09.07.07
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Jewish, Lower East Side, Manhattan, Meats, New Jersey, Pickles, Sandwiches at 7:06 am by Administrator
I try not to spread the rumors I hear in my cab. These are just schlubs I pick up off the street, and I usually have no way to corroborate their stories. The internet is a powerful weapon which, according to my America Online Terms Of Service Agreement that I e-signed in 1994, I have sworn to use responsibly.
But I heard a particularly nasty rumor a little while back that I just had to investigate. I heard that Katz’s Deli is going to be turned into luxury condos. “No no no, you got it all wrong,” I retorted when those words violated my ear holes. “They’re turning the parking lot and Yarakovsky’s container store across the street into condos. That’s already happening.” My brain wouldn’t allow me accept the possibility that it might be true. But my fare told me that he’d read it in Time Out New York, and if James Oliver Curry says it. . .
Apparently, the plan is to close down Katz’s (for the first time since 1888), build condos on top, and then reopen Katz’s underneath. To me, this is terrifying. This is like the “grandma is on the roof” joke. They are setting me up to to let me down easy. So that I won’t just wake up one day and find Katz closed forever, the way 2nd Avenue Deli met its demise not so long ago.
(A close up of Katz’s as it has been for well over a century)
(A wider shot reveals the luxury condo trend on the LES visible just a block away on Orhard, and this shot was taken from the luxury condo construction site mentioned above)
No luxury condo on earth would allow a stinky deli on its ground floor. I think it’s a New York State Law that if there’s anything other than a bank on the retail level of a luxury condo, it’s got to be a Whole Foods.
Guss Pickles as we know it ended the same way. One day, the building’s owner decided to make luxury condos out of the Essex Street location. One morning, they went to open up the store and there was a lock on the gate and an eviction notice. Guss had to move to Orchard Street, but the joke’s on the gentrifiers because I guarantee that first floor will still smell like full sours for at least a decade. Katz’s smell, however, won’t linger if they tear the whole structure down to make way for high rise with floor to ceiling windows on every floor (which look great from the inside, but is starting to make the Lower East Side look like a suburban office park).
I decided to go into Katz’s Deli to do a little snooping . . . and eating. It was late on a weeknight, so there was no line. I walked straight up to that old meat cutter with the white hair and the tatooed forearms (if you eat at Katz’s you know who I’m talking about). As he made me my reuben, I made small talk (and made sure that he saw me put a dollar in that upside down paper cup that acts as a tip jar on the Lower East Side). His name, I found out after eating the meat he cut me for 10 years, is Peter. He’s Russian, and he’s worked at Katz for longer than Bernie was a Yankee.
“So . . . what’s the deal with this luxury condo business?” I asked as if I were Jerry Seinfeld setting up a joke. I wanted him to look at me like I was crazy. I wanted him to flick his wrist and wave his knife dismissively. I wanted him to say that it was just a rumor, a dirty, rotten lie.
But he didn’t. His face dropped. His eyes narrowed. And as he pushed a slice a warm pastrami across the counter for me to nibble, he leaned in and motioned for me to do that same. “You have no idea the amount of money these people are dealing in. . . No idea,” he said in a hushed tone. “But they don’t tell us nothing. It might be a condo with the deli on the bottom. It might be a condo with a lobby on the bottom. It might stay the way it is. They don’t tell us nothing. But you have no idea . . . no idea the amount of money.”
Now, I’ve had more powerful religious experiences at Katz’s than I’ve had at my synagogue. I’ve never felt more Jewish – or more at peace with the world for that matter – than I did while eating my first Katz’s reuben, alone, facing one of the only blank spots on the wall. If Katz’s closes, I may consider moving out of New York. That, or become a Buddhist.
So with the possibility of Katz’s closing, and 2nd Avenue Deli and Pastrami Queen as much a part of New York history as the Checker Cab, I was in the market for a new deli. I’d already heard about this place in New Jersey called Harold’s from an college friend who used to eat at Katz’s with me. Then an old New Yorker in my cab told me Harold’s was the real deal. When I heard a couple of gay Puerto Rican thugs from Newark with their elderly Jewish trick on the Christopher Street Pier announce loudly that they were all going to Harold’s, it was the last straw. It was time for me to branch out.
