off of windshield: 378

Chicago - Parenting and Relaxation

My last stop in the Chicago area filled my quota of child time, as I stayed with two of my favoritest people in the world and their four children (ages 6, 4, 21 months, and 2 months). We've known each other for over 10 years, as he and I joined the same firm simultaneously and they were introduced to each other almost immediately afterwards. It's difficult for me to believe that they each once had entire lives as separate individuals since I've only known them as a couple and I can't imagine a world in which it was otherwise. They're also two of the most attractive people I know -- how she still makes it look so effortless is a wonder -- so their eldest child being a daughter (their second is as well) fits the theory that attractive people have a higher probability of having a daughter as a first child. I guess that because of the time I've spent with my nephew, it's definitely not as challenging for me to be surrounded by children as it used to be. Still, I have much to learn as I need to acquire more stock questions to ask children when interacting with them, somewhere between "what's your favorite color" and "how do you think redistributive income policies affect the credit crunch at the core of our economic malaise". I had to fend for myself for a few minutes at breakfast when my friends took a phone call together; let me state that staring down 3 children (the youngest was asleep) is no cakewalk. It's really not that stressful taking on a room full of senior executives, as I've never had to do so without being very prepared; I feel no such assurance when facing little ones. Fortunately, they had each other for company in this instance and did not end up requiring much in the way of interaction from me. While I am not accustomed to families of this size I can certainly see the appeal, as watching the 3 mobile children play together over the course of a morning yielded a string of ridiculously cute events, from all 3 excitedly cramming themselves into the same office chair to watch the eldest register her Webkin online, to the 2 older daughters gleefully burying the 21 month-old up to his neck in stuffed animals. Still, the flipside may be a bit challenging -- I'm grateful to not have seen any flipside during my visit -- and I really can't conceive of having to tend to so many short agents of chaos on a day-to-day basis. Frankly, I'd consider myself fortunate to handle one child with the grace and surehandedness with which my friends handle four.

I really love golf. My buddy and I discussed how the world simply doesn't exist when one is on the range or on the course, so the act of playing golf can be amazingly restorative. For the uninitiated and blissfully unaware, the act of hitting a stationary ball squarely is surprisingly difficult and requires total concentration just to have a chance of getting the ball to go where one wants and how one wants. Golf is a cruel and taunting mistress, constantly finding new ways to make things go awry. Witness some of the colorful vocabulary devoted to describing how things can go wrong with a golf swing: hook, slice, fat, thin, pull, push, early, late, open, closed, inside, outside, quick, slow, flat, vertical, disconnected, too much wrist, not enough wrist, overly strong grip, overly weak grip, shank, duff, block, hitch, insufficient lag, and Charles Barkley. But once in a while, all of my swing flaws balance each other out and something beautiful is produced which feels good, sounds good, and looks good flying through the air. Rare as they are, those shots more than make up for the ugliness I usually produce otherwise. The following video is definitely otherwise, especially since I hit the very bottom of the ball, sending it sky-high about 120 yards downrange. On a scale of 1 to 10, it rates about 0.7. But as my not-very-visible-online-but-very-apparent-in-HD smile in the video indicates, sending balls downrange in an unintentionally random fashion while getting ribbed by an old friend rates as a mighty fine way to pass a Saturday morning.



Having begun to fall behind on blogging, I apologize that I don't see that as a particularly bad thing, as I hope to spend more time doing rather than blogging. I promise that the food descriptions will return, and St. Louis included a particularly excellent time.

