Steve's Lousy With Ideas, Vol. 1

The old man has taught me plenty in my twenty-five years on this planet, and along with Momma A they have instilled some hard and fast cooking values into me that will hopefully benefit me the rest of my life, provided our country doesn't devolve into a dystopia with food riots and meal pills and filtering one's own urine for drinking water. One such tenet of the Anderson men is our predilection to oysters, specifically the raw ones. And I woke up one Saturday morning and noticed Jacques Pepin on PBS doing a rundown of basic seafood preparation. When I saw how easy it was to simply obtain raw oysters, shuck them, and serve them much like the old man loved so much back when I was still living at home, I grabbed our well-worn and eternally loved copy of The Joy of Cooking off the shelf, and with oysters fresh from Coleman's Fish Market down by the folks' house in Wheeling, WV, I decided to try something new and had a small oyster party for myself.



The process itself wasn't very difficult. Grab a towel, grab a knife (since I didn't have an oyster shucking knife, I just used a paring knife instead of spending twelve dollars for one meal on a knife I would probably use ten more times in my lifetime like a jerk), scrub the grime off the oysters with a grill brush, and cut the oysters' muscles when I got them opened up. Not too much more to say expect these were delicious. Any amorous intention that oysters supposedly conjure up in the loins of their consumer is probably gospel truth, since these gave me a hard-on that could have led me around like a seeing eye dog.

With the requisite condiments (fresh horseradish, fresh lemon, and cocktail sauce), I got to work arranging my plate so as to utilize all half-shell slurping potential. Magnificent results soon followed.



Also, if you'll remember last week's A#1 BBQ we covered, I mentioned that I purchased some tuna steaks and more oysters at the store to be hidden away from the roving fools I consider my friends. Well, naturally, later I did the same thing and threw all that together secretly, only this time you can add broiled garlic-stuffed tuna steak, some tasty beets and greens, and oysters on Kavli crisp crackers (one of Norway's finest exports) to the list. I topped it off with a Hoegaarden I found in the back of the fridge. Did I mention that I LOVE EATING?!







I am also openly challenging our readers to a raw oyster eating contest. If you think you've got the stones, get in touch. You know where to find me.

Speaking of ideas both good and bad, the soundtrack around the house lately has been spiced up with a new 7" compilation series that has prompted some wags over at Termbo to hold a new selection of 7" EP's to the high standards of Am Rep's Dope, Guns, and Fucking in the Streets series of the 80's and 90's. But the focus today is on what many would lazily dub "weird punk" instead of "pigfuck" or noise rock or whatever you like to call Am Rep's varied output over the years. The series that is here in the now, and is doing a fine job of highlighting bright, under-appreciated stars in the underground punk sky is Almost Ready Records' The World's Lousy With Ideas compilations.



Almost Ready is run by a gent named Harry Howes (coincidentally the guy who hepped me to the Rats!) who migrated back to the Massachusetts in the contiguous USA after a furlough over in Hawaii. He certainly came back with a plan and with this series, he lined up some prominent (Home Blitz, Dan Melchoir, Wax Museums, Nobunny) and not-so-prominent (Lady Doctors, Fag Cop, etc.) bands to drop a tune on the pile, alternately kickstarting the collector scum fury for the bands' earlier releases, but also giving some stranger acts a first crack at wider exposure.

The disparate pairings of bands is the saving grace here. With a single volume, the listener can be treated to the trashed-out two-man thud of a primitive ensemble like Fag Cop, whose "My Daddy's Got White Trash Friends" stands as one of the dumbest yet greatest wadings into the Reatards/scumpunk gene pool that I've heard in quite awhile, or the mid-90's sandpaper punk guitar scrapings of a combo like Coconut Coolouts who channel a tuned-up yet slowed-down ghost of Kraut with their number "Messed Up Man". My favorite song of all the series so far has to go to Nobunny's "Hippy Witch" on Volume 3, even when the locked groove begins its torturous journey to the end of my sanity when I'm trying to read a book.

Volume 6 should be hitting the streets soon, and the proposed volumes I've heard about from Harry have me salivating for what is coming up. A few of the volumes have gone out of print as of this writing, but represses are on the way or in the case of Volume 1, out on the streets right now. However, I'd recommend heading over to ARR's Myspace to keep up with when future volumes will be forthcoming. Mine are all OG's though, and I like to think I've got some of the funniest sleeve designs. My personal favorites being the black cheerleader/wolfdog of Volume 2 and the swastika ladies' hockey team of Volume 5 I got the hockey sleeve special. Hope you get the special Burger King tape. Thanks, Harry! Eat up!

Leekfest 2008

Sometimes the good time you need more than anything to take your mind off the hustble and bustle in town is a simple roadtrip away. And when you've got red-VW-driving friends like Eric Courtney and Roxanne, sometimes you get to go on these trips and have the time of your life. We hopped in the car with the Cig and headed to Northwestern, PA for Leekfest at the West Line Inn three hours north. While I expected a grand day in the sunshine with the gang, I was unprepared for the bounty of amazing food, trashy bikers, good vibes, and general thumbs-up situations we found ourselves ensconced in on this particular day.

There's not much online information about Leekfest, but I'll give you the basics I gleaned from Roxanne and associated family members over the course of the day. It's been going on for over twenty years in this extremely small town on the outskirts of the Allegheny National Forest. It's held at the historic West Line Inn, which was a really interesting old building with a great staff of friendly country dwellers.

