Bar Hopping

Stop. I already know what's going through your cranium. This is probably going to be some top ten list for the best bars in DC, Salt Lake, Seattle, or Portland. Wrong. Rather than attempt to elaborate on what edifices serve up the best adult beverages, I'm imparting a morsel of wisdom on a different assortment of bars; one’s that assume a rectangular form, and come in tight plastic wrapping. Nothing remotely resembling shots or pints; highballs or martinis. Furthermore, if not consumed in a modest dosage, can cause you to “fall of your rocker” and perform unfamiliar acts to the rest of society – such as running or biking.

While on a highly successful unemployment binge, I delved deeper into the world of energy/protein/good-for-you bars. Insistent on removing the Michelin from my waistline and possesing endless amounts of time, my excuse tank was on empty. I didn’t feel like doing the shakes or smoothies science experiment; rather a quicker, easier formula that included all the healthy shit (i.e., vitamins and minerals) one shoves into a blender. Considering the unwavering commitment and focus I possess towards good health and exercise; bar area top ten lists are not far off the horizon.

Before falling off the horse again and to keep you occupied, three rectangular objects taken at various parts of the day, serve a very utilitarian purpose, often found for a $1 and don’t taste like cardboard:

1. Zone Perfect Strawberry Yogurt (Breakfast) – Be realistic. You don’t have time to sit down, make a bowl of cold cereal, and watch a rerun of Saved by the Bell. Unless you’re my routine ridden cousin, even shaving becomes debatable when the fire alarm goes off. [Side note: very successful beard was grown during aforementioned binge.] Good taste for the morning. Out of Stock: grab the graham cracker or mint flavor.

2. PowerBar Harvest Oatmeal Raisin Cookie (Lunch) – It helps if you actually like oatmeal raisin cookies. If not, the proselytizing icing makes a convert out of you. I tried a few others from the Harvest collection, but still came back to the ORC. It’s like a quad espresso in plastic. Taken about an hour or so before you leave the office, it will make the jolt out the door even easier. [2^nd Side note: a quad espresso is the last thing I need.] Out of Stock: any one of the other Harvest selections.

3. PureProtein Smore's (Dessert) – This is the tiramisu of protein bars. I am hooked. There is crack in it. Out of Stock: Nothing. Cry. You’re life sucks. Ok, not really, but it would be better off. Get your grubbies on some real Tiramisu instead.

Burberry and Blackberrys

Beginning a new job always lends itself to comparisons of old gigs. Thoughts of how matters were previously carried out by superiors and subordinates in relation to the present state of protocol creep in. Environments drastically mirror or are a refreshing opposite state of turmoil. By comparison, like having a different teacher each year in school, the students remain the same; coworkers (students) of each category seem to follow from job to job, while the employment oasis (school) remains constant. Some recent observations.

In the U.S., people work in one of two places: the city or suburbia (or at home, which can be either city or suburbia). Recently, after migrating back into the nucleus of the nation's capital, I became reacquainted with the typical metro DC worker. Either public or private sector, it need not matter; ethnicity or gender not an issue. Regardless, there is the double-breasted dark suit sporting individual endlessly attracted to the crack in the palm of his or her hand, known as the Blackberry, which has assumed a highly addictive form, known as the Pearl (not to be confused with the little white rock-like substance from the '70s). Then, clothe made from the fancy flannelled fabric known as Burberry. Ranging from shoes to purses to umbrellas, the black and tan flaunts the upper white-collared class of the city. We are way beyond Starbucks at this point.

Of course, I am one to properly assimilate with the current fads. Proudly flaunting my fashion sense with khakis (so to maintain a certain highly-distinguished level of professionalism) and carrying in my pocket a cellular device, known as a phone, that I only take out once I've arrived at my desk, my highly decorative polo shirt and a I put in eight hours, eat lunch and go home.

¡Mi casa, Su (Oaxaca) Casa!

¡Los amantes de Guajillo rejoice!

The same owner who brought the Mexican restaurant on Wilson Blvd in Arlington has built another Mole Casa. When I search for a new restaurant, I do so on foot, not by turning pages. This is largely in part from not residing in the area very long; allowing me to explore the realm of culinary possibilities more meticulously by taking in each passing establishment. Also, proudly, I don’t own a car. Besides, it allows me to independently judge for myself how good a hole-in-the-wall is; thus reducing the amount of disappointing possibilities from reading pages of reviews. So, stop reading and start walking, lazy bastards.

Separated by two levels, it only faintly differs from its sister restaurant in Northern Virginia, Guajillo, most noticeably: the dark-orange painted walls, crucifixes, and no outdoor seating. But the menu and service are mirrored. Resembling a fine wine list at an Italian bistro, a tequila catalog blankets the right portion of their menu. Try the el Conquistador or Cazadores. No chips and salsa while you’re waiting. No burritos or taquitos anywhere. Rather, jicama wedges sprinkled with chili powder while you wait for your Mole Poblano or Red Snapper Ceviche with pineapple.

