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A weekend in Warsaw. To say the least I had my fair share of various things wrapped in dumpling. Plums, potatoes, rabbit, cheese, I had it all. I must say any country that has old ladies preparing food for the masses at mere Euro cents is doing something very, very right. Subsidized public kitchens--a wonderful holdover of Communism--serving up deliciously, old-lady homeade food since before any of us were born! Of course another reason this city was a win was the sheer fact that I could eat like a king, and not worry about the check. 130 zlotte? I'll pay for yours and mine. I have never been to a city where I spent a grocery budget in a weekend and did so much. Poland...you rock.

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I should have known this was going to be an interesting trip when me and my wonderful fellow colleagues had the opportunity to stay in a room that was the bedazzled with glorious red drapes and paint, overseen by old pictures of Polish communist leaders, and of course, had a giant face of Lenin to wake you up in the morning. Nothing says Good Morning like that hat wearing, mustachio'd guy. Of course the smell of wet socks and shoes always does the trick too.....

Getting off of the train from the airport and Warsaw welcomed us as any city should, with pouring rain. Of course, during all my travels I have never gone on "holiday" and had inclement weather. Of course this trip I said, "You know Aaron, it won't be that chilly or rainy, just your coat will do." Well I took a huge chance because while it did indeed rain/snow/sleet/hail/get really windy while in Warsaw, the previous week was -17degree C...yea talk about a buzz kill there. So once I was told that, the rain really didn't seem all that bad, I mean you just get wet and pneumonia, at least you don't get frostbite and lose digits.

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Usually before departing, I ferociously study the place I'm going. I dissect, plan, and pick out the most interesting restaurants. If my time is limited, I am going to target everything. This one was very nice, just came along, went with the flow, had an incredible Polish tour guide, and ate pierogi. It was amazing to see how this city, completely leveled after WWII has come back. The main thoroughfare, or Old Town, is a great replication of big white houses with small boulevards and lots of vodka laying about. Much like Brussels, there is a great mix of beautiful buildings and buildings that literally look like they were built with nothing but rectangular blocks. Ahhh the glory of Communist architecture, cement slabs with uniform windows and rectangular...so rectangular. 

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I knew Poland loves their man, John Paul II. I knew he was their "Captain America." However, I believe there are more statues and icons of him than the guy he is supposed to be supporting. Make a left, see a statue, walk down some steps, a picture of him on the street, want to look out your window? Too bad, he's taped to the window too. I mean I suppose this is like Brussels and its love affair with painting any part of a building that juts out onto the street. Instead of seeing a Holy Guy, you seeing Tin Tin. Comic book god or guy who talks to God....I guess being separated for 60 years and an annoying RyanAir flight will do that! Now for my American followers, RyanAir is, well, ask any European. It has cheap flights (I'm talking $40 one way to go across the continent), cheery service people who try to sell you everything every 5 minutes, making it impossible to do anything productive, such as sleep, or at times breath. No I don't want you cardboard sandwich, no I'd rather you not sell me coffee that is complimentary on every flight, and no, what is the point of a smokeless cigarette? (especially to someone who doesn't smoke anyways, this is a thing that I cannot grasp). Not only that, but everything is YELLOW and a version of the color blue that generally makes me sick. Yellow may be fine on a taxi, yellow may be fine on a pencil, but not emblazoned everywhere in such a tight place. I suppose if you are claustrophobic, do not fly RyanAir, but if you want to get somewhere cheap and fast, I suppose you have to buck up, sit through the gauntlet of stuff, and crank up the MP3 player.

Now I ate too much in Poland to have ONE favorite dish. Tubed meats, pickles, old lady soup, dumplings, duck, so I'll simply put three beautiful dishes that I found to be extraordinary. In no other locale have I eaten so well for so little money (mhmmm old lady zurek in the socialist canteen....) in such a short amount of time. My ratio of how much I ate to my time in Warsaw is probably at disgusting levels. And of course, any country that promotes beer is good. Just pilsners and lagers in Poland, pretty run-of-the-mill, but they come in generous portions, and just go great with the atmosphere and the fact that your breath smells of a Polish Pickle. Warsaw? Check. First trip across the Iron Curtain? Double Check. Didn't spend too much and had a fabulous time with some fabulous people? Triple Check. And with that, and a bumpy, blustery ride to Brussels, back to the land of chocolate and rain/sleet/snow how could this all happen in 1 block---I swear they said no precipitation today!
 
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Snow...lots of it...now in a previous post, many a people thought I was "gek" for running perilously through a snowy laden forest that I had A) Never been to that was B) well below freezing and C) doing it all in shoes that have seen probably one to many kilometers. However, the next day, after my rendezvous with the Foret de Soignes, it decided to snow...a lot...and seeing that my legs were shot, I decided to walk it, that slow, idyllic pace that I abhor. But, to take pictures it was a pristine day with wonderful, blankets of snow and slow and fishtailing Belgian drivers (ever see a SmartCar do probably 45mph on icy bricks? Well I did...and it somehow works actually). The city was a mess. Buses couldn't make it up hills, trams got stuck, many a people couldn't even travel by train due to flying ice, and the city showed the people's inability to use modern transportation. People....were....everywhere! I actually had to wait in line to get my Wittamer warme chocolade. But, as always, it was completely worth it, and was actually stopped by a couple that interrogated as to where I bought the small cup of liquid heaven. it comes in one of those little paper coffee cups, but they stick a bright pink straw through the hole in the cover, I suppose so I can use even less energy to drink the molten chocolate, and therefore can feel even more guilty about it.