Since there no vegetarians in the car, we indulged every culinary creation that presented itself with impunity, starting with the most interesting gas station find in some time:



Buffalo style spicy/sweet cashews. Yes, they are as delicious as you might think. We were finally able to polish off this bag by the time we had reached our destination, and that was quite a feat because these pack a punch and will not only sugar-shock you, but salt-shock you as well. Bonus.



The countryside was beautiful and we were greeted by a pheasant while we parked the car and got ready to enter. The community was packed with revelers, with the local populace exploding to 100 times its normal size for this event annually.



After paying the five dollar entrance fee, here is the Inn and a portion of the crowd. This is not including the stage setup to the right, featuring admittedly awful acoustic cover sets from local yahoos. But the first group that played was a four-man bluegrass ensemble who legitimately started the day off properly as we went for our first beers inside, where luckily enough, two of Roxanne's cousins were the bartenders. Since she doesn't drink, we had a designated driver who was not only nice enough to bring us along, but also got us drunk rather cheaply. Ciggy said it best: "Roxanne is THE BEST." Truth.com!





Here's the first thing we slammed, the Greek Leek sauce dog. Quite frankly, one of the best I've ever had. Toppings included: meat sauce (similar to Texas-style dogs, if that helps), diced leeks, whole leeks, mustard, onions, relish. Everyone knocked one back and we moved onto the real menu after checking out the bikers and tossing back a beer or two.





I was extremely happy as soon as we entered. We ditched our jackets and got back to work. This should give you a better idea of the crowd size:



Yuengling had a hand in the festivities as well. Bonus!



Despite being thoroughly confused by the ticket system at first, thanks in part mostly to Ciggy's "jammers" we indulged in beforehand, the menu looked quite promising.





Here is the owner of the Westline Inn, standing outside the deep-friend leek station. This was the second item we polished off the menu. Tickets were a buck apiece and one could conceivably get stuffed for less than ten bucks.



The finished product:







Up next came the turket meatball sub, which hit the spot and was the only menu item lacking leeks, aside from the strawberry shortcake which no one got the chance to eat.



We also got to meet Roxanne's dad, who was a complete badass and a perfect example of how to grow to be a man in this day and age. He helped get us drunk and laughed at our exploits. Here are the boys of Spring, including Eric Courtney's new starring role in "Meet the Parents".



A tasty and unassuming concotion of ham and leek provided our next culinary adventure. I do believe that Ciggy ate at least two of these.



I took on the leek sausage and potato, ham, and leek chowder next. This was probably my favorite food of the day.





After awhile I just dipped my sausage into the chowder. Steve #1.



Inside the bar when returned to get a drink, everyone got freaked out by the Bigmouth Billy Bass-esque deer head that would sing to you when it was touched. I became extremely confused when I touched the rubberized head and it swirled around to look at me and then broke into song. The real deer head a foot to the left was not much help, either. They scammed us city folk but good.



The bikers were in assless full force and confused when asked for pictures.

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Not only were monsters like this one in attendance, but there were plenty of 1%ers about, including David Allan Coe's old motorcycle club, the Outlaws. Yipes! We had realized that when we saw hundreds of motorcycles lining every road that we (especially us dudes) needed to be on our absolute best behavior, lest we end up being scraped off the leathers and boots of bruisers or angry meth dealers. Amazingly, we remained unscathed as the day drew towards its zenith. However, we did become aware that bikers are the kings and queens of offensive/hilarious/genius bumper stickers, back patches, regular patches, t-shirts, and vest writing. Next time, give them a close look. I couldn't stop laughing at every slogan that passed by: "If you can read this, THIS BITCH JUST PASSED YOU!".



West Line Inn menu. Looks quite promising.

Despite our pledge to good behavior, Cig and I still needed to get into some trouble.



I love the enthralled stare in the background. Time to get punk.



I followed up with another leek sausage.



After bidding goodbye to this wonderful community, we headed back to the city. We made sure to stop off at a random gas station for a spot of ice cream the way they can only do it out in the sticks. I grabbed a chocolate and peanut butter cup waffle cone model, and my first ice cream in about a year was as good as you would imagine. I'm getting misty thinking about it now. I guess I'll just have to stop back there next year.



Since there weren't any records to be found and honestly, the bands onstage had about 1/10th the spark of a decaying horse cock, we were satisfied with Roxanne's iPod on shuffle the whole way there. But on the way home, I just said "Just jam the Velvets". With that, we revisited the classic third VU album. While I've been a VU fan for a long time now, sometimes I have to debate with myself which particular album resonates the most for me at that particular time. Some days I believe White Light/White Heat is the untouchable jumping-off point of their greatness. Or I may wake up to The Velvet Underground and Nico, a mug of green tea, and a beautiful sunrise. Perhaps full-fledged pop genius is the order of the day and Loaded will make its way to the top of the heap. But as I think about it right now, when driving through the wondrous majesty of true, wild nature, staring out the window at an ever-brightening moonlight brushing the tops of the trees and illuminating the stars around us, perhaps it doesn't matter. Perfect music will always fit our perfect moments. And here I believe you can see a touch of my ebullient side:



Thanks West Line and Roxanne for everything. I will be back next year come hell or high water. Eric Courtney and I have discussed the West Virginia Rampfest as well. Stay tuned.

