Literally The Best Meal I've Ever Had

Quick, think of the best meal you ever had!

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Time's up!

Did you think of something? Was there one meal, one bite that you specifically remembered, right away? As if it were right on the tip of your tongue?

When I do this with people, it's a rarity for them to have something in mind right away. I've gotten a lot of responses involving the company kept at thanksgivings and other holiday meals, but not a whole lot about a truly stellar eating experience.

But I have one specific meal in mind for myself. It was that good that I still remember it... there's a story (of course).

It was from when I was living in Arkansas. My fiancee was visiting for a week, and we decided to go for a weekend getaway to Eureka Springs. Fantastic little town built into the cliffsides of a narrow valley in northern Arkansas. Very quaint place, very colorful, and a surprisingly high ratio of lingerie shops. The town was clearly built well before cars existed, as the streets and avenues were quite narrow, and teeming with people. We navigated our way through them all, and found our hotel smack dab in the middle of town. It was Flatiron Flats, a three-sided building in the vein of the Daily Bugle.

Finding parking was a minor ordeal, and we had to make a few phone calls to get someone who could

check us in to our hotel room, but otherwise they were great. I asked our guy (who was one of the owners) if he had any recommendations for places to eat. He directed us to a few places, and we settled on the fanciest of them... I think it was called The Bavarian Inn... dammit, I hate that I can't remember the name! [turns out, it was The Grand Taverne] That really throws off the believability of my story if I can't even remember where the hell it happened!

Anyway, it was a nice place, and we were pretty much the only people in there, so service was fantastic! I ordered the roast duck because I never had duck before, and I had a Manhattan to drink along with it for the very same reason. Turned out to be a stellar combination! A Manhattan, for those who do not know, is a cocktail involving bourbon and grenadine (a few other things, but those two are essential for the story here). The bourbon is delightfully bitter, oakey and smokey in flavor, and the grenadine leaves a nice, lightly sweet finish to the drink (all of this is of course when made properly). The experience is a rolling taste that evolves over the course of just a few moments. The duck, it turns out, matched very well. It too had a deep, smoked flavor to it, along with the gamy and rich nature of the duck meat itself, but there was a cranberry sauce drizzled over it that really made it something special.

Essentially, I would take a bite of duck, which would start sweet, then salty, then earthy and smokey. That I would follow with a sip of the Manhattan, which would match the smokey sense and follow it up with straight bitterness that, just before it would be sharp, would turn sweet and fruity with the grenadine. Then, following that with a bite of duck would start it all over again. The flavors would build on one another, in a rolling campaign over my tongue until I was finally finished, exhausted from the orgasmic ordeal.

So yeah, that's the best meal I ever had.

We finished our weekend nicely, touring the town (up and down many, MANY stairs) and doing a little shopping. Any more than two nights would be pointless, though, as the town is so small that there's not much to do beyond eat and shop and walk. There wasn't even any swimming to be had!

Anyway, I'm out; click ads!

Going Back Home (Musings)

They say you can never go back home. I think that was before cars, though.

Yeah, I'm a smartass. The point of that saying, of course, is that you'll have changed so much in the time that you were gone, that home would have transformed into "Home" through homesickness and personal growth. You change so much being away, that your home doesn't affect you the same. Being gone, you think about your home and compare your new place to it, which magnifies and intensifies your memory-experience of home into Home.

Example: nothin tastes like mama's barbecue. You grew up on it; it became your framework for all barbecue you've ever tasted. Then you move from home. You get homesick, so you start eating (it'll happen), and you eat specifically things that remind you of home: barbecue. But none are mama's recipe, so none satisfy your homesickness. Nonetheless, you keep searching for something to scratch that itch. Over time, you've tasted all your new area has to offer for barbecue. Because of this, you become a connoisseur of all things barbecue. None taste like mama's barbecue, but merely because you're searching so hard for that specific flavor, you learn all about the subtleties of each and every barbecue you sample. There are traits you find in each sauce you experience, traits which you learn to love. So you get along, day after day, loving the life you made. Until one day, you go home. And of course, your first time Home, you get mama's barbecue. You expect it to be everything you were searching for all those years. But you find that its just not the same as you remembered.