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With people coming out of the woodwork, slipping, falling, sledding, coffee hugging, and asking me to take their picture in Grote Markt, I felt that in order to feel my feet again and see at least some of the cool Brussels museums, I felt it was wise to see two. The first one was completely on the history of Brussels. Pretty much a soap opera: Brussels gets rich and sleeps with other Belgian cities, upsets the French neighbors who then knock everything down, then Brussels then goes in and out of a mid-life crisis where it erects beautiful gothic spires and Art Nouveau buildings and gold decorated guild house, and then stick dumpy, concrete slabbed buildings in between just to let some of the depression go that it can't find its inner love (some where between Flanders and Wallonia). But, the best part was the Manneken Pis collection, the beloved little public-urinating fountain that is the heart of this city. And yes, he does have an entire floor dedicated to his wardrobe. The people take their statuary extremely seriously...

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So, a little trip up the road, and then there is one of those Art Nouveau pretties that sprout up here and there (remember it's a mid-life crisis). In the Old Building its probably one of the coolest museums I've ever visited. It is called MIM, the "Musical Instruments Museum," where one can see pianos older than most European countries and can get a glimpse of what I thought were completely superfluous horn attachments to a perfectly okay trumpet, or maybe baritone, er maybe it was actually some type of flute sometime....Luckily they give you a little black box so that your ears can practically sample everything. Harpsichords, weird Indian guitar things, African string instruments that look like you could easily bake something in them, an Italian thing that looks like someone looked at a bottom opener and said, "I could do something with that...", bag pipes that look like what bag pipes should look like, German oboes in snake form, and my favorite, the glass piano, invented by our own, Ben Franklin. And are you aware that they had record players in the 1880s? No? Well apparently they did, and looked like they could easily cut through 2 X 4 s and help you make a shelf.

When you think of Belgium, what do you think of? Diamonds? Riling linguistic hatred? the BE in BENELUX? The home of Stella Artois? (yea all you hipsters that want to drink some "fancy-spanish beer" it's brewed in Leuven, a wonderful little town in east of Brussels, not your sultry seaside resort in Spain). It's really all about the only thing that I've subsisted off of for two weeks now. Yes, in their most renowned park, sandwiched right in between the Belgian Parliament and the Koninglijke Paleis is Brusselsepark/Parc du Bruxelles (why is that X there, I really don't get it). And in that park there is art. And of that art there are depictions. And these depictions, in the middle of the park in between the two most important political buildings in the rijkdom are exactly what they say they are. These are the things that make up Belgium, that without them, Belgium may just be Luxembourg, or be Belgium just without good taste. 
Yes, indeed, CHOCOLATE    +    BEER    +    FRIETEN     +     BRUSSELS SPROUTS = BELGIUM (and I wouldn't want it any other way, because what other country can you go to that the national "things" they are known for can all be utilized at one meal?)  So Belgium, I say to you Proost/Sante!
 
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What better way to celebrate below average temperatures than to going running through a frozen forest and then forget your map and wander aimlessly trying to find Art Nouveau sites. And throughout all of this just leave your gloves at the apartment to build character. If that is true, then I built a lot of character today...in fact so much character that I am contemplating sleeping at 830.
Regardless of my stupidity, I feel that the best way to get a feel for the city is to run it. So today I ran down Chausee de Waver/Waversteenweg and went into the trail runners paradise, the Foret du Soignes.  Now, as previously explained, Brussels likes to put things in multiple names. Another thing they like to do is to name a street, go to something else, then go back to that name some time later. NOT HELPFUL. It was a straight shot to the Foret but hey, when that blood is pumping, you're dodging grocery lugging pedestrians, there is not much a runner can do! But from running around the city I've come to the conclusion that there is really no basic overview of what comprises this city. You'll have a beautiful 17th century house, only to have a concrete slab of a place next door. As I surmised today, on a divey, backwater street, a rare, Horta (a big time architect around these parts) inspired masterpiece is just standing there. Then, you'll realize that the streets sometimes end. Yea, that makes sense.....