Quattrone's Poutine and Rob Henry's Anxiety

The chef in his glory on my old bathroom floor, circa 2006.

Here's one from the vaults of wintertime I had saved for posting here. A few months back, local nightspot Remedy in Lawrenceville hosted "Neil Young Night". Naturally, Paul Quattrone from Modey Lemon/Midnite Snake/Baby Bird/Italian Ice (Jesus, that's enough for now!) had a raunchy food idea cooked up and decided to salute our steely Canadian brethren and whip up that wonderful concoction I've been waiting for since Vinnie and I soldiered up to Toronto two years ago known as poutine. Unfortunately, when I was bumming through Queen Street, I learned that poutine is much more common in a French-Canadian city like Montreal where everyone is wacked on PCP all day and not so easy to find in a burgh like Toronto where everyone is content to be drunk on shitty beer like Labatt 50 instead.



While bootleg Neil footage blared through the projector and sound system upstairs, the jukebox (when turned on) cycled through the requisite gems in his catalog, much to the delight of uber-fans like Lil' Suzz. The place was packed with our friends and I finally got a chance to give poutine a go. Barring any trips to Montreal ("Vive le Steve!") in the near future, I must say that the poutine was delicious! The combination of curds, fries, and gravy hit the spot. And while Canadians or Wisconsinites may take issue with their curds with a vehement proud streak, the Pittsburgh version suited me just fine. Despite having to eat standing up in a crowded bar, I'd give the experience an A- when food, soundtrack, company, and location are all added up in this great internet equation known as 7-Inch Slam.







While I was there, I ran into my friend Ben Smartnick, straight-edge rogue and one-half of the guitar corps of up-and-coming local powerhouse Kim Phuc. He had a copy of their then just-released 7" to slip me, and I was quite pleased to be an early recipient before the general public could hound away for this 300-press gem.



I do believe this is now out of print, but you may be able to write the band for more.



Kim Phuc has been gigging around town for quite awhile now with Ben and vocalist Rob Henry as constants, and most notably with the newest lineup featuring Corey from Caustic Christ/Aus Rotten on bass, local heartthrob Eli on second guitar, and local roustabout TFP on drums. Their sound has been refined in a gristmill of dark, brooding, anxiety-ridden punk: rain-soaked and rusted, much like many parts of our city, owing as much to 80's Northwestern punk and warbly post-punk as to hints of Rudimentary Peni's Death Church. Rob Henry wails and stomps and spits out his neuroses on wax, and you can feel the palpable tension contract and expand as the walls close in around him. Despite his reputation as a ball of pleasure, the lyrics dwell in a sub-basement of the human condition, all sweat and jitters and regrets long since washed-over.



While the recording here doesn't have the punch of their upcoming 2-song effort on Criminal IQ, the songs have no trouble standing up to the given treatment and generally overcome any sonic issues, especially in the case of the B-side, where they sufficiently punk out and deliver a knee to the solar plexus akin to their live show which earns them more and more fans as time goes by. Up above you can see the author with RH in all our glory, right after I'd ingested fungus that was both a blessing and a curse, since I enjoyed the show immensely, despite Eric Courtney and I ending up at a ski resort six hours away at 7 in the morning the next day. But what can you say? A youthful indiscretion, perhaps, but our motto around these parts is don't fear the afterlife.

Keep your eyes peeled for more from these fine folks. They have recently played out in NYC and Philly, and with a substantial string of local gigs coming up (some with good-to-great bands and some that I generally will excuse myself for [which I find to be Kim Phuc's only real failing: SELECTIVITY OF SHOWS]) I can only assume they will continue doing us proud here in Pittsburgh until Rob Henry finally collapses. And that's a day I hope will never come.

Kim Phuc photo courtesy of Laila A.

Subways, Sidewalks, Dude Talk

The first BBQ of the year passed recently over at my humble abode. With a group of goons consisting of Slam stalwarts including HONE, Cla$$y Chris, fan favorite Ciggy, and newcomer Eric Courtney, we grilled and jammed and eventually all had to be chauffeured away from the general public that night to mask our drunken loutish behavior which would have put even El Duce or any other Chief's Cafe patron to shame. But while we took over the courtyard on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon wiling away the hours with assorted HONE mixtapes, HEAVY ROCK percolated in our veins, ready to blast through our skin and unleash itself violently, painting the walls with manly aggression while simultaneously setting back progressive politics about forty years.



I wanted to prepare something new for this BBQ, so I took a trip down to the seafood counter down at the grocery store. I picked up a lot of seafood, only some of which I would share with my foolish brothers-in-stomach. I decided that since we had an abundance of skewers in the apartment that belonged to Suzz that I would prepare scallops wrapped in bacon and fresh shrimp on the grill. This turned out to be one of my finest BBQ creations yet, and I have only the loving birthday gift from Momma A and Johnny Rando last year: How to Grill: The Complete Illustrated Book of Barbeque Techniques by Stephen Raichlan to thank.



Here is the grill getting its first use since Pittsburgh became a sopping-wet, snow-covered wintertime muck seven months ago:



I also purchased some tuna steaks and oysters, but those were for me, not my yutz friends, so they will be in a forthcoming entry. After lugging the charcoal back up the street, I dove into the case of Wolaver's Pale Ale that Rob Henry and I had purchased the day before and waited for the guests to shuffle into sight.