You grew:
Your search for mama's barbecue over the years has transformed it into the ideal Mama's Barbecue. It became this mysterious and perfect thing that beat all competition so long as it never entered the ring (your memory of it overwhelmed all other barbecue sauces and rubs, so to speak). So when you get home, and actually have it again, it's not the thing you built it up to be. And because of that, it fails, and you're left with a haunting memory to reconcile with reality.

Now that hasn't been my own experience so far with my return home (for the most part). I remembered it and lived where I was for the past two years without comparing too much, apparently. On returning, it was as if I had traveled back in time to where I was two years ago, with nothing different except that I lost a few years of my own life.  And that's kinda horrifying.

Kinda really horrifying.

The idea that two years can go by and nothing has to change scares me. I'm not entirely sure why, though. Perhaps it's the implication that I, therefor, have not changed much over my absence. But I have plenty of evidence to the contrary, so I don't think so. It's more that it indicates how short life is, and how you can sleep through it all, if you just have your eyes closed long enough. And my fear, I suppose, comes from who I grew into while I was away. I liked that guy, and I'm afraid that I'll lose him, being away from that place and in this old one. That act would therefor wipe out two years' time of my own life, and I will have accomplished nothing but accumulating Stuff and wasting a chunk of my own life.

Now that is something worth fearing. Every year matters when you're approaching thirty.

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The Best Cup of Coffee Ever (and running outta adjectives)

For this past week, I have been gradually moving to Wisconsin from Arkansas. It's a long enough move, and there's so little to draw me 851 miles to Arkansas, that I sincerely doubt I'll ever be coming back here. So, I've been preparing myself for that on a mental and emotional level by visiting all the restaurants I won't find anywhere else. Yeppers, I will be missing food more than anything else here (time will ultimately tell, but good eats is what I expect to miss).

So far, I've had Jade China (fantastic little hole-in-the-wall Chinese stir fry that may literally have a hole in its wall), McAllister's Deli (a chain, but I've not seen it anywhere else, and I am addicted to their pastrami on rye), and David's Burgers (I don't know how, but the best burger I've ever had, hands-down). All that's left is The Whole Hog, which is this fantastic small-ish chain of barbecue that makes a fantastic beef brisket. Saving the best for last, there.

But, of all these, the one place I'm going to miss the most is the one cafe that makes coffee right in all of Arkansas (to be fair, the only one I could find; I assume there are more, but they just don't have proper websites and listings for me to find). If you're ever in Little Rock area, hit up Guillermo's Gourmet Grounds.

It's the one place that knows what they're doing, and the only place I have been able to find Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans roasted so well. So of course, I stocked up on the stuff before I jumped ship.

The scent, where the experience starts, is powerful. For several hours after brewing, it takes control of the room with its deep, nutty aroma. Then, as you near the brew, it shifts to a clear, bright, and a little tart zestiness (all of course with the deep roasted smell lingering above). The flavor follows suit, but the acidity, that sharpness in the smell, it stays quite mellow throughout the taste. It's there, but only at the very first tip of the tongue; as the sip rolls along, it increases with depth and evolves much in the inverse of the sniff-check. It gets deeper, and the darkness of this brew comes up and dominates the experience. Dark chocolate, that is the overwhelming sense-experience I found to live just at the last moment of swallowing, and on afterward for several minutes. It's curious, how I get excited about coffee that does not taste like coffee. To be fair, it doesn't taste exactly like dark chocolate (none of that stabbing in the mouth feeling I get from something so overwhelmingly bitter), but what's so fascinating is how it reminds me of something else. Like a feather dancer that doesn't look at all like a bird, but hey, feathers! On a woman! That's unexpected! And as much as I would like to claim that it's that surprise, that unexpectedness of a blended sense-experience that makes it so powerful, I doubt that. If that were the case, I wouldn't enjoy this coffee much past the second sip, by which point I'm expecting roasted chocolate. Rather, I believe it to be the blend itself, triggering more experiences in the mind, that makes it so exciting. Then, by creating a new sense-memory with such powerful links, that flavor is remembered even more zealously, over time. But then again, I liked the stuff.

I will always be a fan of drinks and foods that come to life in the last parts of the mouth, back where the tongue meets the throat at the tail end of the nose. Those flavors linger and stay with you well past the meal itself; they're the faithful flavors.

