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Festival of Nations

Okay, I admit it, I didn't have time to go to the Festival of Nations this year. I put it off too long, then I had to do housework and a bucket of mundane maintenance things and I just didn't make it. But I do believe that the Festival of Nations is one of the coolest things St. Louis has to recommend itself to outsiders and I wholeheartedly support it in every way possible (besides actually showing up, of course). So I sent crack photographer Laine out to take pictures so I'd at least be able to post those.

Last Chance, Cafe

Okay, our history with The Royale has been colorful, to say the least. We live less than a mile from The Royale, and their food is unconditionally fantastic, so we've subjected ourselves to less-than-friendly treatment from the wait staff on a number of occasions. The last bad experience we had was about 3 months ago. We'd had two back-to-back bad experiences with unfriendly service, but we wanted to support Steve for going smoke free, so we decided to give it another try. We stopped in on a Saturday afternoon on our way somewhere else, to have a beer and some appetizers. Our waitress was so short with us, so eager to get us out of our table and on our way, we felt a bit battered by the time we left. We were going to have dessert, but she'd brought us our bill before we even said we were ready. And we're excellent tippers and nice to the extreme (My mom waited tables for a decent portion of my childhood, I know how to respect waitstaff). I wanted to cry when we left that day, perhaps because I probably had PMS, but mostly because THEIR FOOD IS SO FREAKIN GOOD! Why does the wait staff have to be so unpleasant???

So it's Saturday afternoon again, and after our very successful progressive dinner Friday night (The Tap Room [wtf, Tap Room, Mop Your G-D Floors!], City Diner [best CD experience we've had in ages], Gelateria [the boy who waited on us was a DEAR!]), we thought what the hey, fourth time's a charm, we saw Steve at the Ramble, let's give The Royale another go. Just when we thought The Royale experience couldn't get any more abusive, we get a night of service like Saturday night, and they TOTALLY REDEEM THEMSELVES. WHEW!

I had a Stella and we split three little plates, the quesadilla, the crab cakes, and the hummus. The food was just phenomenal, as it always is, but our wait person was congenial, she let us take our time, she was light on eye contact, but okay with smiles, and we didn't feel like we'd been through a major trauma when we were finished. She even asked us if we wanted dessert! It was awesome! Yay!!!

Bitchin' Fries

The SoHa listserv has been buzzing with gossip the past two days. Cheating spouses? Secret eating disorders? Closeted Furries? No! It's Who lets What Dog Crap in Whose Yard.com! Now, sometimes Nicky next door leaves us little gifts to find with the lawn mower, but since we've hired Tim to mow our grass now, I don't even care about that. Besides, how much poop can an Italian greyhound produce?

I could entertain you for minutes with irate missives and electronic fist shaking from frustrated yard owners, but I will only give you this small but delectible tidbit from one of my favorite anonymous listserv posters:

I hate to call out an owner by name, but alas, at least on Nottingham twixt Brannon and Hampton, it's the Feisners. . .more importantly their billious Bischon, Barney. Barney has lent his load to our bluegrass on more than one occasion and frankly we've had enough.  How difficult could it be to bring a Shop n' Save bag along for the ride? And what's more with all the rain, well, use your imaginations. I drive a black 2008 Lotus and on at least two occasions unbeknownst to me, my floorboards have paid the fiddler.  If anyone knows this admittedly friendly, if Festusish-looking couple, please pass along the neighborly word that Barney Feisner's scat is animalia non grata. Thanks in advance.

"Festusish" is my new favorite word. Thank you, Hans. You are a gem. And like whoa, I have a neighbor who drives a new Lotus. Those things corner like they're on rails, am I right?

Hippie Brunch Show Down

So say you're a vegetarian or you're charged with feeding a vegetarian (JUST SAY IT!) and you want to go to brunch in South St. Louis. You've got two choices: Mokabe's or Shangri-la. Maybe you have more choices than that, but let's pretend, shall we?

In this corner, Mokabe's, South Grand's favorite corner diner, the only place you can pour your own coffee out of a giant plastic urn.

And in this corner, Shangri-La, the quirky upstart granola vegetarian and vegan joint on Cherokee, where you can drink your coffee out of a 1987 World's Best Dad mug donated by your mom to the Goodwill.