The beauty of grilling scallops with bacon is that while scallops normally turn chewy and difficult to manage after a few minutes, the bacon exterior seals in moisture and flavor and keeps the scallop dripping with smoky, delicious (not to mention free) seasonings. The shrimp was left on its own after being skewered and squirted with fresh lemon and dusted with spices. Which one proved to be the winner is difficult to say. Folks like bacon, but I can also respect going sans red/white meat and just enjoying some light but hearty seafood. My own personal tastes drift farther and farther towards our oceanic inferiors as time moves on, but I believe that truly great seafood can overtake most meats when stacked side-by-side.



And naturally, in an effort to piss off some of the sloppier and more pedantic meat-eating readers out there and make myself feel superior simultaneously, I prepared some grilled vegetables which turned out delightfully. Thanks to How To Grill, I spent some of my prep time putting together some eggplant and tomatoes with some fresh basil finally culminating in what became grilled eggplant and tomato with caprese "salsa".



Here is the finished product:



This turned out to be a great idea, since not only could this combo of fresh mozzarella, basil, olive oil, and tomato stand alone as a vegetable topping, but it also held up its end of the bargain when Eric Courtney returned from the store and slapped some chicken breasts on the grill afterwards and I took it upon myself to create a Frankenstein monster of a chicken sandwich with all the previously mentioned ingredients. As someone who has been lukewarm on many types of chicken in my life, this hit the spot and provided a nice counterbalance to the upcoming foodstuffs.



After making some burgers and dogs, we decided we needed more ridiculous food. Cla$$y and Cigs headed off to procure more silly meats and then returned with a pile of sausages, lamb chops, encased tubes filled with meat-like puddings, and basically whatever else they could shove into their baskets.



So now we were stocked to the gills with all the chorizo, andouille, blood sausage, spicy garlic knockwurst, kielbasa, garlic ring bologna, liver pudding, kiska with beef blood, and sausage rolls that five diseased minds could cobble together in a quest to further pollute ourselves.



After all this was cooked, it began to rain, so we brought the party back inside and took turns stabbing at plates of sausage in my kitchen like the ravenous ghouls we had become.





If you noticed the secret filet of salmon hidden in the back of the sausage orgy, it's because you're on the ball. Eric Courtney and I made short work of it.





This hot little number is still in my fridge being slowly eaten away, but I thought I'd post a picture of it to let you know that the bologna you hated as a kid is still as delicious as ever and that you are a fool. Someone get me some rye bread and spicy mustard, stat!



So where does this all lead on the great cosmic train of nourishment and pleasure? Well, as I mentioned before, HEAVY ROCK (and the concept of) is here this spring in a big way over on the turntable and especially in this Termbo thread I started. There are two records right now that are blowing the windows out at my house with their constant plays. Hard, grinding, brutal, mean-spirited HEAVY ROCK is the order of the day!



Pictured above is the new 7" by Sacramento, CA's Mayyors. There is literally no web presence to link you to. Mayyors don't do it. No Myspace, no site, no email, no nothing. The band is made up of Sacramento folk including FM Knives' Chris Woodhouse providing his unhinged guitar histrionics in addition to manning the 8-track for the production duties here and also contributing a scalding recording full of the tangential fringe psyche-punk touches that bands like Monoshock mined to great (or not-so-great) success back in the 90's. But here we find the dirges more pronounced and bass-heavy, the guitars and effects panning from speaker to speaker with little regard to the listener, and vocals that David Yow would be proud to spit through a blood-spattered megaphone.

The Gordons "Future Shock" EP may provide a good example of the grinding and hissing that permeates the record's veneer, while filtering the churning murk through any of the modern noise-rock heavies that are experiencing a rejuvenation and rebirth right now (basically what I am saying here is that I don't want to make another Brainbombs comparison that a lot of lazy descriptors have already, because I don't find it applicable). Variety lurks in every revolution of this platter and there are twists and turns a-plenty for those who want to investigate.

While my description is limited, since this record appeared in a pressing of 300 copies issued by the band's own Waste of Oil records that instantly sold out, I suppose you have full license to cop a download of it from your preferred source and form your own opinions. I've had my copy spinning pretty regularly thanks to a quick Paypal finger and S-S listing the last few on his site before the stock dwindled, so unfortunately today I gloat and tomorrow you eBay. Hate to do it to you. There's supposedly another 7" on its way from the band, so keep your ear to the street.

Here is a photo I swiped of them in action from 7inches.blogspot.com:



Moving on...


Speaking of HEAVY ROCK and S-S Records and all the finer things in life, since there are 300 copies of the Mayyors EP and 600 copies of the Billy Bao "Fuck Separation" 10"(pictured above) out there, at least 900 people in the world can own a piece of a brooding, teeth-gnashing scene that grows bigger and bigger everyday. Before the metal chumps take over and buy and sell your band (and they will... do you remember what happened to hardcore?), here is how to get in on the ground floor.

Billy Bao's story is probably one of the more intriguing in modern punk. A Nigerian named Billy Bao ends up having his life saved by punk rock, hurdling cultural walls to the Basque Country in Spain, and then hooks up with like-minded Spaniards to form a juggernaut producing one of the most hypnotic 10" EP's of all time. Here is what he says about himself on his website:

When I came from Lagos (Nigeria) to San Francisco (Bilbao)
life was tough here or there.
I did not mind, I had a purpose in my life:
to fight the system that fucks up everyday of our life. Back in my hometown,
I was an unknown songwriter
but, as soon as I arrived to the streets of Bilbao, I discovered Punk Rock.
It had energy and attitude and was exactly what I needed.