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But I did get a nice view today. The Foret de Soignes, is just a giant wooded area south of the city. And, luckily, they have each trail color-coded with a many, many signs saying where to go. Normally I run and like to guess where I am at (as a few runs in DC went), but in Arctic temperatures and a crap load of snow, it was much appreciated. Nothing beat running on the firmly packed, slightly icy snow, and it was, and when temps jump, will be a trail runners paradise. Hills, valleys, fields, trees, trees, streams, you name it, and it is there. At first, with my ratty, holey, way-to-worn Pumas, probably should never of let me run safely on the terrain, or the other day when there was just packed ice everywhere around town. No way would be doctor of cleared that one. But I found that if I just keep a slight forward lean, stay consistent, and not make any sudden turns, I'm okay. Of course when in the city, and having to dodge people (better sized than those in DC, so they take up far less sidewalk room) it gets dicey, but after running in big cities for three years now, I'm a pro. Alas two hours came and went, got out of the city, passed a few delectable looking bakeries, and will do it again tomorrow (only minus the trees, and an Abbey and whatever a chambre is).

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Of course what could be any better than after a body devastating run than to go to a museum, then go around for another freezing walk trying to find very funky looking houses in Brussels. I officially started the museum tour. I went to the Horta Museum, the innovator of Art Nouveau. So here is the style in a nutshell (they said I couldn't take pictures inside his house-museum, but like icy running, no mount of tour guide presence will deny me): symmetrically bent and twisted brass and bronze things with steampunk furniture and lot and lots of wrought iron. Its a wonderful style, very functional, very modern, and to a guy who is sometimes pretty skeptical at these types of things, I was definitely fascinated to a T. It's just so...funk-i-ly symmetrical and crazy but yet so in place...

So after that, it was the aimless wandering capturing Horta's places. Took me far to long on tired legs, but I did rewards myself by sampling every piece of chocolate, chocolate covered coffee bean, nougatine, and chocolate covered dried fruit that the chocolatier Zaabar decided to put out. I bet they never expected that one person would actually try every single thing. Well guess what Belgian girls at the chocolatier and factory, I did so, and when I get diabetes in tomorrow, it is all your fault.
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Cayenne, salt-pepper, cardamom, lavender (which was actually my favorite), pistachio, cinnamon, coriander, curry (which was the most interesting and something that I will not find anywhere else), speculoos, lemongrass, some funky red Japanese berry, it was a smorgasbord aided by a warm cup of "Kakau Indian," which was their homeade hot chocolate (which in Belgium in melted chocolate) with spices I would put in my falafel. Awesome. Heavy, smooth, indulgent, and hey I ran two hours today, so I can do that. It was a great way to end a sampling of about one pound of a variety of samples of other types of chocolate. My gorging made the fat German kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory look like he was at a salad bar. But hey, I ran right? The key problem is that there are 2000 chocolate shops throughout the country (about 1 shop per 5500 Belgians....) and the fact that there is also over 150 breweries and sooo much cheese to try....

So here is the meal of the week. Well, actually I did end up eating my first European cheesburger (as only they would do it, with gourmet mushrooms, raclette cheese, and organic everything). It was good, but doesn't beat that behemoth I had from the BRGR truck a month back. But I went to L'Horloge du Sud, which specializes in African fair (Belgium quite a few colonies down there). Not knowing African, French, or the Dutch words for African ingredients (Foufou???) I picked one and got a side of gefrituurde plantains. In the end it was grilled lamb in a sort of heavy, rich, pesto-looking sauce that was awesome. And to sound all "cheffy" here, the salad really cut through the heaviness of the lamb and sauce well. Plus I had  warme gembersap, or warmed up ginger juice. Wow, do it right now, find it, drink it, NOW.
 
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Well, back on the road. Back to a city known for their waffles, chocolate, patisserie's, couques, carbonnade, language infighting, Art Nouveau, ongelooflijke bieren (bière incroyable)  and a wee peeing man and dog (Manneken Pis en Zinneke Pis).

Now, during my previous experiences in Brussels (Bruxelles) I (ik) (je) thought that the whole French/Dutch (Frans/Nederlands) (Francaise/Néerlandais) was not that bad, maybe just reading 2 names for every street (straat/rue) was bad. But try remembering these things! Seeing that Belgium has three official languages, Dutch, French, and German, plus unofficial English in Brussels, their street signs to say the least are insanely over worded. But I will not be like Belgium (België/Belgique) and put everything in three (drie/trois) sayings.

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I must say that Belgian cuisine is out of this world. They have waffles in vending machines (see below)!! But I have safely subsisted off of chocolate, le noir (think chocolate peanut butter, only minus the butter and peanut part, and substitute cacao and sugar), various types of stoemp, and pates et foie gras. But the best part is the portions. Flemish sized French cooking. Decadence, luxury, and three hearty courses for under 20Euro. I may need to buy another plane ticket to get home...

Hopefully, soon, I'll find the time to run, the time to prepare for that European marathon. I should be so carb-loaded over the next couple weeks that I should either tank within the first 5 miles, or run a very, very, fast marathon. It's a little hill here, and there are parks galore, big ones, little ones, big straight laans en straats and a huge, medieval forest only 2 miles or so south. Now if I can clear my list of friten stands to fit those miles in....

