Friday, November 23, 2012

Giving Thanks to Bobby Flay


I think the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving is way over-rated.  I mean, I’m all for family and obscene gluttony, but do you think that sweet, white-haired granny was thankful for getting up at four in the morning to shove a hormone-jacked turkey into the oven for that brood of grinning lazy-asses who just stopped by for a free meal?  Notice the only person in the photo without a huge, toothy grin is granny.   Her and gramps are definitely putting on a polite face, but what I see under those wire-rimmed glasses is a thought bubble that reads, “You ungrateful bastards only come and visit me once a year and then expect me to cook you a bacchanalian feast.  Damn you all!”

Thankfully, the Pineda clan decided against a Rockwellian feast but instead opted for a civilized sit down at Bobby Flay's Bar Americain.  Why slave in the kitchen all day when you can have illegal immigrants slave for you in a fancy New York restaurant?  For less than the price of a Broadway show, you get a gourmet meal served to you by an army of doting waiters and hostesses.  What's not to be thankful for?

We stuffed ourselves silly on some rather un-Thanksgiving-like choices - rack of lamb, pork chops and prime rib - no gobblers on our table.  For eighty bucks, I'm not going to order something I can get in a Hungry-Man meal out of our grocery store freezer.  Unfortunately, dad just recently underwent oral surgery so he had to settle for the less meaty, though tasty, salmon option.

This was actually the second time we've taken advantage of Bobby Flay's culinary skills over the holiday.  Two year's ago, Juan, Val and I gave thanks here when the rest of the clan was unable to make the trip up to Jersey for the holiday. 

Following the meal, we waddled down Sixth Avenue with stomachs distended and made an impromptu stop at Radio City for some picture taking.  Swept up by the holiday spirit and the crowd gathered outside, Juan and Val decided we needed some post-meal time with the Rockettes.  So with two minutes to show time, Juan got in line and bought tickets for the whole family.

I've seen my share of Radio City Christmas Spectaculars given the fact I basically followed my good friend Chris around the country during his heyday as a Radio City dancer and Santa understudy.  No matter how many times you see them, those damn Rockettes never fail to disappoint.  Even with the music hall's new, cheesy digital backdrop, you can't help but catch some Christmas spirit with all those high kicking legs.  My only gripe is the director's blatant attempt to capture the teen boy demographic with that awful (and painfully overlong) video game sequence.  If you can't get a boy to pay attention with 50 half-naked women on stage, a video game ain't gonna' help.  My dad actually fell asleep during that sequence.  'Nuff said?

Val, Trish, Me, mom and dad at Thanksgiving dinner.  Juan used the fancy new panorama setting on his iPhone.

The only drawback to a restaurant Thanksgiving is that there are no leftovers to gnaw on when you get the munchies at midnight after throwing-up your dinner.  We managed to solve this little dilemma by throwing a second, post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner the following Saturday.  You may well ask, “Dearest Fausto, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of going out and having a restaurant Thanksgiving?”  Not if you order your post-Thanksgiving "Thanksgiving" dinner from a supermarket, silly.

Yes, thanks to the lovely folks at Martin's (formerly Ukrop's) supermarket in Richmond, we had a full Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings pre-cooked and ready for reheating.  No peeling potatoes or turkey basting this year.  And you still get your bag-o-leftovers for the rest of the week.  I'd say that's a win-win all around.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Award for worst theatre etiquette goes to...

After experiencing texting tweeners, ringing cell phones, snackers (can you really not go 2 hours without stuffing your fat faces, people?) and bad hygiene, I was sure I had seen and smelled it all at the theatre.  But I guess I was wrong.

Today's award for worst theatre etiquette goes to the twenty something hipster at the urinal next to me at the Public Theatre (I was seeing Giant) who, for the length of his 30-second pee, could not pry his eyes away from his smartphone.  He literally whipped it out (his wee wee and his phone), let it hang and drain and then proceeded to check his email.  Or perhaps to live blog?  No matter, there are some things not meant for multi-tasking. 

I do hope he washed his hands and wiped down his phone after.
"I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing thana hundred people's ninth favorite thing."

Jeff Bowen, Lyrics "[Title of Show]"