Inspiring, eh? The two songs on this record breathe sonic hate and perilous torture and humankind's descent into the flesh-melting inferno of our own self-awareness and selfishness and greed. The music cross-fades back and forth, confusing and startling the listener, while the grinding riff each song is built upon are played as loudly and strongly every single second of the record. However, the lyrics take on a whole different set of stripes. Instead they tackle European border control and racism on one track and the ghettoization of punk's ideals on the flip. With a curve like that, I began to appreciate this record even more than I did previously. Add to that some exquisite white screened packaging on white vinyl (a direct counterpoint to the Mayyors black on black on black aesthetic) and you have a must-own record that you still have a chance of owning in these heady times that one must navigate with an adventurer's courage and a ready bank account (which is obviously not what it's about, so forgive me while I hold my nose). Fans of anything heavy would be pleased to know that Billy Bao has a few other releases out there, including an LP on Parts Unknown, so do some digging, and I would say check with S-S first.

Also, those sausage sandwiches turned out great the next day:

Playing Ketchup on 2007

Great pun, eh? I kill me. I must say, I do believe I've hit the point in my life where the concept of putting ketchup on any food significantly repulses me. Even when treading back to the fried potato and its many uses, I would prefer hot sauce, Heinz 57, or even a more vinegar-based thinner ketchup like Momma A cans back home in West Virginia. But enough about that. Seems people were quite stoked to see us back yesterday. Luckily, I still have a hard drive full of food pictures, so let's get down to it with a quick wrap-up of the end of the year. There should be some more fun posted later today as well.

Do you have a favorite sandwich that you make? I've invented a few in my day. I've even prepared some here on the blog. But I've decided in the last few months that I have one true sandwich love: the tuna melt. Never before has a deli food captured my flitting attention span like this one. My old man taught me how to make tuna salad back when I was a young man, and I've held onto his version ever since. For starters, here is the recipe:



You need to start with the following, I'm basically making these measurements up:

1 medium onion, diced (I prefer the yellow ones, but any kind will do, red ones look great)
2-4 cans of Chunk Light tuna in water (I like Star-Kist, but whatever works)
2 stalks fresh celery, diced
Heinz Spicy Brown Mustard
Mayonnaise (probably three tbsp.)
1 lemon, cut into wedges
1/4 cup dill relish
Salt and pepper to taste

Mix the tuna, onion, and celery. Add the relish and mayo while stirring. Squeeze two lemon wedges over the mixture. Add salt and pepper. Put it in the fridge for three hours or so. When it's cold and mixed and all that, slap it on some bread and melt with colby-jack, cheddar, whatever yellow cheese you dig. Add tomato if you're a boss like me. This is so simple and tastes so fucking awesome. You'll know when it's good. Just keep adding more of the ingredients till you get what you want. With olive oil bread, tomato, and colby-jack, you get something like this:



I would recommend going heavier on the pepper than the salt. I don't dig sodium that much, know what I mean?



So since I've been eating false "healthy" sandwiches like that, you may as well see the other stupid thing I eat when I'm broke that no one else ever touches. This, however, is not dripping with mayo and cheese, and it's vegetarian to boot. So whatevs, I'll tell you about this one. This dish came from an idea Lil' Suzz got from our family friends The Sofskys back in WV. Cook some macaroni, throw some Bragg's Amino Acids on it, and you have a cheap meal that will fill you up. And while that tastes good and all, I was spending most of my food money on fruits and vegetables and other stuff at the super-market and I figured this dish could be improved upon.



So what I did was prepare and chop up a bunch of normal vegetables: garlic, carrots, celery, tomatoes, onions, zucchini, and mung bean sprouts. Boil your macaroni, dump all this stuff in a pan with a tiny bit of olive oil (and a secret pat of butter), then slowly add the cooked macaroni a little at a time and keep squirting it with Bragg's. Add the tomatoes last. Add some spices (whatever you like, I don't care), then top it off with Sriracha and mix it together. Cook it for about ten minutes and you're gold. So if you're one of those shitty "foodie" punks who spends your parents' money getting Thai food every night, fuck you. When you've almost shot your wad and spent your last dollars on records and booze, you can spend eight dollars, cook this, and eat reasonably well for about four days. So I'm adding this to my Best of 2007, and since it doesn't have a name I'm going to christen it: "Hey, I'm Fucking Broke" Pasta. It got me through a lot of rough times concerning my financial situation, and now that I'm back in the game and HAVIN' THANGS, I still cook it anyway.





You can post all the food porn you'd like on YOUR food blog, but these pictures probably aren't great and I'm sure you think this dish sucks. Let me be the first to assure you, it does not. Moving on...

Finally, on the food front, Lil' Suzz has also taken to baking muffins around the house. When I came home last week, she pulled these banana-nut muffins straight from the oven. Eating these while they're hot is an intense and passionate sensation. I try to stay away from sugar as much as I can, but life isn't worth living if you deprive yourself everyday. For those with a sweet-tooth:





And to top off my Best of 2007, let's get to some records. Well, let's get to a band who put out some records. Say hello to The Lamps.



