You guys, it was my birthday the other night. My life is most likely half over, if I'm lucky. I woke up to the most Massachusetts birthday a middle-aged man could ask for: Dunkies iced coffee, a donut with a candle in it, and scratch tickets. I am loved. I did a bunch of other amazing stuff too in the past couple weeks. Lots of COOL STORIES, and super slick photos after the thing.
We went out to dinner with all my besties at Russel House Tavern in Harvard Square, which I endorse. Here is me wearing a Captain America mask basically doing my impression of the film, which we had just gotten back from seeing before dinner. Read if you missed it.
Oh right, I never talked about how the It went well, thanks for asking! Here's Hayley and I just spit-balling, you know? Riffing. Just a little friendly banter. Back and forth. Keep rolling, we'll get it on this one, I'd say, then we'd laugh, and it was all good, because it was gold. There was gold in there somewhere. Now all we have to do is cut it into something watchable and hope someone buys it. That shouldn't be hard, right?
Give a fuck about an almond. Them little shits go in the trash. Here's the proper snack mix hierarchy: little orange salsa corn strip things, sesame sticks, spicy peanuts, pepitas, sesame seeds, dog shit, almonds.
Here's me and this one crazy dude I know Al, from They're a good band. Matter of fact their party at the Middlesex is tonight.
Shit all these photos loaded out of order. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now. Here's Dave Dubs at the West Side Lounge making me something annoying probably. I go to this bar more than any other, which someone is probably interested in since I'm a super important bar writer.
OH WORD? FUCKING SICK. LITERALLY I GUESS.
Al again and Carl via Great Scott at their BBQ the other day.
I took a picture of myself at Great Scott in the bathroom so you guys would think I was attractive and then read the blog more. No one likes a fat blogger. Real talk.
LOL at this one cafe Crema in Harvard Square. You've never seen a more pretentious hipster barrista vibe in your life unless you live in one of the many hipper neighborhoods in the world that also have cafes, which, how many of those can there be? Anyway, this sign confused me about what I was so supposed to do, so I shit on the floor.
Jesus, a guy can't poop in peace anymore without dealing with some kind of fascist sign or another telling him when and where and how he's supposed to get the job done. At this place in Chinatown I figured they wanted me to wipe my ass then toss it in the trash.
Talking about food trends n shit with Louis DiBiccari and Will Gilson, top food-making dudes.
Talking about food trends n shit with Louis DiBiccari and Will Gilson, top food-making dudes.
A lot of bars are doing this thing now where they hand pick their own specific barrels from distillers to serve exclusively at their own bar. I wrote about it here. This is a tequila Kevin at Eastern Standard, the best bar program in the city, durr, picked out in Mexico. Then I drank it. Then I took a picture of it. Then you read about it. Farm to blog.
Adding unique barrels of spirits, culled from a specific distiller, is the next logical step on the craft-spirit timeline. Tailoring the type of bottles on your shelf to guest and bartender tastes is one thing: hand-selecting a variety that will be available nowhere else is another level of specificity. Think of it like a butcher picking out the choicest cut of meat — from a specific cow raised on certain grass.
The waiter at this place was like, "Uh, that's a lot of food." SHUT UP. YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME? I didn't say, but I thought it. He was right though in the end. He was better than me.
GOOD TO KNOW.
Here's Michelle looking pretty as eff. She'll probably still be mad that I posed this picture though. Girls, am i Right FellAas?
No idea what this is or why I took it. OH SHIT, RIGHT. It was at Ten Tables in JP, and I could not stop staring at that amazing loaf of bread in the background. Was like torture forcing myself to not reach across the bar and devour the entire thing like a bear who found a pie on a window sill.
Here's You Can Be A Wesley at my TV taping thing. They were good.
The Field Effect were also good. Pro reviews right there.
The ramen and pork and mushroom ragu at Moksa are pretty dees. I ordered too much here. Starting to see a pattern in my life.
I wrote about Blouse on here the other day, but I spent way too much time talking about the music and not enough focusing on the really important details, like the singer's pegs. Jesus dude. The stems on that dame. - a male blogger
Birthday dinner at Russel House. You should eat there. Like, a chip in farm egg, and smoky lamb toast, and head cake, which is like a pigs face ground up and breaded and fried with a poached egg on top. Miss you already pig man :(
Hard to argue with science. I'll take two.
Park is the other new place in HrvdSQ. They put yummy things on toast.
This is on the wall at this place The First Printer in, you guessed Harvard Square. LOL @ the ad to content ratio on this old timey newspaper. It's like the opposite of this dumb blog.
brought to you by
7 comments:
if i had nice pegs i might just wear shirts too. pants are for pussies and pears.
Turbo Ice or Dark Roast. These things are IMPORTANT!
Regular ass Dunkies, whatever that is. One Milk, One Sugar.
Your pegs look pretty good from here bb!
So you eat a lot of Pho and go to shows all the time? Anyways, what is the TV pilot? I must of missed that one.
"Regular ass Dunkies, whatever that is" ahhahhaha
I guess those are things I do.
There's a link in the post to a thing about the TV pilot. It's like a talk show set in a bar, where I interview Boston and New England people about things. We'll see how it goes. Filming went well.
Post a Comment