(Harold’s immediately gets old school cred for the skyline on the sign)
On my last trip down the NJTP I pulled off at exit 10. And there my faith was restored. I found Harold’s everything I’d hoped for and more.
First of all, everything there is oversized. And I don’t just mean oversized the way the way white girls wear their plastic belts in Williamsburg. I mean oversized the way Barry Bonds’ head is oversized. One slice of cake is the size of an entire cake anywhere else:
And, as Harold’s sign boast, in this case “bigger is better.” My pastrami sandwich was delicious. It was moist and tender, fatty without being chewy, with a tempurature like warm apple pie. New Yorkers often claim it’s the city’s water that makes their food so special, so it can’t be duplicated in New Jersey. Granted, I like Katz’s more. And both 2nd Ave Deli and Pastrami Queen were better. So I guess I’m lowering the bar now that the pickin’s are slimmer. Either way though, Harold’s pastrami made me very, very happy.
Harold’s pickles made me even happier though. I’d heard that they had the world’s largest and only free pickle bar. But I assumed that that too was a rumor. A FREE pickle bar?!? Sounded too good to be true.
But there it was, as plain as the Jewish nose on my face. And the pickles were great. New pickles, half sours, full sours (although they call them half sours, sours, and kosher dills as though the others are not kosher and don’t have dill which I think they are and they do). The pickles were almost all crunchy. Not a mushy bloater in the bunch. And the health salad, hot cherry peppers, spicy pickle chips, and pickled tomatoes were all delicious as well. When the sandwich came, a small bowl of completely gratuitous cole slaw came with it, but it ended up being one of the highlights of the meal.
I made more trips to the pickle bar than was appropriate, but at Harold’s it is a culture of abundance and no one batted an eyelash. In fact, the menu encourages sharing at no extra cost. Melissa and I shared one “small” pastrami sandwich, and by the time we left the table we were stuffed. We each got a Dr. Brown’s, we brought home left-over pickles from the bottomless pickle bar along with extra rye bread to go with the extra sandwich and a half worth of left-over pastrami, and the whole thing cost $25 including the tip.
Katz’s will close one day. And I’ve come to terms with that. Maybe there won’t be condos. Maybe there will be condos. But I will most likely see Katz’s shutter its doors before the end of my life. So when that happens, there will be a lot less of this:
And a lot more of this:
Harold’s New York Deli Restaurant, Exit 10 on the NJ Turn Pike, Follow The Signs To Raritan Center until after the clover leaf under the highway, Take a left onto the street where you see the Holiday Inn and Harold’s in the back
Five Borough Food Tourism at FamousFatDave.Com for Katz’s and much more
(On the clock at Katz’s)
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03.01.07
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Manhattan, Seafood, Sushi, West Village at 2:37 am by Administrator
“If you will it, it is no dream.” Theodore Herzl. State of Israel. If you will it, Nigiri, it is no dream.
And that is precisely what Nigiri did. He willed it. His eyes, just moments before glazed over and drooping nearly shut, lit up. His posture improved. His upper lip literally stiffened. And he began to eat once again.
“Did I blow it?” The Big Vashinsky mumbled as he bit off half a yellow tail. I studied my cell phone’s stop watch. It had been more than a minute. Jack counted the pieces remaining on the plate. It was still possible to break the record. Because he started out so strong, because he downed about 30 pieces in the first seven or eight minutes alone, Nigiri still had an outside shot.
“No, you can still do it,” Jack told him as he rubbed his shoulders like a prize fighter between rounds. And so Nigiri ate. And ate. And ate. He’d hit his brick wall, and he’d smashed through it. True, he’d come out slower on the other side, but he was still downing pieces, one after the other. No time for chop sticks. No room for soy sauce. Nigiri was running on pure will power.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, a problem arose. The buzzer that George the sushi chef and the waitress brought out was running fast. Compared with the stopwatch on my cell phone, it was a good two minutes off. This could pose a problem. Do we contest the clock during the heat of competition? That might break Nigiri’s concentration. And even if we did challenge the false clock, we still might end up like the American basketball team of the 1972 Olympics (not to compare Yummy Village to the Evil Empire).