The Lamps are one of my current favorites and along with the likes of Cheater Slicks, Goodnight Loving, Sonic Chicken 4, and some other great bands, their second LP released on In The Red wormed its way into my brain with plodding Cro-Magnon drums and gritty, over-worked, mashing guitar noise that coagulate to form a slime that seeps all over the pronounced bassline that is the glue of every track. No wonder Lamps bassist Tim Ford has an eponymous song written about him on their new 7" on Hook or Crook.

The Lamps hit the gut like watching a treasured knick-knack hitting a hardwood floor in slow-motion. Those afraid of raw harsh screams, guitar tones that threaten to pin your ears open, and debased weirdo lyrics look elsewhere. While not as vile or misanthropic as a peer like Brainbombs, the Lamps present a more modern take on testicle-wrenching noisy punk. And when you can shake the riff of opener "Eliseo" on the new S/T LP (with the lion artwork up above) from your brain, you are blown back again with the next cut. Much like a good yoga class, the Lamps leave you feeling exhausted. And sometimes I need that the most.

I have more written about this record for my Top 10 coming soon on Terminal Boredom (hopefully this week, so when that happens I'll link you there). Pictured above you can see the Lamps discography, minus the V/A split on Borox. All these records are necessary purchases if you can find them (the foreign stuff may be tough, especially the SSLD 7" - limited to 256 or so; and I believe the first 12" is OOP as well), so start digging on eBay. Those are some of the things I really liked last year. Hope you can handle it.

Eleven Months Later

Welcome back. What have you been up to, there, pallie? Hopefully you re-read over these posts again and again drooling over calories long burned off and grooves since worn thin on our turntable, because obviously no one wrote anything at all. But I've decided to begin the slow and painful update process that I labored over so many moons ago. And now that I've invested the twenty-five dollars it costs to get an unlimited Flickr account, I've written myself into at least a year of servitude for you, my loyal readers. And yes, this means that the records sent my way will be reviewed in a timely manner, and I'll take a lot more pictures of the stupid things I've been ingesting. So hold on for the ride. Let's begin. Rot Shit Tour Food, January 2008. Go.

First thing's first. I love Memphis. This is going to sound crazy, but one look at a supermarket there while I slipped away as the rest of the drones were getting the van fixed was enough to tell me that I needed to try something new and delicious here, given the variety of fresh ingredients even a lowly Kroger (still a far sight better than most slop n' shop supermarkets) can possess:



I'm not sure if they have a farm in back of the building or not, but look clean and fresh and well-aligned everything is! As someone who will organize his silverware on his plate to make a server's job less stressful, my pre-OCD brain got quite stoked when I laid eyes on the tantalizing collection.



Here's another:



I purchased an apple, a Naked smoothie (tour requires vitamins that no gas station can provide), and a piece of this very tasty chicken. No sense overdoing it right away:



And before you raise your hackles at me for not going to Gus' for chicken or Payne's for BBQ... A) Payne's was closed. B) I got to sit in a Midas for five hours with a nonsensical redneck couple and four mentally challenged travel companions. I spent my time drawing aliens until I couldn't take anymore. Then I began to walk down Summer Avenue, but with no jacket on, I ducked into the first interesting eatery I saw. And this one actually happened to be in a gas station. Say whazaaaap to my main man Clyde. Welcome to his spot, appropriately named Clyde's:



I wandered into a gas station to find a very clean and very hospitable lunch counter. And this place happened to be what my black friends would term: "The Spot". Things were buzzing. Clyde called one his boys to see about fixing our van, but after learning that our vehicle was being held for ransom by a major corporation, I decided to just sit down and order something I'd never had before in lieu of trying a favorite. I tried Clyde's Plate Special and ordered liver and onions with mashed potatoes and cornbread.



I know what you're thinking, and I can stop you there. Liver and onions tastes great! My mother makes an amazing meatloaf, but liver and onions has a similar texture to a skirt steak or something a little tougher than your average crumbled beef. The trick is the gravy. Clyde makes a gravy that is chunky without being lumpy and delicately flavored so that the beef flavor doesn't overpower anything. It also goes GREAT with his mashed potatoes. They were some of the finest I've ever had, and I have no qualms with letting y'all know. And I'm sure even the veggies out there can show some quiet reverence when discussing real Southern cornbread: quite frankly, one of the most delectable culinary standards available.

Count Drugula happened to show up and ordered some chicken and dumplings. Since I thought this was only an item included on Chinese menus, I figured I may as well try this, too. I'm also quite glad I did, because this was another great dish I inexplicably have never eaten, either. Good look, Clyde. If you're down in the Dirty, head over. Tell them the white boy with a camera sent you. I'm sure you'll get the hookup.



There were lots of sandwiches on the menu, too, and not much pork, which one of the dudes sitting next to me said "Don't play roun' heah". But they had sausage on their breakfast menu, so that didn't make much sense. They did sell all-beef hot dogs instead of the pork kind, though, so who knows what I'm saying. We said our goodbyes and headed off to our gig. Quite a fun time. Give Clyde's a go.



I forgot to mention here that I woke up to a lovely real-life breakfast courtesy of Ms. Alicja Trout that consisted of a tasty omelet, home fries (which everyone else missed out on because they were too foolish to lift the lid of a pan on the stove), and butter and jam toast. Not only was she nice enough to mail my Blackberry charger back home to PGH, but this! Thanks Alicja! Alright, that's it for Memphis. Let's get colder.