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Okay, so a little "unique" thing about Brussels. It is artsy, it is ancient (it was a Roman outpost and a swamp at one time) and they love puppets and marionette theatre. Yes, in any good, Bruxellois Estaminet you will find puppets hanging from the rafters next to the tin cans, smoke-infused walls, and exotic beers glasses. (I drank a beer out of a stone goblet, which somehow kept the beer really cold and really frothy,**note to self--make or obtain**. Of course there is the Manneken Pis,the little dude in the heart of Brussels that is a fountain that pees. I mean who doesn't have one of those chilling in their backyard. Now a dog statue that you could literally break your ankle on? Now "dat is Brusselse sfeer."


So far, So good. Many more days to go, many more places to see, many more things to eat and people to meet. I did it once, and at this rate, I'm going to do it again (I need to put the "Lux" in BENELUX). So stay tuned, stay interested, and remember, Liege waffles and the dense round ones, and the Brusselse Wafel is the rectangular one...this is IMPORTANT STUFF PEOPLE. (Below is my 3-course echte beglische gerechten from Restobieres, right next to a flea market where you can buy clearly stolen statues and house numbers, cameras smuggled from East Germany, and glassware that is caked in...something...though it is free after 3 if they leave it....hmmmm...anyways the dishes are a Rochefort sauce pastei, Flemish carbonnade stewed in Girardin with mashed potatoes, and a true Brussels waffle with cherry Kriek sauce. And you know what, new part of "de blog," I'm going to do a "meal of the week/maaltijd van de week/un repas de la semaine/Mahlzeit der Woche". Yea, I'm gonna do it, simply because I can, and I don't Instagram or use Pininterest. This is DE BLOG!! Of course below is just my camera work in action.
 
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I thought, why not? After seeing the Big Apple a few years back as a travel hungry junior in high school, and seeing the city all dressed up for Christmas, I thought it was about time for a redeemer. I'd go for a self-interested reason of course--looking at Seton Hall, eating a few dreams foods, and seeing if I could coexist with this eclectic place. Plus seeing it at a pretty unremarkable time of the year--the second week of September (what happens then? nothing...simply no extraordinary things anywhere in the world happens then, at least in my book). So I hopped on a bus, went through Frank Sinatra's home tunnels, and arrived in another big city, only in less awe then some Amish people.

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Let's just say that I still cannot fathom why  Brooklyn Lager, brewed on a subway line not 30mins away is $7. I mean, I can get it in Pittsburgh for $3, but let's not get into particulars. What is completely worth the bus ride is Ferrara's in the heart of Chinese owned Little Italy. Years ago I remember the thriving Italian culture, but now it seems as though East Asia is rising up, taking over parts of Little Italy, and I think we can expect a war here soon---Manicotti vs. General Tsao's. Anyways, I had heard of Ferrara's on the FoodNetwork's "The Best Thing I Ever Ate: My Last Day on Earth." The Guaraschelli or whatever her name is said to go there, and get a sfogliatti (spelled horribly incorrectly) and a lobster tail, which is a phyllo dough double filled Bavarian cream that is about the size of a small baby. The horribly spelled one is a double baked phyllo dough clam shaped delicious thing that is filled with a spongy lemon ricotta. Walking down the street covered in powdered sugar with yellow Bavarian cream all over one's face is quite the experience. Don't look at me New Yorkers as I sweep finger fulls of Bavarian cream into my mouth...just let it happen.

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That is the one nice thing about NYC, if you are hungry, you can get anything and everything at any time. Want pizza at 5am? It is there, want grungy, health-rule violating Indian for lunch? Any street corner, want  cappy bara? , it's out there somewhere, you just need to look. The main problem though, is everytime I watch the FoodNetwork (most likely Chopped) there are these great chefs who have cool restaurants....all in NYC. It is culinary overload, and I couldn't even begin to put together a comprehensive list. Pretty much once I find my one really good Middle Eastern spot, that list will get fulfilled at a snail's pace. (At left are three mini sandwiches of shrimp, crab, and lobster from "Luke's Lobster"--a highly recommended spot)

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The one thing that I really enjoyed, and was a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of the streets is walking two stories above everyone while enveloped by bushes, trees, flowers, and shrubs. The Highline, a reconstituted traintrack that is now a weaving terrarium in downtown (if NYC can have an defined downtown). Its a peaceful, quiet, and nice smelling spot that I would walk everyday just to keep my sanity. Seeing green things that aren't billboards, vehicles, or advertisements are very nice. Especially when it is above everything else, so you can get a nice view, nice walk, and see these things called trees, which sometimes inhabit cities around the globe, but in NYC, are few and far between.

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Could I live in this city? That is very contentious. It would have to be the right room in the right community with the right people around me, so the probabilities are narrow. I will not argue that it is a happening town, or that there is a dearth of things to do. It may be precisely that which puts me off, no one person can be on top of everything or be fully conscious of what is going on. In DC, I would occasionally be able to see the same people doing something similar day in and day out, whereas in NYC it is a new adventure pretty much everyday. One main point reason that it would be difficult for me to be an NYCer is the pizza. I like it, I have a new affinity for thin crust, but why, WHY must they fold it? If you wanted a calzone, then order a calzone. Why not enjoy it, not eat the entire thing in about 3 bites?? That whole thought of folding pizza....gives me the shivers...(Though I did find poffertjes, those beautiful little Dutch pancakes that I haven't had a nice walk with in some time!!)