Jack made the decision: don’t let our champ know. Just tell him to keep eating and have him beat the official clock.
The water, which was just a luxury at the start, became a necessity between each bite. The remaining pieces, which ranged from average to slightly larger than average, looked gigantic even to me. And then came the final thirty seconds:
VIDEO OF THE PANDEMONIUM (with an unfortunate audio delay I cannot fix)
With no time left on the clock (yet just over 2 minutes on my clock) Nigiri did it. He swallowed the last piece as the clock hit the buzzer. Pandemonium broke out at Yummy Village.
I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me. It was the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. No, I ain’t never seen no queen in her damn undies. But I have seen the Sistine Chapel. And I have seen the great pyramids at Giza. And I have seen the 1998 Yankees. And I have even seen Takeru “The Tsunami” Kobayashi eat a similar number of hot dogs in just 12 minutes.
But The Big Vashinsky is not a professional. Yummy Village, though it should be, is not on the competitive eating circuit. What Nigiri did that night was something no one could ever take away from him, even if his record falls which, like sands through the hour glass, it surely will. Takeru, a Japanese man, came from Japan to eat a record amount of the ultimate American food- hot dogs- in Nigiri’s neigborhood. And now Nigiri, a Brooklynite, comes to Manhattan to eat a record amount of the ultimate Japanese food. The irony should not be lost.
Nigiri faced a Wall of Fame full of dozens of challengers, some losers, some champions, and he defeated each and every one of them by sheer force of will.
VIDEO OF THE WALL OF FAME
He did not come out of it unfazed. After achieving his sushi immortality, he stumbled out onto MacDougal Street and tried to throw up (I told you I refuse to sugar-coat what we’re really dealing with here). But he couldn’t. It was as though he stomach was saying to him, “NO! We’ve come this far, we won’t lose our honor now.” When he returned from the frigid lower Manhattan elements, he couldn’t get warm for ten minutes. Clearly, all of Nigiri’s blood was in his belly.
During the ceremonial pinning up of the Polaroid, he was still in extraordinary pain.
VIDEO OF THE PIN UP
But even after all that, Nigiri abides.
Nigiri abides. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that. It’s good knowin’ he’s out there, Nigiri, takin’ her easy for all us sinners.
PART II OF THIS TALE IS ALSO PUBLISHED ON SUPERSIZED MEALS DOT COM,THE DIRCET LINK IS HERE
YUMMY VILLAGE SUSHI IS LOCATED ON MACDOUGAL STREET BTWN BLEECKER AND MINETTA LANE IN THE WEST VILLAGE, MANHATTAN
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02.23.07
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Japanese, Manhattan, Sushi, West Village at 9:46 am by Administrator
“A way back east there was a fella. Fella I want to tell you about. Fella by the name of Gary Vashinsky. At least, that’s the handle his lovin’ parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Vashinsky, he called himself “Nigiri.” Now, Nigiri, that’s a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about Nigiri that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived likewise. But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place s’durned innarestin’.”
“They call New York the Big Apple. I didn’t find it to be that exactly, but I’ll allow as there are some big meals there. ‘Course, I can’t say I seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain’t never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I’ll tell you what- after seeing New York and thisahere story I’m about to unfold–well, I guess I seen somethin’ ever’ bit as stupefyin’ as ya’d see in any a those other places, and in English too. So I can die with a smile on my face without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.”
“Now this story I’m about to unfold took place back in early February– just about the time of our conflict with Muqtada Al Sadr and the Eye-rackies. I only mention it ’cause sometimes there’s a man- I won’t say a hero, ’cause what’s a hero?- but sometime’s there’s a man.”
“And I’m talkin’ about Nigiri here. Sometimes there’s a man who, well, he’s the man for his time n’ place. He fits right in there- and that’s Nigiri, in New York City.”
“And even if he’s a lazy man, and Nigiri was certainly that- quite possibly the laziest in Kings County- which would place him high in the runnin’ for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there’s a man. . . Sometimes there’s a man.”
“Well, I lost m’train of thought here. But – aw hell, I done innerduced him enough.”