Miles driven (Chicago, IL to Naperville, IL): 30 / 745
Ratio of golf balls hit well / hit poorly: 7 / 218
Putting competitions lost by the narrowest of margins: 1
Putting competitions evened out with a final double-or-nothing shot: 1
Taunting remarks made by the person who lost the putting competition to a superior golfer but still wanted to get his licks in: 52

Chicago - Simplicity and Distillation

Lunch was in Evanston (IL) at a local Mexican restaurant called Lupita's. It's an airy, low-key joint that wasn't too busy at 2pm so everyone -- in parties of 1 or 2 -- was seated in one of the booths along the large glass windows. There were a number of lunch options within walking distance of my friend's condo but I chose Mexican for a personal reason, as Chicago is where I learned to really enjoy Mexican food. Before then, I'd only had gringo-ed Mexican food and really wasn't that in to it. I suppose if someone had only had Americanized Chinese food (sweet and sour pork, etc.) then they might not be too impressed with Chinese cuisine either. Chicago has the second-largest Mexican population of any US city -- ~530,000, behind only Los Angeles -- so there's plenty of demand for good Mexican food. Following the standard rule of only eating at ethnic restaurants where people of that ethnicity actually eat, Chicago really opened my eyes. One of the major impacts that it's had on my palate is what I'm going to call the Chicago style of salsa, very heavy on the use of fresh cilantro. No other city in my experience uses massive quantities of cilantro so consistently in their salsa. I'm not going to argue that this is the superior way, but because this is the style to which I became accustomed, salsa without ridiculous amounts of cilantro doesn't quite taste right to me. This recalibration of personal taste makes me wonder sometimes how universal and/or standardized deliciousness can be, given how one's aesthetic and gustatory perceptions are shaped by one's personal experience.

The tortilla chips at Lupita's are a bit unusual, as they are made from flour tortillas instead of corn tortillas. Clearly made fresh on the premises, the tortilla chips were multi-ply and deep-fried to the hilt (and therefore tasty). The salsa was cilantro-y and liquid-y, with a notable level of heat. The cup of salsa actually came with a spoon, which I found unexpected but useful for adding to a folded tortilla later in the meal or just consuming the salsa straight. I ordered the chicken caldo -- which I'd never had before or even heard of previously -- which is a very simple soup with pieces of white-meat chicken and large chunks of carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower in a clear, not-strongly-flavored broth. I like to think that I can appreciate subtlety and balance, but I definitely enjoy strong flavors. It wasn't bad, wasn't spectacular, but I appreciated the execution since it's more difficult to do a good job with something simple vs. something complicated. If there are a lot of crazy sauces and spices going on in a dish, one can hide mistakes. If you just have some vegetables, some chicken, and some broth, any failings in any of the ingredients will be glaringly obvious. The weather outside was cold but clear, so the airiness of the restaurant contributed to a happy experience, if not a particularly memorable meal.



Dinner was kind of excellent. My buddy and I met up with a few of his friends at a Korean bar/lounge/restaurant called Ssaboo in Glenview (IL) so we could watch Korea play Japan in the World Baseball Classic over dinner. The draft beer comes in frosted glass mugs whose coldness creates mini-icebergs in the drink, and the soju flows as freely as one might fear. I'm always overdue for Korean food and I'm especially appalled that I did not take better advantage of the Korean establishments in northern Virginia while I was there. The main reason we went to Ssaboo was for the 통닭 (tong dak), Korean-style fried chicken. We had two orders for a table of five and the super-juicy, thinly-coated, tender and flavorful hunks of bone-in chicken did not last very long. It takes a while to come out since it's made à la minute (cooked to order) and pretty much every table orders it. The 골뱅이 (golbaengi) is a dish of sea snail with sliced cucumber and shredded scallions in a hot and spicy sauce generally made with 고추장 (gochujang = chili pepper paste), chili pepper powder, vinegar, sugar, salt, minced garlic, and sesame oil. This deconstructed list of ingredients doesn't do the dish any justice, as the end result is a mouthful of spicy, slippery sea snail with a faint hit of alliterative sour savory sweetness to balance the heat. And the whole shebang is designed to go well with soju. There's a term in Korean called 안주 (anju), which refers to a dish that is consumed with alcohol. A broad range of items falls under this category, from tiny portions of dried bar snacks to full-sized entrees such as fried chicken. There are entire categories of Korean restaurants that serve only these kinds of dishes (along with appropriate beverages) and I'm hard-pressed to think of a better place to go with friends for a child-unfriendly convivial evening out.