Welcome to Minneapolis. This is what you drink there:



This is the restaurant any aspiring punk should attend:



Oh, hey, look, a bunch of assholes:



Welcome to the Triple Rock Social Club. One of the dudes in Dillinger Four either owns this place or runs it or something. All the servers there were PUNK ladies that you generally see knitting their own tampons and riding around on tall bikes and other dumb bullshit like that, but they're sweethearts and provide great service (at least to us at 6 PM on a Monday). There is a huge venue at this joint, two huge well-stocked bars, and enough vegetarian options to make even the most hoity-toity veggie wimp take notice and hail the joint as a godsend.



Since I am quite boss and fear nothing, I ordered the Cook's Revenge. This means that the kitchen just makes up something and sends it out. I wasn't sure what to expect, but they invented some kind of crazy Mexican vegetarian chili salad with tofu and fresh spinach and orange wedges. And you know what? You may be insecure and hide behind eating MEAT AND ONLY MEAT with your perforated colon and high blood pressure, but I am a man of the world who eats only the best/worst out there; and on tour, you need all the vitamins, fiber, and veggies you can get. So I fucked that salad up and it tasted great.

Count Drugula stepped up to the plate and ordered the Po'Boy. This tasted better than almost anything under the sun. He almost finished it. I took over with three or so bites left.



Vinnie had a chicken/bacon/swiss number. Looked good:



John K. was one of two actual vegetarians with us. He ordered the mock duck sandwich. Good look. I have now decided to cook real duck at some point very soon, because the veggie option was much better than any of that Boca/Morningstar whatnot.



Wild Bill would not shut up about going back to the Triple Rock so that he could eat the vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner (which is always on the menu). Here's that:



They've got LOTR pinball, too:



Hey, what's up Columbus? Sure, you know this place now because of the Feelers and Psychedelic Horseshit and Times New Viking and Pink Reason, but I've been entranced by this burg for years now, and the Blue Danube Restaurant is only one reason why. I stopped in there and ordered one of the filthiest things I've ever eaten, besides that time I forgot to wash a mushroom and ate soil... the Reuben Dog.





Yeah, that is a huge all-beef dog on a hoagie bun with corned beef, Swiss, sauerkraut, and Russian dressing. Yeah, I ate the whole thing. Yeah, it fell apart and had to be eaten with a knife and fork:



I had it with some great mac n' sleaze and peas were the vegetable that day:



Rich from Psychedelic Horseshit had the fish sandwich. Looked good to me:



Yes, you will ultimately look like shit on tour. It happens:



Also, if you take a look over at bigoleschleep.com, you'll notice that I got to go hang out at some swank rock show in the backstage area. Wanna see what people get to eat back there? Sure you do. They get:



Fruit, booze, and cake...



Fancy vegetable trays where cut-out peppers hold the dip...



Paul Newman Chocolate Bars... wha....?



Million dollar kettle-cooked chips... and some dumbass taking pictures of all of it. Hello rock superstardom!

Don't forget Waffle House. Vinnie ate this:



Finally after nine or ten days, we rolled back into Pittsburgh. The excitement I felt towards the prospects of taking a shower, sleeping in my own bed with clean sheets, changing out of the awful sweatpants I'd been wearing under my jeans in the Midwest the whole time, and eating a healthy delicious meal cooked by none other than Lil' Suzz was palpable. Thanks Suzz!

Tofurky sausage (as high in fat as a burger and therefore the tastiest fake meat around) with asparagus and red and green peppers:



And linguine:



And beers. This is the only one Ciggy did not drink while I was gone. He owes me about twenty-five dollars for fancy beers now. Motherfucker.



That is how to relax when you're home.

More coming up. Please comment/write in/anything. Let me know what you want to see. I'm happy to be back. This was cathartic. And now I need lunch. So I have definitely done my job!

To buy Rot Shit records, go here.
To read more from me about tour or whatever, go here.
To see my favorite thing on the internet, go here.

Get at us!

Domestic Bliss in Beechview

I'm not married, nor do I have any semblance of a steady home-life aside from my sister yelling at me when I do something stupid. The dreams of the house in the suburbs and mowing the lawn and the like have never really occurred to me. I would venture to bet that most of my malaise towards the domesticated lifestyle stems from not wanting to own a car, dislike of most neighbors in general and an aversion to talking to them, and the ability to walk around the corner and eat gyros, pizza, Chinese, Middle Eastern, and whatever denomination of food that suits me at that particular moment. Being a block from the beer distributor and the grocery store also is a big plus for a city-dweller like myself.

Not so for our old pal Larry (AKA Dan), says Big Schleep. Larry up and got himself married to a nice girl named Yago (from Gito Gito Hustler and their current band The Test Patterns), bought a van, moved to Beechview a little bit south of the city of Pittsburgh, destroyed a pool/yard in the process, and cooked some lovely food for Hone, Carmela, and I before they shipped off back to Japan for a few months.



Larry seems to have taken to his new life; however, before this weed-whacker was thrust upon him by one of the vocal locals ("'EY, YINZ NEED A WEEDWACKER OVER 'ERE?"), he was attempting to cut this ridiculous thatch with scissors as I looked on from the porch and drank all his beer and laughed.