Yes, this Big Vashinsky is the very same man I profiled a few months back during my all-you-can-eat sushi in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn expose. So it is not surprising, with all of those untold hours of training under his belt, that he felt it possible to take down a sushi-eating record here in Manhattan. It’s called the Yummy Village Sushi Challenge. Eat one more piece than anyone ever has within 20 minutes, and the meal, now valued at somewhere around $150 depending on what’s ordered, is free.
Last week, during Nigiri’s birthday celebration, well after 3 in the morning, the Big Vashinsky decided to go for the gold. The previous record: FIFTY TWO PIECES. But for a guy whose nickname (rarely employed, I admit) IS Nigiri, for a guy who comes from a neighborhood in which all-you-can-eat sushi has gone from craze to way of life, for a guy who never says never, FIFTY THREE nigiri in 20 minutes seemed, somehow, within reach.
And so, with his friends Jack, Melissa, and me to support him along with the waitress and George the sushi chef, he went for it. The support team was ideal. Jack, who recorded the Famous Fat Dave theme song while stuffing himself with sushi from this very Yummy Village, knows what makes The Big Vashinsky tick, and thus knows how to talk to the man even during the most trying of times. Melissa, who lives and dies for sushi and has eaten at Yummy Village late at night many times and so knew what best to order (7 eel, 20 yellow tail, and 26 of some of the tastiest salmon in town), has a calming effect on Nigiri like music on a savage beast. And I have a digital camera and a blog.
When the clocks started, Nigiri started off so furiously, within the first few minutes he put himself IN the game through sheer will power. Fifty three pieces in 20 minutes would not be easy. And most of the winners on the Wall Of Fame noted on their polaroids that they’d broken the record in far less than the alotted time. If The Big Vashinsky didn’t start off strong, there’d be no hope. And he was doing EXACTLY what he needed to do:
VIDEO OF THE FURIOUS PACE
The pace at which Nigiri began consuming nigiri was staggering. The concentration on his face was intense. The determination in his eyes was inspiring:
While Jack did most of the coaching, Melissa ate her own meal alongside Nigiri’s so as to make him feel like less of a spectacle:
But his concentration was so strong, I have the feeling that it wouldn’t have broken had he been under a spotlight in front of a stadium full of angry, drunken Sed Sux fans. He was a man on a mission.
Even George the sushi chef, who stood to lose quite a bit of money late on a random Tuesday night, was altruistically encouraging. Probably assuming that Nigiri would be no match for his Sushi Challenge, George was all smiles as he posed for a picture while the challenger pressed on behind him:
And when it came time (later) for Nigiri’s stomach to revolt against the unwelcome intrusion of raw fish and expanding white rice after much beer and whiskey during a part of the night when he is normally fast asleep, George told The Big Vashinsky he could stand up from the table (something George’s own printed rules forbade). George even encouraged him to do like Takeru “The Tsunami” Kobayashi, the six time Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Champion who has never been beaten in competition with a human (a Kodiak bear once defeated him), and shimmy his belly loose:
VIDEO OF THE TAKERU SHIMMY
No folks, I’m not going to sugar coat this. The event was not a pretty sight. There was a moment somewhere around piece 29 when Nigiri nearly lost it. His cheeked puffed out. His eyes shut tight. His belly let out a great roar and a whine as if an ocean liner was capsizing on the high seas. He put his fist to his pursed lips. We all held our breath in fear and wonder. And then . . . with his fist still pressed to his lips . . . he gave a slow, authoritative wag of his index finger as if to say, “Fish, I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.” We were witnessing the event turn from something out of The Big Lebowski to something out of The Old Man And The Sea. It was now man versus nature.
Nigiri shot an angry glare at the sushi before him. With a flash of his eyes, I understood him to communicate with his adversary, “Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?” And with a determined grunt, Nigiri picked up another piece of sushi and downed it in seconds.