Shangri-la Diner, the upstart underdog, at 2201 Cherokee. This was our first trip to Shangri-la for brunch, but we go there a few times a month for lunch. It's quirky and simple and cheap, but since we started conserving gas, Cherokee can seem light years away from us, so we tend to only go there when we're down there for something else anyway. Since we had an afternoon wi-fi date at Mississippi Mud, brunch at the Shangri-la was a no brainer.

Most things on Shangri-la's buffet are vegetarian, and darn near everything vegetarian is also vegan. Shangri-la boasts a big pail of delightfully crispy fakin' bacon and a chafing dish of home-made vegan sausage that was full of fennel and had a great consistency, very similar to the gluten-based stuff I make at home, and I like to think I'm pretty good at it. Another chafing dish was heaped over with shredded potato hash browns that were way too white to be homemade, but were oven baked, so at least there's that. I like 'em crispy. A pan on the other side steamed with a mound of scrambled eggs with salmon, green pepper and onion, not my cup of tea, but a rather nice offering to the less vegetarian in attendence. Next was a baby greens salad with a gravy boat full of homemade balsamic dressing and a huge pile of red, ripe, seedless watermelon wedges, both items displayed in giant plastic bowls in the shape of oyster shells.

The next set of chafing dishes held a tofu scramble with spinach, onion and sundried tomato on one side, and a toasty, vegan buttered pile of split and halved multigrain bagels (I told myself they were from the Black Bear Bakery, but who knows?).

And finally, at the end of the buffet table, an entire pan of unbelievably aromatic pumpkin bread pudding (not vegan, but DROOLWORTHY).

Everything at Shangri-la tasted perfect, including the coffee, with soy milk instead of cream at no extra charge, and the owner of the place happily brewed me my own little carafe of decaf.The dishes don't match, the surroundings are goofy, fellow patrons are cheerful and unsurly, and the place emanates peace and goodwill. Their fare was limited in variety, but plentiful. We were seranaded by the owner's iPod selections, which were just as quirky and delightful as the decor. And Shangri-la is always a non-smoking space, so everything smells clean. Even the vegans. BE NICE TO VEGANS!

At $10.00 a person, definitely four peace sign fingers up, Man.

Closer to home, and close to our hearts, Mokabe's sits at the corner of South Grand and Arsenal (3606), where it always is. Sunday brunch at Mokabe's is one of our favorite monthly rituals. Brunches were always non-smoking, but since Mokabe's put in the non-smoking upstairs, we've been even more inclined to show up, since everything isn't as infused with Marlboro funk.

Mokabe's has a fairly static selection of food that's, let's be honest, about 3 times the size of the spread at Shangri-la. But it's super popular and in a hopping location, so it's really not fair to compare Shangri-la to Mokabe's in a showdown. But I'm doing it anyway. The Spread: Biscuits with Vegetarian Sausage Gravy, 2 kinds of French Toast, regular (and vegan upon request) and French toast stuffed with sweetened cream cheese. These can be topped with warm maple syrup, or an awesome raspberry sauce.

Next bank of dishes: Baked Macaroni and Cheese, Three Cheese Quiche,  A vegan tofu scramble of some variety, falafel sometimes, vegan crab cakes (OMG, SO GOOD), vegan sausage (of a recipe and texture that doesn't taste like anything I could make myself), and then the stuff to make the omnivores happy, regular scrambled eggs and a giant vat of bacon. Finally, in the colder months, and the last time we went, which was a special treat for me, a giant chafing bowl full of scotch oatmeal, with brown sugar you can spoon on from the oatmeal tin, and a little pitcher of cream you can pour on top. When it's hot out, more often than not, there's a giant bowl of greek salad instead.

The next table (I know, right?!?) features the drinks, pitchers of fresh squeezed orange juice, fresh strawberry orange juice, and water, and the desserts, a huge array of mini breads and tiny cupcakes and a giant plate of fresh fruit. Probably two thirds of the desserts are vegan and they're all adequately delicious, but not as mind-blowingly decadent as the pumpkin bread pudding at Shangri-la.