If you ask any Korean what they consider their #1 comfort food, 떡볶이 (dduk bok-ki) would be a very popular answer. The base is cylinders of 떡 (chewy rice cake) each ~0.5" in diameter and ~2" long, which is stir-fried in a generous quantity of spicy 고추장 (gochujang) along with a variable list of ingredients that almost always includes fish cakes. It's one of those rare foods that is a very popular street snack but can be made just as tastily and easily at home, and often is. We also had 김치찌개 (kimchi jjigae), a spicy stew that I'm not going to describe in detail because it would take far too many words to articulate the cultural and personal associations involved. Suffice it to say that the dish is tasty in general, Ssaboo's version is very good, and it only added to an already high happy quotient during the meal.





Korea lost the baseball game but they had their scrubs playing at the end of a tight contest, leading to speculation that they were sandbagging in order to play Venezuela in the semifinal round instead of the US. One can only hope that both Korea and Japan win their semifinal games to set up a revenge showdown in the final.

Miles driven: 0 / 715
New friends made: 4 / 18
Shirts spattered by flying salsa: 1

Toledo / Chicago - Hot Dogs and Poultry

The first interesting meal of the trip took place at lunch: Tony Packo's. For those who are unfamiliar with this institution -- and I feel culturally illiterate for not having been familiar with this place before it was pointed out to me -- the original location is situated in the Hungarian neighborhood of Birmingham and their specialty is referred to as a "Hungarian hot dog". As of the 2000 Census only 2% of Toledo's population is of Hungarian descent, but they are fiercely proud of their heritage and exert an influence disproportionate to their numbers. Tony Packo's is famous because Jamie Farr of M.A.S.H. is a Toledo native and made regular shout-outs to the place on the program. One episode featured a request to Tony Packo's for hot dog casings to be used in a blood-filtering machine.

The hot dogs come in three sizes: regular, double-dog, and MOAD (pronounced MO-add). Thanks to Saddam Hussein, we all know what the first three letters mean. The MOAD was well over 2x the length of my phone (which is 4.4" long) so I'd estimate the length at 10"+. That may not sound like much, but the sausage is twice the diameter of a regular hot dog and it's smothered in their special chili sauce which is basically a bunch of nicely flavored ground beef in a relatively small amount of sauce. Frankly, I and my friend's husband who ordered the same dish both were skeptical of our chances of finishing the entire concoction. The sausage has an outstanding snap to it, with a loud-enough-to-reverberate-in-your-skull audible confirmation of each bite and a clean tear each time. The sausage has excellent tooth, with far more density and heft to it than a typical mass-produced frankfurter; there's little if any filler and it's clearly an actual sausage rather than just something to put in a hot dog. [Wikipedia indicates that it's a Hungarian sausage called kolbász, similar to kielbasa.] It's not super-strongly spiced but has a definite umami sausage flavor. I had to pre-cut the MOAD into 4 pieces in order to stand a fighting chance of eating this monster and remarkably, each section maintained its physical integrity during the 3-4 bites required to consume it. Buns are a critical component of hot dogs (and burgers!) and I didn't expect this bun to withstand the dual onslaught of the rebound from biting into a snappy sausage -- I'm trying to find another term to use instead of "snap" but nothing else captures the concept -- and the drenching with the meat-saturated chili sauce. But the bun held up each time and the entire MOAD went down with an ease that was slightly unnerving post facto. My dining companions had also mentioned how good the pickles are; my friend from St. Patrick's Day specifically ordered the Sweet Hots flavor of their pickles so I could taste them. The sweetness is restrained and appears late on the tongue, while the heat is also controlled, coming a bit earlier on the palate. The flavor palette of salty/sour/sweet/hot is covered in totality with such balance that I can't remember having a better pickle and I picked up a jar to savor later. Definitely check this place out if you dig hot dogs and pickles. They also have a great tradition -- started by Burt Reynolds in 1972 -- of having celebrities sign actual hot dog buns, which are displayed throughout their original location in Birmingham(OH) [there are 5 locations in Toledo now].



There was a fair amount of rain driving through Ohio and into Indiana. The day had started out very promising weather-wise but actually got progressively colder and unfriendlier; this is apparently not unusual for the area. This video was taken along I-80/90 and shows the view to the left (south) vs. the view to the right (north).