The cantina below, which is where I spent most of my time, carries a quiet feeling that includes additional restaurant seating from above. Since I’d previously had Mole, I wanted something new. A couple of them: Cheladas and Grasshoppers. Chelada is Mexico’s version of a bloody mary, infused with cerveza. The strong peppery liquid is not your ideal thirst quencher, I still can’t figure out why so many people were drinking them. The grasshoppers had been diced up and layered on a queso dip called Cazuela de Queso con Salsa y Chapulines served with tortillas. While it seems a stretch to try an insect, the cheese overpowers it, leaving you wondering where they even were.

On to the Mole – 50 % of the reason I was looking for a place like this. Enmolda is Black Mole caked on a cheese quesadilla with diced onions. It was just like I remembered: simple, distinct and good. The Mole rainbow ranges from green, yellow, and red, often served together as Tres Moles in most casa’s; separately, Poblano being the hottest. For those unaccustomed to this type of authentic fare, there are tacos to settle the distant feeling. For your peso, this is place is reasonable when you consider the rare plate of food in front of your jaw. Significant infrastructure upgrades are necessary, such as outdoor seating and additional beer taps (only Dos Equis Amber is flowing). But if enough people keep drinking that lethal Chelada, maybe they don’t need to. I’m not coming in out of the cold for it.

Three Groups, One Corner

I’ve only been back working in DC for 2 ½ weeks. And only in DC is it possible to be approached by three separate organizations, on the same corner, within 24 hours. First off, I support the anti-clubbing of baby seals in Greenland, equal rights for Republicans and putting a liberal back in the Oral Office. But, I do this in various ways; none of which include having a discussion with some tweed at 5 pm when it is 95 degrees and a steam room outside, or writing a check. I vote, end of discussion.

The interesting thing is that none of these organizations have the slightest conservative scent to them. Conservatives write blank checks, Liberals stand on street corners with binders. One seems nobler; while the other actually works better. Strategy is the art of getting things accomplished. The whole street corner thought needs some re-visitation, because if I’m not willing to stop and talk, that means they weren’t already talking to someone else.

el karaoke jefe

One of the perks about starting a new job is seeing old friends from previous gigs. You find out what life is like in the post-you era; how much better things have been since you dispersed the premise. Work actually is accomplished; less people are offended, stress levels lowered. In return, you find out bits of information regarding certain individuals that seemed only a myth at the time. In short, questions finally get answered. Case in point: Did some of the least-likely to perform karaoke, really get behind the mic?

Legend had it that an old coworker did this on a fairly regular basis. However, this was different. No large crowds, no alcohol in his system, and no bright lights. This was karaoke in its purest form. Previously, I had attended several after hour adult liquid establishments with this person. No indication or signs of a music repertoire, with the exception of an unusually astute awareness and appreciation for the oldies. He didn’t talk a big game, just said he was into it.

I had no expectations. After pulling into Fort Meyer, and having our car cavity searched by Delta Force, we proceeded. I can't ever remember being on a military base; especially not for karaoke. I'm not sure many of the general public does either. There couldn't have been more than six souls there before the post-coworkers entourage walked into the esteemed Patriot Zone (Picture an Elks Lodge in a high school gym on prom night.) The complimentary buffet, made up of left over mess hall delicacies like luke warm meatballs and chicken wings did not disappoint. Well, long story short, we were out before we could finish a basket of Lays and pretzel bites. Not to be disappointed, as it turns out, the myth was a reality. That old coworker did belt out a few oldies from the list he had printed out before leaving work that day. If you want to find out how it sounded, try Thursday’s at 7:00.

Coffee Shops and Computer Labs

I am in my studio sitting at my bistro table. Why? Because this means that I am not surrounded by the slurping of latte-halfcrap-shot-soy-decaf from outstanding law-abusing citizens that hoard free wireless access at my morning watering hole. The cool part is most are paying for it at home anyway. Listen, I fully realize the need to get out and stretch the legs, view the dispicable public, and contribute in some small way to the local economy, but go home and work on your soon-to-be award winning screenplay. Do a few laps around Barnes and Noble.

The outcastic feeling that surrounds my degraded soul as I enter a place of caffeine worship stems from my lack of desire to fit in with everybody else. To "plug and play" with the rest of the kids. Nope, not me. I like to sit down, read the paper, eat a pastry and enjoy the serene indie music (probably some smokin' bistro-chics boyfriend's band). But no. It's keystrokes, Inbox chimes, and someone's own overplayed teen bop sewage. The refuge has become the jungle.

Then, there are those that can't afford wireless internet and lounge for hours. Spending $2 over a six hour period, oggling attractive female grad students, and tipping 10 cents. Not before too long, this will be like the health care debate we see today: free universal high speed internet. Michael Moore will direct and it will titled: "Wired! What's wrong with America's Internet Connection?"

4th of July at River Place

The Venue ...
... Flip Cup
... One of two grills being used



... and a Portugese Water Dog