Usually I begin these things in a chronological fashion. But this post is purely premised on the powerful and fantastical idea that anything with bacon is simply one of, it not the best thing that can be ingested on a semi-regular pattern. Livingsocial, luckily, had a "Bacon & Beer" tasting event. Holy crap, there were Flying Dog Barleywine and bacon wrapped slathered plates. What was there not to like? I had hickory smoked, BBQ glazed, Danish cheese garnished, but the thing that threw me over the edge, if not hit me into another culinary world, was the bacon wrapped Blue-cheese filled date. Sweet, tangy, with that dark sweetness of dates, and paired with a nice stout, I believe I may have eaten heaven. Just took a bit of it right from underneath the angels and deposited it right in my mouth. I also met some fellow Yinzers in there, people who shared the same affection for Oakmont cake, Stiller football, and a common bond in baconology. Bacon-beer-'Burghers, can't get much better than that.
Woohhhh okay, now that I got that hot and sweaty, bacon filled memory out of the way, and now that I am properly calmed down, where shall I go? Oh yea, that guy, L. Ron Hubbard, fictionist, sci-fi geek, "creator" of a "religion" apparently used to live in DC. Walking up a street one day, his Holiness the Mighty Creator of the esteemed Tom Cruise I saw the house, the spot, the brick- two-by-four sheltered dwelling where L-rOn dreamed up a wonderful fictional sci-fi flick about aliens dropping their dead souls into our prehistoric ancestors. (Oops, let me amend, the house where he dreamed up a "non-fictional, definitely not to get rich bible about said aliens and our primate ancestors). Who couldn't believe that?
This week was a streak of culinary genius. Crepes (which I am warming up on the left here before I partake in its cherry-strawberry-raspberry-brie deliciousness), hush puppies, fishy tacos, amaretto-cinnamon ice cream, and a boatload of my favorite foamy libations, it was a busy week for my digestive tract. Crepe at Eastern Market, simply the best. The guy literally does nothing but throw down batter on a flat-level griddle and flips all day. Crepe, after Crepe, after Crepe. With menu longer than most ditzy upscale restaurants where you have four items to choose from all over $30, and end up getting something the size of a small Oreo, it's glorious. It makes running out a few miles east in swelteringly oppressive conditions to buy fruit all the more enjoyable!
Now I like food. Indeed, it is an indulgence that I pride myself in over indulging in. At least it provides me with sustenance, and the wherewithal to live. So, what better thing to do than to go out after dinner, eat four hush puppies the size of baseballs with a piece of creamy-cheese encrusted grilled corn and eat your fellow partners in crimes' left over currywurst? Well, maybe it was the a few days before where I ate a massive chocolate-almond croissant, only to have it followed up later by a Thomas Sweet (G-town) amaretto-cinnamon ice cream cone. Evil? Yes, but oh so good. The only thing better would of been all that above mentioned food wrapped in bacon and thrown into a milkshake. Plausible that that could happen? Slim to none, but at the rate I am having an awesome time here, it could be in the "maybe" range.
I like coffee. I've had in steamed, Frenched, dripped, dropped, flamboozalded, and flabbergasted. Typically though, it is quickly made and given to me. I guess my Black&Decker single cup coffee maker from freshman year of college has spoiled me. Throw shit in, have a nice cup of coffee in 4 minutes, if that. So, one morning (still reeling from my Coffee-Bean mistake of weeks past) I went to get coffee inside a basement. In many houses here, there is a front door on the first level, then a bottom door that leads into a basement, usually another bedroom that people lease out. Well, on 20th street way far north there is a dungeon-like place called Filter. To drink coffee in a basement is weird enough, but ordering coffee that is hand poured through a strainer into mini glass jars is a whole other field of play. It was cool to have it done this way, very different, and you could appreciate the guy's passion for so intently pouring water for a few hours everyday. But, as I waited and waited, my chocolate scone was getting lonely. I love to pair food with my coffee, but unfortunately, this scone died a very lonely scone (I don't think that scones have been biologically proven to be either male or female, though with a namely like "Scone," I would imagine it'd be a quite prickly fellow). Would I ever like to get this type of strained coffee again? Sure, I lived off of it abroad, but that was in EUrope, where things move slower and the coffee is plentiful. Here in America, the luxury I have is getting coffee (good or brown water) quickly and efficiently so that there are no lonely scones out there. Cool idea, but patience is key, and early in the morning, it just isn't happening. Aaron likes quick crepes, coffee, and carnivorous capers, so this week, to say the least, worked. To more 100degree weather and with a probably chance of beer and food? I'd say most likely!