Last note about Toledo. The local baseball team is called the Mud Hens, and they're the AAA affiliate of the Detroit Tigers. Their stadium in the middle of downtown is quite lovely; it was built in 2002, named the best minor league ballpark in America by Newsweek that same year, and in 2007 the Roost section of the park was rated by ESPN.com as the best seats from which to watch a minor league baseball game. The name of the stadium is Fifth Third Field, after a regional bank. Turns out that the bank's unusual name is the result of a merger in 1908 of two banks: Fifth National Bank and Third National Bank. Because prohibitionist movements were gaining popularity at the time of the merger, it was decided that "Third Fifth" would not be an acceptable name, so they went the other way. I was tickled to learn from my friend's husband that Toledoans refer to the stadium as "The Fraction".

Dinner was also pretty darn good. We ate at a Hong Kong-style restaurant named Sun Wah in a Vietnamese section of Chicago; you pretty much know you're going to have a good meal when you see glistening, roasted ducks hanging in the window. The restaurant is family-run and has been around for 22 years. My friend and his then-fiancée have gotten to know one of the daughters who handles the tables so we had a ongoing conversation throughout and after the meal. All of the dishes we had were quite good but special mention must go to their version of Peking Duck. 3 major differences from the usual experience: 1) the duck is brought out whole and skillfully carved tableside, 2) soft white buns are used instead of pancakes, 3) the bones are taken away and used to make both soup and fried rice. The soup and fried rice were duckilicious and combined with the skin, meat, soft buns, julienned green onions and carrots, and pickled radish, made for a highly non-trivial quantity of food. [I had some of the voluminous leftovers for breakfast and it's just as good the morning after.] I'm a sucker for duck and can't think of a time I've eaten it and didn't really enjoy it, but this did qualify as an above-average experience. The bonus was chatting with the server and her younger sister and seeing how much thoughtfulness they're putting into their family's business (it also doesn't hurt that they're both easy on the eyes). From attending culinary school, testing out new dishes and desserts (we were guinea pigs for some really good homemade strawberry sorbet), to scoping out the competition, they're clearly not content to just maintain the status quo. We chatted a bit about some of the marketing and operational challenges of adding dessert options (education/awareness vs. preference, what do people want after a serious meal of Chinese food, how do you ramp up production of time-consuming-to-prepare-but-perishable products, etc.) but the key is that they make fundamentally good food; it's just a matter of getting people to try it. I hope everyone seeks out these kinds of places and supports them, as it is good for the universe to have people who care about what they do and do it very well be rewarded.



Miles driven: 240 / 715
Large bottles of Kirin Ichiban consumed: 2
Pieces of gum chewed: 3
Fingerprints wiped off of GPS navigation unit screen: 26

Cleveland / Toledo - Music and Fog

Driving by myself for hours at a time has made me much more aware of my surrounding environment. I never used to think much about driving in the rain; for short stretches in a mostly low-speed urban setting, rain doesn't seem like a significant factor. On a highway at night, however, every unexpected bump or twitch of the car makes one wonder if traction is about to be lost completely. Some of those episodes are accompanied by a mild adrenalin dump. One normally associates an adrenalin dump with some sort of active event, so having one while calmly sitting in a comfortable vehicle carries a bit of cognitive dissonance. It's not unpleasant, but it's not my thing and I wonder if those regular rushes of adrenalin contributed to my earlier-than-expected fatigue on the first night of driving.

There was some pretty impressive fog during the drive into Pennsylvania. At one point, the signs on the side of the highway were visible for only a couple of seconds before zooming by. You'll want to turn down the volume before playing the video if you're not into Marilyn Manson.



