Happy Independence Day, America! Isn’t it ironic how our forefathers so vehemently fought for our independence from
I was excited to head to NJ Friday afternoon to meet up with the rest of the Pineda clan. Morgan Stanley had graciously granted me a half day at work. When I called for a pick-up at the bus stop in Cranford I knew something was amiss from Val’s short and detached phone manner. I was not surprised to find out the van had a flat tire.
Juan had actually noticed a slow leak that morning and brought the van in to the local Goodyear store where their obviously incompetent technicians found nothing wrong. On top of that, Juan had now been waiting four hours for their tow truck to bring the van back to the shop. It never came. We ended up calling AAA who arrived within the half hour. Yeah AAA. Boo Goodyear. Oh well, no real Pineda sojourn is complete without some unplanned disaster. At least we got it out of the way up front.
The first stop on our little road trip was Target where we shopped our cares away as the mechanics at Goodyear replaced the tire. We finally hit the road four hours later armed with our gourmet Target dinner - turkey jerky, an industrial-sized Frito-Lay variety pack, Swedish fish and Pepperidge Farm Tahoe cookies. Don’t judge, we were stress eating.
Thankfully, we missed a lot of the holiday traffic due to our late departure. Even so, we made our regular pit stop, the Maryland House rest area, for crab & cheese soft pretzels at Phillips. It sounds gross, but they’re actually quite delicious. By midnight we were luxuriating in our regular DC hotel, the Omni Shoreham.
With our first night in DC a bust, we headed to bed without even ordering room service. I know, it’s so unlike us but we were ass tired. Don’t you worry, we made up for it the next day at lunch by ordering a 50-ounce T-bone steak. You read correctly, a 50-ounce steak! And that was just one of five courses - yes, five.
With our first night in DC a bust, we headed to bed without even ordering room service. I know, it’s so unlike us but we were ass tired. Don’t you worry, we made up for it the next day at lunch by ordering a 50-ounce T-bone steak. You read correctly, a 50-ounce steak! And that was just one of five courses - yes, five.
Acqua al 2 is a little Italian restaurant we stumbled into by accident. We were wandering around Eastern Market, a fun but over-priced flea market/tourist trap near capital hill, looking for some good food and a place to get out of the oppressive DC heat. We literally picked the place at random from the many restaurants on the block. Turns out it’s been touted as one of DC’s best new restaurants - pay back for yesterday’s flat tire.
Our Italian feast consisted of a salad sampling menu, an antipasto platter, a pasta sampling menu, the aforementioned steak (at left) and a dessert sampling menu. I’d go into detail but there were just so many different dishes, all of them lip-smacking good. Just check out the menu here. The highlight, of course, was that perfectly cooked hunk of cow flesh, seared and juicy, wet-aged and so yummy you didn’t need extra sauce or seasoning. Our sassy waitress, Khamise (rhymes with chemise), kept the bread basket full and the platters coming. Coincidentally, she mentioned the chef is Filipino - holla!
Oh, I totally forgot to mention our ultra-cool drink, a lemon vodka-based concoction spiced with hot peppers. You could actually see the pepper seeds floating on top. Spice + alcohol = love. I learned that in AP calculus.
Bloated and tipsy, we headed back out into the sticky heat and straight to a gelato stand. Yes, we literally rolled our fat asses away from a five-course meal and down the block for a second dessert. We’re sick, sick people.
After our Italian food orgy we hopped back on the metro for the ride back to the hotel. I know the DC metro is immaculately clean and doesn’t smell like urine and homeless people like the NYC subway, but their pass system is not visitor friendly. Every stop is a different price and you have to swipe that flimsy paper card to enter AND exit. And what genius decided to carpet the train cars? Seriously, that’s just nasty.
Oh, did I mention we also ordered a few “snacks” along with our drinks to get us through until dinner? Just a pulled pork sandwich, a
After a power nap to help digest the day’s incredible caloric intake, we headed out for a late dinner at Medaterra, a Middle Eastern restaurant around the corner from our hotel. To keep Val on course with her imbiber’s resolution, we immediately ordered a pitcher of sangria. We then followed with an array of appetizers for a tapas-style dinner - corn and spinach risotto, grilled shrimp, taboula, lamb sausage, pork chops, garlic string beans, bruschetta and mussels. Again, just some light fare before bed. We ended up skipping dessert. Who wants those extra calories?
It took great effort not to vomit up the contents of my stomach on the walk back to the hotel, but I managed the two blocks incident free. Weary from the day's alcohol and food binge, I fell into a deep, coma-like slumber as soon as my greasy head touched down on my pillow. This is what hibernating bears must feel like. Then the nightmare began. There were flashing lights and sirens and a strange voice was speaking to me.
Wait, this wasn't a dream, it was the fire alarm!
Believe it or not, at 2 AM the fire alarm in the hotel began a banshee-like wailing. In surreal contrast, a female voice from a speaker in the wall then calmly told us to proceed to the nearest stairwell to evacuate. Two minutes later, Val rushed into our room, roused us out of our beds and pushed us toward the stairs. Apparently she was already wide awake, stricken by a mild case of DC's local version of Montezuma's revenge, or as I like to call it, Lewinsky's other dirty little secret. I leaned over the edge of the railing and looked down at the bottomless pit of the stairwell. Why the hell did we request a high floor?
Seeing all the pajama clad guests funnelling into the stairwell, I was actually impressed by how put together most people looked. Yes, most wore mismatched t-shirts and shorts or bathrobes, but how come I was the only one with pillow lines across their face and bushy disheveled hair? It was as if the hotel was taken over by perfectly coiffed movie-extra hotel guests.
Around floor two we came to a standstill. If there really was a fire, we would soon be a delicious mound of human barbecue. We soon spotted the source of our log jam, an elderly lady in a wheel chair who was now forced to limp slowly down the last couple of flights. Why did her two young, healthy caregivers not fling her bony ass over their shoulders and haul her schmata-clad frame down those stairs? What 'evs, I was just too darn tired to panic. If I burn, at least I had one helluva last meal.
We finally made it outside. There was absolutely no sign of urgency from the guests or the basically non-existent hotel staff. Hundreds of guests were calmly milling around, just a few feet from a potentially towering inferno. Then came the sirens. Two fire trucks pulled up. Again, absolutely no sense of urgency from anyone. Put everyone in tuxes and gowns and it could've been intermission at the Met.
Finally, a bellman announced that all was safe and that we could return to our rooms. We decided to wait it out given the capacity of the two elevators is about five people if two of them happen to be Olsen twins. Fifteen minutes later we headed into the lobby where at least a dozen people were still waiting at each elevator. Grudgingly, we decided to take the stairs back up to the eighth floor. Note to self, avoid stairs if you've eaten thrice your body weight within the last 24 hours.
Finally, sweaty and nauseous we climbed into our disheveled beds. Thus ended day two of our Road Trip to Ruin.
I’ll post Part Deux of our trip shortly. Check back soon.
Me and my big wiener
Juan's poolside mudslide
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