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Packing & The Best Wine I Ever Had

I am awesome at packing!

Like, really good.

I don't mess around with any of that "sorting by room" crap. I just throw whatever into boxes over and over again until I'm done. Boom: awesome. I felt like a genius when I discovered that I could use clothing as padding. So yeah, that's why my champagne flutes are wrapped in socks. Don't give me that look!

Seriously though, I'm terrible at packing and am not looking forward to having to unpack any of this (I'm moving a few states over, for those of you who don't know). I've had a week to pack and it in no way would take me an actual week of time to pack it all, so of course, I put it off. That and the cleaning (mold is pretty much all over the place here in Arkansas). And of course, now, I only have a few days to pack everything and clean everything too. So I got most of it done in one day, like ya do. The side-effect of this particular method, though, is that everything's a jumbled mess and I already forgot where the hell my stamps are!

not cool, Chance; not cool

The first step, of course, is donating all the stuff I don't want or use any more (done twice so far). Next, is the throwing away all the stuff that's trash, but collectible, or memorable, but essentially junk for which I have no use. Most of that process is easy, but there's the memento value in these objects. The best example I have is bottles of wine and liquor I really liked. Once drank, little remains of the liquor but the memory of it tingling our tastebuds. Nice line; quote that shit. I was carrying out those empty bottles, when I recognized the one small one remaining in my hand. It was wine from Parallel 44; their "Meditation" wine from 2007. This stuff was the best wine I've ever had, hands-down and no contest. This amazingly luxurious texture accompanied a deep, dark cherry and chocolate flavor that lingered for hours. It was good, and I will never forget the first time I had it. I won't forget any of the other times, either, but they were all a little off, and never quite matched the explosive experience of that first bottle (the cheesecake accompanying helped, too, but that's a small detail). Not only can I never find that wine any more, but even if I can, I do not expect the same overwhelming flavor of that first bottle.

Sad as that is, I will never forget it, and the fact that I cannot repeat it again makes it even more powerful a memory. It becomes all the more beautiful an experience for that one moment it existed.

So that was in my mind, as I was about to toss the bottle away. I knew I wouldn't forget that amazing flavor, that the bottle would be an idle memento. But still, it was a good moment, and it deserves its idol. So that trash, I will pack and take with me, along with its memory.

Good night, all y'all's, and click some ads (close them the moment they open a new page).

Leaving, part One (Bonus: sawn-off review of "World War Z")

You ever get the sense that a state is convincing you to leave and never return? Not in the sense of being railroaded out of town, or tarred and feathered, but little things.

[Scroll down for the spoiler-free sawn-off review of World War Z]

I was driving a route I've gone about once a week for the past two years, which half of Conway drives to work and back in Little Rock, when I almost got into an accident. Part of me isn't surprised, because when I moved here, my insurance rates jumped up a good chunk. That suggests bad drivers, sorry, and it was confirmed when I actually saw people "drive." Forget about the rushing through yellow lights, or even outright blowing through the reds, that's too expected for people here. No, I saw a guy make a U-turn in the middle of a busy road, weaving around what traffic he wasn't blocking! He was ten feet past the intersection (which allows U-turns legally, but that's another story), and just fifty from an actual parking lot in which he could safely turn about. But no, he HAD to turn RIGHT THERE. 

That's one story from this week, and one smidgen of evidence suggesting Arkansas needs to require a driver's education class.

Thankfully, I wasn't near a collision there. A few days ago, however, I was almost in a pile-up. Yep, thanks to some late braking by the pair of idiots in front of me at the time, we all had to engage in a tactical swerve to a staggered-line formation for safety. They went left and right, and I went right then left and deftly avoided the semi to my right and the ditch to my left, all while pulsing, pumping, and finally slamming my brakes to keep myself out of their cars. I thanked the god of anti-lock brakes and the god of attentive drivers for existing, that day (they happen to be the same god (God), who happens to be the God of Everything, which includes anti-lock brakes and attentive drivers). And of course, I do what everybody does when the cause becomes apparent: I looked. Did I see a grisly car wreck? How about our president, handing out money? Or perhaps Johnny Cash, not so dead? Of course not. So what caused the unnecessary and sudden slow-down? A young girl got pulled over. She was wearing jean-shorts that looked homemade. That's about it.