We don't have pictures of the actual spread, since there's usually a line and people sitting there eating next to it, plus our hands are always too full of plates of food to work the camera, so you'll have to use your imagination. The decor is political indie funk, the music is from a CD player, so you generally get to hear a whole CD of awesome or suffer through an entire CD of crap, and everything is mostly clean. The bar area does still harbor a bit of smoke stench, and if you linger too long playing around with the free wi-fi, people do start smoking once brunch ends at 2:00. For two people, brunch is $27.00, coffee included, from the aforementioned giant plastic urns.

So if you're looking for vegetarian food between the hours of 9 and 2:00, there are your choices. The more you know...

 

 

 

Hungry Young Poets: Final Episode (this year)

The Hungry Young Poets summer reading series will hold its final entry for this season on Monday night at 7:30, at Duff's. To read:

Molly Jennings

Erin Goss

Jen Green

Cassandra Howard

Steven Schroeder

There's a musical act, but I can't remember who it is right now. Sorry.

P.S. Getting a hopstart on next year, if you're under 30 and you're living within 300 miles of St. Louis, and you just happen to write killer poems, e-mail me three or four and we'll see about fitting you in next summer.

It's not a Race, It's a Ramble 2008

If you're new to St. Louis, or if you always go to bed early, you might not know that thousands of people drag their bikes downtown once a year on the Saturday closest to the full moon in August, don dorky helmets (are there any other kind?) and gracefully walk next to their bikes (or straddle their bikes awkwardly while they try to walk, jamming the seat into their butt crack) for a half mile until the herd thins, and then they ride for 17 miles around a city route chosen by St. Louis's Youth Hostel Chapter.This is their big fundraiser, and last night, these 13,000+ dorks paid $25 for the privilege of dodging wobbly youngsters and unbalanced adults for 2+ hours. You can't die without doing it at least once.

This was my 5th Ramble, and the first one to which I brought a camera. You can't see it in that picture, but about 2 yards in front of us, Steve from The Royale was sitting on his bike, wearing a white button down tailored shirt and a driving cap. Sweet.

We were a little disappointed that the route wasn't much different from last year, after we were teased with the opportunity to bike through Lafayette Square, but we dealt with it. It was exceedingly amusing to be cheered on by all the kind folks hanging out in front of their apartments on MLK, Jefferson, Tucker, and Delmar, in an area that not a single one of those white folks in dorky helmets would dare ride through after dark without 13,000 of their friends. The firefighters hung up a massive American flag between ladder trucks across the street at one point on the route. We braved Art Hill, the hill past the stinky, stinky zoo (nothing like mouth breathing through monkey crap vapors, delish), and the hill back up to Market Street from Forest Park, and still we came back for more.

For the third year in a row, we didn't go to the party afterwards, since it was nearly 3:00 a.m. and we parked on Market. No free Sliders for us. Yeah, White Castle sponsors the Ramble. Hi-Larious. But the next time they have the after party at City Museum, we are so there.

Pietros, you beautiful bastard.

We recently took a trip to Cunetto's House of Pasta on The Hill. It was a spur of the moment dinner and I'd never been there before, but we'd almost gone many, many times, so my expectations were pretty high. I was disappointed, more from the dashing of my over-hyped anticipation than any defect on their part. It was a rainy day and the joint was full of humid St. Louisans and tourists. It looked a little more Garavelli's than a good Italian restaurant on The Hill.

But that mediocre experience is now completely erased. For years, Pietros was our go-to Italian joint, simple, decent, good prices and fairly swift and courteous service. And that it's mere city blocks from our house, a triple threat. But we've always had this bastardized attitude about going there, like it was substandard just because it was nearby and easy. We never dressed up to go there; we never looked forward to it with bated breath like we do with Onesto's. But rest assured, Pietros, our eyes have been opened to your unassuming magnificence. Thank you.

Last night, we showed up at eight o'clock, most of us in shorts and t-shirts, ready to carb load before the Moonlight Ramble. We were continuously surprised and pleased by the above and beyond expedience of the wait staff, the absurd abundance of *delicious* italian bread (wasn't Marconi, wasn't Amighetti's, wasn't Missouri Baking Co, GOOD stuff, though), and the perfectly fresh iced tea at 8:00 at night. Then the food showed up, and everyone agreed it was exponentially better than usual, but I'm not sure that's the case. I think it may have always been that good, and we were just taking old Pietros for granted becaues it's usually full of senior citizens. But now that it's got outdoor seating and bitchin' doggie boxes, we're ready to give it its due.