 
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Well, out of DC for a bit, and to the Eastern most shore of Maryland/Virginia!! Where ponies, blue crabs, and horseflies and mosquitoes that could drain a house cats blood all call home. Now I like to glimpse at 1, devour another, and would love to exterminate the other. To help one out, I heartily enjoy ingesting MD Blue Crab, which is by and large the best seafood that this planet has to offer, and I am not a glue manufacturer, so therefore, have no vendetta against ponies. So, I really would like to kill the mosquitoes, and took a few out while they decided to drink from the tap that is my epidural layer of skin. However, I must say, before I move on, that I had my last (for the immediate future) DC cupcake. This one was exactly what they said it would be, a luscious, hearty chocolate cake with a no frills fancy light-chocolate frosting. It was sculpted hard on the outside so it had a bit of a crunch, then soft and dry on the inside that went well with my huge coffee. A Texas Sheet cupcake from Baked & Wired? I think so. You know a place is going to be decent when there is a bright pink mountain bike festooning the outside tree fence. And if Texas tastes as good as their cupcake, count me there in a heart beat!

There is no way to accurately describe my love of Chincoteague, Virginia. The easiest way to do it is as such: my favorite soft serve and crab shack exist on this tiny little island that probably  has less full time residents than my apartment building in DC. By no means does this detract from the island's culinary scene, and trust me, I like to go on a beach vacation where if I get brutally attacked and maimed/eaten by a shark, no one will here me scream. That means that I am truly getting away from the hub-bub of life, and can rest peacefully. (Plus The Discovery Channel's Shark Week is coming up, so I need to get into the theme!!!) Pretty much the below two pics are why I love this island. These pics are a time lapse of me on a carnivorous date with: 4 blue crabs, a pound or so of shrimp, 2 red potatoes, a piece of corn, a dozen or so local clams, some fried shrimp, a chicken leg or two, and some corn soup that simply shouldn't be as good as it was. Oh, and about 4 tablespoons too much of the best Old Bay Seasoning around!
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Does this not entertain you? I don't know what is uglier, me after one of these meals, or gladiatorial fights...It goes from innocent little guy on left to absolute train wreck on the right. Talk about a composter's dream! All thanks to my favorite restaurant in the world, Steamers. Just sit down at the heavy wood tables with the butchers paper on it, and GO TO TOWN. For two nights, I did just that, and practically ate myself into a coma. In fact, I felt as though I was on a seafood high, and seriously felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience. Or maybe, I was so full that my brain pulled energy from thinking and sent it to digestion....

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Of course one cannot simply eat dinner. Especially in this country, if you are stuffed to the brim with more food than is humanely possible to properly shove down one's throat, then it is time for ice cream. But not just any ice cream, but soft serve. And not just any soft serve, but Mr. Whippy's soft serve. If you don't get twist soft serve dipped in something on a waffle cone, you're a Communist. Everyone knows Communists hate ice cream, so there you go. I just so happened to get the above dipped in cherry sauce, and that first bite cracking through that thin layer of cherry into that somehow 97% fat free cold, lickable goodness was the fruitful capping of a 7 or 8 year wait. I normally don't need a towel, but after that, one was assuredly required. Happiness was at a level  not seen since the two hours before when Plate One touched down at my Steamers table. These are the types of places I'd drive 6 hours to eat at, then go straight home, and so glad we stayed a little longer to take in some sights! Not only this, but I did a quick artistic stint at Build Your Own Cookie, ending a triumphant night of mini-golf (where we miraculously won 3 free games in a row by blindly hitting a ball into a pinball-type maze) with a raisin-bran cookie topped with whipped topping, black raspberry ice cream, wet-walnuts, and some caramel sauce (or cairmel if you speak Pittsburghese). I don't typically boast, but for about six days, it wasn't bad work. Throw in a 6.5 hour golf outing (purely because of the 8 people team in front of us that wouldn't let us play thru, and kept losing clubs at previous holes, and a guy who literally shot sideaways, a.k.aa. "Mr. Athlete") at a club that shouldn't of let Duffy Mc. Duff play his first holes of the season on, it was a profitable adventure and much needed rest from the busy DC life. Now its off to decide how to properly spend my August....beer brewing....Dutch re-learning....and maybe a bit of N64 playing....sounds excellent.