Had he been looking at a copy of The Old Man And The Sea (like I am clearly doing now), I’m sure he would have said, “I think the great DiMaggio would be proud of me today.” Of course the great DiMaggio couldn’t be there that night, but Jack, his eating coach, was most certainly proud:
Now, George and the waitress began to watch in awe as Nigiri forged ahead. At this point, I think, they were starting to believe, as we all had from the start, that he might actually do this. Nigiri was, again, making rapid progress. And they were starting to sweat:
But then, suddenly and for no apparent reason aside from the obvious one, Nigiri couldn’t eat another bite. It was like watching a thoroughbred pull up lame. He’d reach for a piece, and then stop just short of picking it off his plate. Then he’d shake his head as if he didn’t understand what was wrong. I was reminded of the moment Bo Jackson crumbled to the turf upon trying to stand after sustaining the hip injury that ended his career.
VIDEO OF THE INTERNAL STRUGGLE
He’d been my friend for many years already. But the performance I witnessed in just those first 10 or 11 minutes made him my hero. I know I asked, “what’s a hero?” at the start of this piece. But this Big Vashinsky had become my personal hero regardless of whether he would go to finish his 53 pieces or not.
Like the kid who asked Shoeless Joe to “Say it ain’t so,” I asked Nigiri if could eat any more. He shook his head no. I shook my head no in response. I hung my head. My heart sank. I asked if he would mug for a photo while his body refused to cooperate with his heart. The pained image that my camera captured says it all:
But there was still time on the clock. . .
COME BACK NEXT WEEK TO FIND OUT IF NIGIRI CAN FINISH THOSE LAST FEW NIGIRI IN TIME
AND IN AN EFFORT TO ENSURE GARY VASHINSKY BECOMES THE FOLK HERO HE DESERVES TO BE, THIS STORY WILL BE POSTED SIMULTANEOUSLY ON AN AMAZING SITE KNOWN AS WWW.SUPERSIZEDMEALS.COM
THE DIRECT LINK TO PART I ON SUPERSIZEDMEALS.COM IS HERE
YUMMY VILLAGE SUSHI IS ON MACDOUGAL STREET BETWEEN BLEECKER AND WEST 3RD, WEST VILLAGE
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09.21.06
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, Japanese, Manhattan, Posts For Not For Tourists, Seafood, Sushi, West Village at 2:20 pm by Administrator
All-you-can-eat sushi makes some people nervous. But it just makes me excited. Check out the “Tracts” section of Not For Tourists Guidebook’s New York page for a long, sole-searching piece I wrote on a magical neighborhood deep in Brooklyn where all-you-can-eat sushi is a way of life:
Stuffed To The Gills: All-U-Can-Eat Sushi
(Gary: The man behind the fish)
Visit www.FamousFatDave.com to book an eating tour. May I suggest my own version of all-you-can-eat sushi: The Famous Fat Dave Sushi Bar Hop
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05.12.06
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Long Island City, Queens, South Asian at 2:18 am by Administrator
I finally got a new garage. I’d been going to my old cab stand in Greenpoint, Brooklyn for about four years and never made it off the bottom of the totem pole. Cha Cha (accent on the second Cha) is the dispatcher there. He looks like he is under more stress than most generals who stand on a bank of computers and order men into battle (to quote Colbert).
He is from Bombay and lives on India Street in Greenpoint. So he is, naturally, partial to Indians. Plus, the owners of the garage, in the most Polish neighborhood in New York, are Polish. My first day, the owner’s wife said hi to me and asked, “So, do you live around here?” I didn’t realize that was code for, “Are you Polish?” Stupidly, I told her “nope” and she hasn’t talked to me since. I could pass for Polish. Part of my ancestry come from Poland. But really, her great grandfather probably beat my great grandfather up.
Anyhow, it all adds up to a situation in which I show up at the garage, wait for an hour or hour and a half for a cab, and get sent home. . . Repeatedly. The last straw was today, when I woke up at 5am to go to the garage for the day shift, something that should be no problem as it is the night shift that is over loaded with Indian and Polish drivers, yet I was sent home AGAIN.
Fed up, I crossed the Pulaski Bridge to Long Island City and walked into the biggest garage in town:
Midtown Garage in a no nonsense, strict, by the books operation, so I have high hopes that ethnic divisions won’t enter into the picture with their dispatcher. Within an hour, I had access to the biggest fleet of taxis in New York.