The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was quite enjoyable. As one might expect, their handling of visitors is modeled on a concert experience, down to giving visitors wristbands so one can exit and re-enter. The architecture is visually interesting, with an airy pyramid that is reminiscent of the Louvre. From a usability perspective, the design of the place can make it a little tricky to get around, as there is a commingling of areas upstairs that are accessible to the public vs. paid visitors. The cafeteria is on the 3rd floor; the chili's okay, the cheeseburger is microwaved but apparently not bad, other than the fluorescent yellow cheese. The main exhibit hall downstairs has a ton of wonderful artifacts that are well-curated but arranged in a non-linear fashion, so be prepared to wander around a bit with people walking by exhibits from different directions. Set aside at least 4-5 hours for the museum, especially for some of the movies. The one on the 4th floor had one particularly moving snippet from Pete Townshend where he's clearly agitated and states that the fire of rock and roll burns and burns and burns, but that's because it's fed by bodies. While that sounds romantic and those people are icons to us, "they were my f****** friends." He played music with them, lived with them, and loved them, and now they're dead. I'm really not doing it justice but his short, eloquent statement of emotion by itself made the visit worthwhile.



The midwest really does St. Patrick's Day. Nothing needs to be said about how Chicago does it but I hit Cleveland at 11am and the downtown area was filled with folks decked out in green, with more than a few denizens sporting a suspiciously unsteady gait. I had the good fortune to spend the evening out and about in Toledo in a very large van with a friend from my client and 14 of her friends. According to Wikipedia, the population of Toledo is about 295,000 with 10.8% being of Irish descent; that percentage naturally increases one night a year. The bars we visited were well-populated without being overly packed, so moving 15 people around was not the logistical challenge I thought it would be. Then again, the crew I was with is a polished party machine so it shouldn't be a surprise that they know what they're doing. They really are a great group of people, with ties that go back many years and the familiarity of interaction that accompanies that kind of shared history. I suppose this is one of the things I hope to find/create in LA or anywhere I settle down: a comfortable circle of friends for regular gatherings. Preferably living within the same state as me (for a change).

Miles driven: 375 / 475
Interesting meals consumed: 0

Hancock (MD) - Serendipity and Identity

I'm quite enjoying the new GPS navigation unit that I purchased specifically for this trip (it's a Garmin nuvi 265WT for those keeping score at home). One unexpected benefit is that even though I've driven up I-270 umpteen times for a client in Gaithersburg (MD), the nav unit suggested a route with roads I'd never driven before. If this gadget can help me look at places that I think I know already with a fresh eye, in addition to guiding me through unfamiliar territory, it and I are going to be great friends.

Dinner last night was at Cracker Barrel, one of my mainstays that I should avoid during the rest of this trip so I can try new things. Though I took a good, long look at the breakfast-any-time menu, I ordered their roast beef platter, which I'd never had there before. While my expectations were admittedly low, the roast beef was fantastic. Not just because it was fork-tender as advertised, but because every bite was full of wonderful, unctuous gelatin. Tough cuts of meat that are full of connective tissue can be rendered tender and delicious by the slow application of low heat, which turns collagen into gelatin. High heat will not accomplish this, thus the difference between true barbecuing and mere grilling. That savory, slippery quality unique to meat that has gone through this process (e.g. braised short ribs) really spins my top. The fried okra on the side didn't hurt, either.

As always, dining at Cracker Barrel raised an interesting question on the concept of identity for me. I feel very pleasantly nostalgic when I visit CB, with the ancient farm implements and old-school advertisements on the walls. But as a second-generation immigrant, those items are not technically part of my history; it's difficult to conceive of any of my forebears recognizing those cultural markers in their time, and they certainly would not have thought of those items as theirs. Merriam-Webster defines nostalgia as either homesickness or a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to some past period or irrecoverable condition. Can one be nostalgic for something to which one does not have any personal connection? Despite the dictionary's definition, I say yes. Regardless of how the feeling came to be -- advertising, other cultural reinforcement, etc. -- a feeling is a truth in and of itself. Even if a feeling has no basis in reality, that doesn't mean that it isn't as real or as powerful as a feeling that does have a basis in reality. So, I will no longer question my enjoyment of Cracker Barrel's canny exploitation of our mass penchant for nostalgia, and simply enjoy the rocking chair gauntlet that fronts each store. BTW, the tags on the chairs say "Take a break, or take me home!".



Miles driven: 100
Moon Pies consumed: 1

Roadtrip Map

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