 
So apparently a good amount of "green commons" does exist in DC that is beleaguered by coin-ravenous homeless people or hampered by food-truck foodies lieing about diving into their corn quesadillas or kabobs. Of course to get there, one must run about 7 miles, take a few slippery, unlevel trails that do untold harm on one's adductor muscle, and make some informed decisions on which way you think the sun is shining on a rainy day because you a lost out of your mind. Rock Creek State Park afforded me all of those. Apparently the city of DC or Bethesda saw all the trees down on the cliff-hanging trails and said, "Well they can definitely get over that, or they may die...eh they're athletic they can jump." No local bureaucrats, I cannot jump, and hate having to climb and duck my way under tress that are both huge, prickly, and wet. Unfortunately, I run "naked," meaning only a key to get in my apartment and my anti-ipod Zune....or and I guess shorts. But what a beautiful run, the trails run along a white water, rocky creek (go figure) and are mostly dirt. But the best part is that all the roads are completely shut down, just you, black pavement that has never seen a tire, and the wet mossy undergrowth of the park. For about 2 hours I was there, I was completely at peace, and so very happy to be out in the wilderness with other crazy ass runners and bikers......"On your LEFT!"
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Obviously, running a ton and hurting yourself merits food. In fact, it merits a ton of food. To start your day, you eat breakfast, so after a morning run, you eat just that, so that is the order I'll go in for this post. Firehook, which has many locations all over DC (though the nicest is in Dupont, where they play classical music and the owner works there and is always quite chipper). This, as I have had to do since Amsterdam, is my place for bread. The sweet potato is quite excellent, it is a subtle yeasty-ness to start and then goes into a light sweetness that when turned into crazy grilled cheese (lets just say some fancy swiss brie and red-wine goat cheese) can make for one hell of a dinner. But C'mon its not just about bread, well actually it is, because I am highly addicted to their different reconstitutions of bread, like their orange-currant-chocolate scones, "good morning muffins" (with orange peel, raisins, coconut, cinnamon, and I think carrot), chocolate granola which just melts into a pile of gooey, chocolatey braniness, and their penchant for costing very little. Does this supplant my hometown addiction of Oakmont Bakery, well they may not have as many cupcakes or normal cakes, but their scones, petit foures, and bread blow OB out of the water. Wow, I never thought I'd type that...

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(that nasty banana belongs to me, not M.E. Swing) So what better to follow-up breakfast with more sugary bread? No really, the coffee here is what pulls me in...though the face-sized fritter doesn't hurt. Its been around for over 100 years, and imports coffee from everywhere, Indonesia, Coast Rica, Ivory Coast, you name it, they've got it. And, whenever I go here, there is no one there ,but as soon as I check out, there is a huge line. I guess either I am a freakin genius, or people stalk me. Either or I suppose it can be a good thing. Only 2 blocks from the White House, it feels authentically DC, old-school bins, barstools, and wood panels where you can sip your cup of joe and pick apart croissants that are probably breaking size and butter rules by the department right done Pennsylvania Avenue.  A good, and I mean more that just an overly glazed piece of fried dough is hard to come by. But the behemoth below is, well, what you get at M.E. Swing. They certainly are swinging for the fences here because not only is it not overly glazed (like those mysterious things you find next to the cigarettes and powerade at gas stations) but properly cinnamoned. Yes cinnamoned, a verb, the act of cinnamoning something to the point where it could be growing mold and still be delicious. This thing was cinnamoned, glazed, and unfortunately, eaten far to fast.

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Never before have I advocated for someone to use a restaurants bathroom. Never before have I walked in and seen a lady in a mirror, turn around, and say to me "you overwhelmed too?" Mie n Yu, a fancy, Georgetown Asian-Indian establishment provides just that. Its Asian, its Indian, its bathrooms are a Buddhists dream, and the food is fabulous.
Now, I have never eaten at a spot that could also double as a torture chamber. Encaged booths, holey trimmed seats, and way too expensive statues laying about, that is what this place is. It looks, as though you are either in a travelling Persian circus, or are in a really cool boat.

Yep, those are rocks, movable rocks, if you so choose, in the copper sink that is hooked up to a piece of wood. And yes, those are petrified wood seats on the right there. And yes, my phone's camera hates multiple source of lights in the middle one. Marking the third day in a row of eating hummus, I had a nice big glob here (probably to the detriment of my lower intestine) a small lamb kabob, and a traditional stripped-beef dish with a nice fat egg on top. Of course, after using the bathroom, there was not much more that could excite me. I mean, I moved rocks in a public sink that I didn't own and were meant to be there, how awesome is that? Tell me the last time you did such a thing!
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So, at the end of any good meal, you need to have a nice slice of mafia..oops I mean cake. What drew me in to a Georgetown establishment was the lady to the left. It was at 930 at night, and I was craving a cake after being delighted at the 1970s, bureaucratically decorated French Embassy. Old Mama Mia here was holding a conversation with some Italian tourists while making noodles. No old Mama Mia should be up that late making the staple of one-quarter of my heritage. But, I sure as hell brought me in.
So, you descend down a narrow staircase into what can best be described as if purgatory only imported goods from Naples. White statues, fancy pots, golden-gaudy decor, and pure Italian men flipping around corkscrews like candy. After sitting down and ordering only wine and only a hazelnut-mouse cake, I felt as though at any moment I may witness a Godfather reenactment. Someone just coming out of the bathroom with a .38 special and poping two slugs right into someone's forehead. For our transgressions of skipping the "noodles and sauce" menu, I thought it'd be us. The cake has hazelly, moussey, and the chocolate ganache was so thick it was hard to chew (a positive thing for sure)and the red wine (which I don't normally ingest, but when in Rome, literally) went together very well. Of course I was getting ready to get black bagged, pulled out into a car, driven to a highway collection station and shot up, but luckily, I made it out just fine.