Still, there are a lot of Indian cabbies who drive for Midtown too (I didn’t see any Polish drivers though), and I asked a couple of them where to eat in my new work neighborhood. They enthusiastically informed me that just down the block, Five Star Punjabi serves an all-u-can-eat Indian buffet(s?) lunch inside a retro 60s style diner that I doubt began its life as a Sikh cabbie haunt.
I went back for lunch and the pickings were a bit slim, but $8 for all-u-can-eat of any kind is a deal. I chowed down on a smorgaasbord of Indian food tastier than anything I’ve had on 6th Street in Manhattan’s Little India (save Banjara, although Banjara is about twice as expensive and not twice as good). The chcken tikka masala was to die for (until they ran out and didn’t replace it):
And everything they had with chickpeas was especially delicious, particularly the cholley pishori (chickpeas with tomatoes, ginger, garlic, onions, spices, and herbs):
(chickpeas roasting on an open fire)
All-u-can-eat Indian food sounds like a great idea, but it really fills you up before you feel like you’ve taken advantage. Plus, I don’t know if I’ll be going back before my 12 hour shifts of sitting on my ass in the cab. But they are open all night according to my new cabbie colleagues, so I might stop in for a samosa or two after my day is done, assuming I don’t get sent home before I even start.
(my new work neighborhood)
Five Star Punjabi, 1315 43rd Ave btwn 21st St and 13th St, Long Island City, Queens
Check out http://www.famousfatdave.com for a chuckle or to book eating tours
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04.29.06
Posted in All-U-Can-Eat, Japanese, Manhattan, Seafood, Sushi, West Village at 8:47 am by Administrator
Never trust a junkie. I’d say that’s generally good advice. But the price of gas has gone through the roof, taking money straight out of my pocket, so l’ve been in the market for a less expensive sushi joint. Last night I had a guy in my cab who was clearly strung out on something, mostly not making much sense, but he did make one intriguing comment. He was telling me his sad life story when he said, “About ten years ago I had to give up my $200 a week coke habit because I picked up a $300 a week sushi habit.”
He had also apparently picked up a heroin or oxycotin habit since then. But I wondered where he got his sushi fix now that he clearly was spending the bulk of his money on drugs again. He admitted that he rarely ever goes for sushi anymore because he doesn’t have any spare cash. But this was a clever junkie. He told me he gets more than enough sushi at all-u-can-eat nights at Funayama on Greenwich Avenue.
I used to take my private car all the way down to Bensonhurst, Brooklyn to get all-u-can-eat sushi at one of the many competing Japanese spots along 86th Street and Bath Avenue. It was as cheap as $18 tax and tip included, but the sushi was merely average, and now that gas is more than $3 a gallon and the price of sushi went up a buck or two at all those places, it hardly seems worth it. So I took the junkie’s advice and stopped for an extended pit stop at Funayama on Greenwich Avenue.
Every Monday and Thursday nights Funayama serves all-u-can-eat sushi for $23.10 (I did not get a straight answer out of anyone there as to why the ten cents) which comes out to about $30 with tax and tip. I didn’t have time to really get my money’s worth the way I used to in Bensonhurst where I once ate fifty pieces of sushi spread out over a three hour period when a meal with a couple friends degenerated into an eating competition. But I did my best last night:
Just as they are at Yama (the restaurant Funayama spun off from), the negeri pieces are cut huge. And the oversized hand rolls compliment the massive pieces perfectly. The white tuna was not good, but nothing had to be spit out which is more than I could say for the first all-u-can-eat sushi I had in the Village about 8 years ago which had a 10 to 1 ratio of edible to inedible pieces. They charge you $3 for pieces you don’t eat so I had to pocket a couple pieces, but that’s all part of the cat and mouse game that goes on at all-u-can-eat sushi places. Once in Bensonhurst I had to hide an entire dragon roll in my miso soup.
All in all, Funayama was a pleasure. The negeri was fresh and moist, the seaweed and shrimp tempura maki came warm. And I spent the rest of the night in the cab gleefully stuffed. It probably doesn’t sound like much to you, but Funayma wins the prize for best restaurant recommendation by a junkie, and to a cabbie who has met more than his fair share of junkies, that’s saying something.
Funayama, Greenwhich Avenue btwn West 10th and Charles
Check out http://www.famousfatdave.com for a chuckle or to book an eating tour
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