At least it wasn't nothing (that's happened way too often already).

Then later, THAT SAME DAY, I was turning right, onto a main road, when Bozo McOld decided to pull out in front of me from the bank opposite me. It was an aggressive maneuver, which I can respect, but it did require that I slam on my brakes (and same for Dude behind me) when he realized what he was doing and then immediately apologized by SLAMMING on his brakes in the MIDDLE of four lanes. I'm not kidding; he took up the entire street. Now, had he gunned it from the get-go, everything would've been fine. So it just goes to show you that half-measures don't cook, and that it's better to be an ass-hole than just an ass.

That's not the worst, though. Once, I saw a driver work VERY VERY hard to pull a u-turn to go the wrong way down an offramp. He worked for that shit. And there's a particular stretch of highway in Little Rock that I've witnessed, I kid you not, a delivery truck (big sized) pointed the WRONG WAY (toward me!), and suddenly fix his error and about-face. That was in my first month of living here (welcome to Arkansas; we don't require a driver's education course).

And that's just the road-safety stuff.

Today, I saw World War Z (It was okay, but not nearly dark enough to be a proper zombie horror, and not light enough to be a proper zombie comedy. Shaun of the Dead, Zombieland, 28 Days Later, The Walking Dead: those are proper zombie movies/shows and you should watch them all twice. This movie fell short of greatness, but was good for eight bucks' fun. Not worth 3D, but worth the big screen.) After the (decent) movie, there was an encounter between two women in the audience that was honestly more tense and exciting than anything that happened on screen. Many a "fatass" was slung in that discussion, and I was convinced that yes indeed, Arkansas is convincing me to never return.

The places we live, they shape us, but there isn't much of Arkansas I want to take with me wherever I go (that stuff will be covered on a later post; this one is about bad drivers). As always, I'll close with this: Click the ads! All of them! Many times!

About Lycra...

So, it has been a while since my last post. Apologies to all two of my followers, and thanks to the one who kicked me in the butt enough to actually get me to write. Yay fiancee! The bright side is that I have plenty of stories by now!

Cycling is an interesting sport... activity... thing. If you think about it, it's not an inherently social activity. I mean, you can ride your bike, cycle as much as you want, and never make eye contact with anyone else riding a bike and still be a cyclist. Or a bike rider, but that leads to confusion about riding motorcycles and frankly, I wear Lycra, not leather. Lycra (just say that out loud for a moment. There. Feel that texture of the word in your mouth). I figured out, a while ago, the difference between riding a bike and cycling. It all boils down to Lycra. If you take yourself so seriously that you ride essentially naked in public by wearing Lycra, then you're a cyclist (Cyclist: give that a capital "c"). If you wanna look good and feel comfortable and wear actual clothing, then you're bicycle-riding.

[I decided to split where I was going with this into two posts, so below I tell you a story and some other time you'll get my overarching and frankly esoteric point. Deal.]

So I was riding the Little Rock River Trail a while ago on an amazingly warm winter day. Like seventy, seriously. The total loop is about twenty miles and the north side of the trail is quite nice. Lots of good scenery, cliffs, a few gentle hills and few homeless people. It's nice, really; not as nice as all the advertisements would make you think (see the back of the latest Bicycling Magazine). The catch with doing the whole loop, though, is that you go through downtown Little Rock. It's not like you're going through gang territory (although you may), but you are nonetheless going through some incredibly sketchy territory.

Abandoned warehouses. Underneath overpasses. Dried out culverts and (dear God!) homeless people. And you're wearing Lycra. Complete strangers look and well, they can see your junk completely and thoroughly, and you tie up traffic because you've only got the two wheels.

And I ran over glass and got a slow flat, so I don't recommend the south side.

But the north? Fantastic. If you get a flat, there's a bike rental place with a really friendly dog and a guy who'll offer all the help you'll need.

But you'll sit there in your Lycra, pumping your tire up yourself, with your spare, when an old guy comes up and (remember that you're in Lycra, now) assumes you know what the hell you're talking about when it comes to biking -- I mean, Cycling.

Ugh, I've been going on for a while, so I think I'll shut up for now. See y'all in a bit!