I can honestly say I have eaten my way through DC. I don't splurge on much, the occasional third beer, a fancier oatmeal at Whole Foods, or experimenting with cooking with wine, but I've made great progress in eating this city (not in the Godzilla sense). Only 4 days to go, and oh how I wish I could stay...

 
Where should this one start, the half pound red velvet cupcakes that I stumbled upon on a rainy Wednesday, or the red velvet pancakes that made a Friday morning a special period? Or how about the fact that Nationals Park is overtly sexual in everyway? Screw it, bring on the American-sized cupcakes!
Let me say it for you---Holy S%#t. Yes, two cupcakes that stood in for my bicep workout for my week. DC finally did it. In previous posts I did not believe that I would ever be brought into the cupcake camp. After probably 2 pounds of cupcake, I am sold. Crumbs up there on 17th & Something caught my eye walking back on an alternate route from work. It was raining, windy, and I had no umbrella, but I did find cupcakes. I was walking down the road, looked right, and BAM! a shelf full of gigantic CC's caught me eye. They even sell ones that are bigger than newborn babies...just saying. I figured to get a red velvet, simple, decadent, but a good bakery standard (like General Tsao's at Chinese places). And of course, I could not simply walk by the monstrosity that was a "blackout CC," a fudgy icing plastered with crushed Oreo (one of many weaknesses in this world). To sum up those preceding minutes, I shall do so in four words: Wow, Really?, F#@k me.
So, a bacon fiesta last week, cupcakes mid-week, and a week full of events with pastries should be aptly capped off with ridiculous pancakes. Try a carrot cake and 2 red velvet pancakes that met the Aaron Pancake Deliciousness Standards (or APDS for acronym sake). I told the waiter that I was a pancake master, and well, needed to get at least one of each of those glorious and adventurous cakes (where I haven't been yet...). He happily obliged. And of course, I ordered bacon, you may be saying, "This guy is digusting!" but I say, "Why the hell not? Could you turn down black pepper maple bacon slabs that are a quarter-inch thick and a foot long?" Yea no I'm neither crazy or gastronomically hard to look at, I'm quite human thanks. Anyways, I was perplexed when my coffee came, nice sized coffee that was fresh and roasty, and a little tin of milk. It provoked a "WTF???" moment. Luckily, my inherent breakfast skills said, "Just put the white stuff in the tin in the coffee, everything will be okay." I did, and ate my pancakey heart out, which is very hard to do, seeing that I eat them at least twice a week, but these Founding Farmers cakes may just take that cake itself. Best pancake ever? The carrot cake one caused me to do something not meant to happen at 9 on a friday. The red velvet were win for most colorful cake, but that bacon.....well I described it and you can maybe fathom its mouth watering fatty salty sweetness.
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D'em Nationals. Bryce Harper, Jordan Zimmerman, the One, the Only Adam L - A - R - O -C - H - E. The park itself is nothing spectacular, besides the awesome sports bar in left field, the chili dogs, and the views of the Capitol and Potomac. I've never seen a "booze cart" at a sporting event, but this park is jacked full of Jack. If you've got ridiculous cash to spend on ballpark liquor, then more power to ya, cause once I've reached that point in my life, I'm calling it quits.  To see Bryce Harper play was great, even though he didn't do a whole lot, and screaming and making up an Adam LaRoche chant on a whim, slightly disturbing those in front of me was definitely a good time.

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So, I know tubed meat has a plethora of sexual puns, jokes, and dual meanings to it. The whole meat packing process (yea there you go) is quite hands-on (yep uh huh). But must you make it so obvious Nationals Park? I know it runs with the theme of Congressmen and pages, but really? "Senators Sausages" is about as much a given as the real thing. Plus you had  Nats Dogs, Taste of the Majors, and Pop Fly Popcorn. I didn't even have to work for the jokes or self-chuckles. If the Nationals are trying to keep me awake during the game, then I guess they are at least doing me a service, much like that Senators Sausage.

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It's quite sad to think this DC excursion is almost over. Of course I'll be back, as this is the locus of political power. But, I have covered a good amount of ground, and will "hit it hard" (no not the Senators Sausage, I had enough of that last Wednesday--see Nationals Park, too easy) on the DC scene. I have to at least drink something fancy in a place I don't belong, eat a Cuban, and go to a Pittsburgh Bar outside of the 'Burgh. Not to mention I haven't had my weekly G-town ice cream in a while....well no rush, its going to be bearable (meaning low 90s) this week, and after today, which didn't break 75 degrees, I am rearing to go for another week! As long as I don't get a Taste of the Majors from Nats Dogs from Nats Pop Fly. Seriously Nationals Park, at least make me think!