Thank you, Pietros. For the salads without surreptitious meat, the piping hot baked lasagna, the moist, flaky grouper special, the too-soon consumed canelloni, the generous pile of rich fettucini, and the memories. We'll never bother with Italian on The Hill again.

Midnight Movies at the Tivoli

You might have noticed this PD blog post about the Tivoli's midnight movie series. We're movie connoisseurs around here, but we're not above a decent midnight movie, but I was soured on the experience after a rowdy showing of The Princess Bride a few years back. But I decided to hop back on the midnight movie horse Friday night, and we went to see Jurassic Park on the big screen. I love St. Louis audiences so hard. At least 50 people showed up for the movie, swarming the box office, waiting for the doors to open. Their reverence for this 14 year old movie (Not old enough to be a classic, too old to be current) was so cute it made my eyes water. Instead of poking holes in Michael Crichton's scientific method, I just played along and had a great time.

Note: This is an old picture. The Tivoli does not serve alcohol at the midnight movies. But they *do* serve fresh popcorn, which is more than we can say for the Crestwood Cine.

Second Note: Don't smoke in front of the theater. You never know when someone you're standing next to has already had two partial lung collapses in one week from smokers screwing with her air space. Be decent.

The Epic Mayhem at the Tap Room

Our friends work with a dude who is the drummer in this little ska band, The Epic Mayhem. We've been going to their shows in dingy, stinky county dives (The Red Sea basement, Cruisin' 66, some freaky place out on Gravois, etc) on weeknights for 2 years. Friday night, they got a sweet gig at the Tap Room's new addition, The Elliot Room. It's a neat space, floor to ceiling windows, hardwood floors, and big open windows into the rest of the bar next to it, so two rooms of people can watch the band. The seating is fluid; you can put your chair where you like it, and you can pull up one of the coffee tables next to it. It feels like hanging out in your bachelor friend's living room, minimal furniture and lots of amps.

The Epic Mayhem was in rare form, putting on a great show for all the disloyal turds who decided to finally show up, since it was a weekend and they were appearing at a cool venue. Whatever. I got to hear them do their ska remix of Britney Spears' "Hit me Baby, One More Time" again. That stuff does not stop being funny. They also played a brand new song drummer Jeremy recently wrote. The music was remarkable, but I couldn't hear a single lyric, since the sound dude was less than "on." I'm sure it was a hardware problem.

My only complaint is the same as it's been since the show at the Red Sea: BRING BACK THE TRUMPETER!

He was only 16, his mom was in the audience, and there were all kind of child labor restrictions on how long he could be on stage, but he rocked that place in his Megadeth T-Shirt and X-Files ball cap. Man, I miss that dude.

As for the Tap Room, stellar, as usual. Very nice bartender. Awesome raspberry hefeweizen. Great cider selection, and I could live off your pub onions. But please, take a page from Steve at The Royale and go non-smoking, Tap Room. You're killing us.

Lumberyard #2 Release Party

This was our first venture out to Firecracker's new digs. Two enthusiastic thumbs up. The space is incredibly open and delightfully random. Had I more disposable income, I'd have made off with even more, but as it was, I spent enough $$ to qualify for a free Firecracker t-shirt. I love Firecracker parties because they always have a couple boxes of Imo's pizza and a keg of beer on hand. I don't know why people tend to lean toward the froo froo with their vittles once they go legit, but I hope Firecracker bucks that trend.

Daniel and Carmelita were there, looking gorgeous and respectable, back from their vacation in Puerto Rico. Once again, I expected Aaron Belz to barge through the door any minute, but alas, he really did move to LA. :(. He's got a poem in Lumberyard #2 that's worth the whole issue.

Speaking of Belzy, I noticed last weekend at Star Clipper that 52nd City's stuffed April's print issue, SEXY, with their Sound CD. Belz has a poem recorded on it that is hysterical. I listened to it 7 times on Friday while I was coding shopping cart entries at work. Grab this before it's ungrabbable.The FOOD issue is online only, so if you want a freebie, get thee to their website.

As for Firecracker, Eric's party was a huge success and two people stopped us on the street as we were leaving asking, "Hey, what *IS* this place??" They seemed disappointed when we told them it was a printing press, but they still knew they were missing out on a par-tay.