 
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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.

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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?

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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.


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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! 

 
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What's more American than a Turkish Pancake? Well how about an American working for a foreign institution eating that pancake in a place than specialized in Thai street food 1 block from the White House. Yea, that's  how I roll. Keeping it all multicultural a day before the 4th of July in order to honor my heritage, which is none of the aforementioned ethnicities. But that is okay, because G St. Food specializes in many different types of street food, hell I had a donut there the other day that was doughy, tasted strongly of vanilla, and was about the size of a bagel. Typically I need at least 2 or 3 donuts to feel even slightly full (and typically limit myself because then I feel quite guilty) but one of these bad boys is all one needs (see picture below).

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Now, after than uber-cultural culinary excursion, it was time to actually live America. Yes, the day of the utmost Americanism (no, not the Kenny Chesney concert) Independence Day just so happened to coincide with me being in town. Just about everything one can do on that day in the city was done. The only thing my group of fellow com-Patriots missed was eating apple pie off of a bison's back while dressed in colonial garb with a 3-cornered hat on which is perched a bald eagle. That, I think, will be saved for next year. It was going to be a slog of a day, and I figured food would probably be infrequent, so I stocked up on some 'Murican style pancakes (peaches and craisins--peaches because they are 'Murican, and craisins because they are a symbol of 'Murican ingenuity, Minnesota streams, and good marketing--who could make dried cranberries a huge hit? Only in America). After a caloric intake most likely well above FDA standards for a breakfast, it was off to the Parade! It was a wonderful showing of what America stands for, which consists of subjecting our youth to march miles in wool uniforms and toot horns while we gawk at their pubescent awkwardness, big cars that just are killing the environment but are oh soooo cool, balloon figures that are out of proportion (cough cough...look outside and you'll be bound to see a human personification), and an apparently attempt at some public diplomacy in Vietnamese culture. Yes, the Vietnamese had a large spot in the parade, and yes, just like the time I saw the Chinese guy leading his tour group thru the Vietnam Memorial by holding a Chinese flag, I did, just a pidge, feel awkward.

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Immediately following the parade was a wonderful eh 2 hours say of walking on the dusty, sun-beaten, land-grant imbibed Mall. The theme was "land-grant colleges" and let me tell you, University of Vermont has the best, most exciting major available---Maple Syrup Agriculture Studies---Me venturing into the Catskills, tapping trees, harvesting sweet tree-nectar, and learning Maple Syrup Grading Law? Please, tell me where to sign.
But before I could go get my Graduate degree in Maple Studies, I had to go see the big ol' Capitol Concert. With a Mall under construction and full of equipment, concrete blocks, and rebar, there was limited space and 2 million people who wanted to go see it. What does that mean?, you know, 4 hours of waiting in only 99degree weather with zero cloud cover. Smart? No, could I have died of dehydration, sun poisoning, or have been murdered by a fellow 'Murican for not being 'Murican enough, oh yea. But I am here writing this blog on the 7th, so I made it thru. We did, however,get the esteemed pleasure to see two extraordinary events only by those privileged to come super early 1) We got to see American Idol award winner Phillip Phillips' (or 'Phil Phil' in my terms)  first onstage practice of his first onstage performance since rockin the s#*t out of Idol. Chills (not really, as I was unsure of who he was until way after the fact). 2) We saw Matthew Broderick, yes the guy who played in Inspector Gadget, yes the guy who went to war with Danny Devito over Christmas lights, and yes THE Matthew Broderick who played in the only Godzilla movie to ever happen in America try to sing with a Grammy nominated lady who sung like an angel. Was he pulling her "down" and octave? Well lets just say that out of the 3 times we heard their song, he missed the runway twice. But he ended up pulling it out in the end.


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Nothing beats John Williams. Unless it is John Williams conducting the Olympic march. Unless it is that all on the grass that calls itself the lawn of the Capitol Building. Yea chills. After 4 hours of roasting, and let me state that I enjoy the outdoor activities: running in complete humidity, doing steps under 100degree conditions, golfing on days no one dares to go out, this one tested my will, but so worth it. A great concert, with my favorite actress from Glee, and a new appreciation for getting to things early. That tent though...cool idea with the lights, projections and such, but NOT practical for firework viewing. So, when Tschiakovsky's 1812 Overture was played, it  was a mad dash to the exits. Flags, cups, lawn chairs, they all went flying for the corners to get out. It was a "nice music National Orchestra, but we wanna watch things explode."

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As a native Pittsburgher, I was obviously fascinated by the colorful explosive sparkles that are at every Pittsburgh event. Seeing them with the music in the background was quite the experience, though maybe next time the reflecting pool and West Lawn won't be chewed up so that people can actually watch these things. Eh oh well, got to take what life gives you. In this case, it was a heck of a tan waiting for the nation's capital's glorious display of probably Chinese colored explosives. What a grand day!