Yago was nice enough to prepare some traditional Japanese fare, along with some added American classics with her own personal touch. This meant I got to eat soup with bacon in it, sloppy burgers with all the trimmings, and even a Japanese omelet. Let's see what we've got whipped up here:



This may look odd, but 'twas in fact an omelet with lots of sauteed vegetables that were a delight for the palate; even with the addition of the dreaded rice (I've never been a fan, but when it is masked behind a delicious mixture of egg and onions and spices and the like, I can handle it). I really enjoyed this, but I was even more excited for her burgers.



Pre-cooking, I was told these burgers had many seasonings, including a little brown sugar, onions, egg, and more that I blanked out on awhile ago. Ah, the pressures of being me...



Awww, cute, isn't it? It's like looking at Grant Wood's "American Gothic" filtered through one part Far East grace and dignity and one part Cutty, PA stupidity. The burgers just got bigger and greasier and even more delicious as their preparation came along. Pretty soon, the soup was on:



And when I say that, I mean, the soup was on point. Soup is one of my favorite dishes, and Yago made from scratch a sumptuous bacon soup with plenty of vegetables and just the right touch of flavoring that I have yet to experience in my long broth-slurping career.



Pretty soon, someone was a happy boy.





Might have just been the omelet, though:



Moving along, I figure I'll let hubby and the wife over here get some praise for their new band Test Patterns debut 7" single on Contaminated.



Dan and Yago, along with two other ne'er-do-wells are crafting some pretty intense Japanese-style (think maybe Needle Records or Firestarter with a little bit more of a punk touch) power-pop down in the basement. The guitar leads are technical, yet tasteful, along with three-way vocals that blend together seamlessly to produce some extremely catchy songs.

I got the chance to do a short jaunt with these folks through the Midwest back in May, and I must say that with every chance they got to play live, they blew the doors off all the other bands on the shows. There's a new EP in the works for Shit Sandwich right now, which should be out in the fall. In the meantime, you can grab some old and new tracks at their Myspace here.

Everyone ended up pretty happy, I'd say. This masked man stormed through and grabbed some beers and burgers before anyone could do a double-take.



So all in all, maybe it is possible to be a dirty, no-good punk and live an adult life. Larry's obviously barely doing that at all, but we wish him all the best. Go find someone to make you some food and put on that Test Patterns record. I do believe you'll enjoy it.



We've got more coming up, including a whole new site design, and COMING SOON - MP3 HOSTING for more great records. 7-Inch Slam will soon have you downloading like crazy! Get ready!

*Posted by Steve

Open For Gluttony?

Hey Friends, as a wee tow-headed tot saddled with a goofball, wanderlusting, single, teenage mom, I ended up living in lots of dubious housing "situations". One of which was in the glorious much maligned state of West Virginia...

In a trailer.
(not the Kremlin)

With a three legged puppy.
(not a two headed dog)

Those are some hazy memories though, I'm sure I was mostly just concerned with my next bowl of Fruity Pebbles and Thundarr the Barbarian.

However, without much thought to the cornpone nostalgia of my youth, Rizzo and I decided to head down there once again, to see what we could dig up on an afternoon jaunt. We grabbed some tasty provisions (truely inspired from the reading I found on the sad sack Suicide Food blog) from our local Big Lots:



Most folks go down to Moundsville, WV to tour the prison:



We saved that for next time because we were checking out this place:



Before heading in, Rizzo needed a sugar (not Sugar's) fix from the Bak ry next door:



TCB:



At the museum we chilled with this awesome dude:



This nogoodnick, clued our gray matter into the fact that while we might be from a "progressive" above the Mason-Dixon line type state, at least you can buy a fucking beer at the gas station in hillbilly ass Moundsville. He also said that Servotron were a "buncha fags", we decided to be gracious guests and not mention that while we do indeed agree that Servotron were a "buncha fags" nobody has really cared about them in like ten years. We didn't wanna make our new buddy feel like a yokel:



Also a personal favorite, these sleazy hussies were also on display:



Well, after a hard morning of doing nothing but eating and looking at cool old toys, we had somehow managed to build up a mighty hunger in our bellies. So on the way out of town, we cruised to this swell establishment, a cafeteria with a drive-thru, no less:



Our tour starts with the fine dessert selection:



Slightly overwhelmed, we shadowed a friendly regular and were lead to this dazzling display of foodstuffs:





Rizzo went with the home style chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes:



It didn’t last long:



After a little consternation, I settled on the meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy:



It didn’t last any longer:



After all that mom and pop rib sticking goodness, we polished off a perfect slice of apple pie:



Alright folks, in full disclosure the "7 inch" part of this endeavor, is just a bunch of records I got around the time I went down to WV. No duff here, I'm only serving up the good stuff.

Wild Billy Childish & The Musicians of the British Empire (the '77 punk round up b-side is the real winner here, if you haven't checked in with Billy in awhile, check this):



Volt (great EP all around, but really "Man on The Ground" is thee total sex bomb track):



Annihilation Time (uhh "classic" face melting or Bl'asting? AT, my inner art douche has to point out that it's got the the cover art of the year):



Black Rose Band ("Hot Box"):




Rot Shit (Yeah, yeah, cronyism, cronyism but whatever, it's awesome...it only gets better when Vinnie plays it at parties) :



Posted By HONE

Dan In Japan

OK folks, I'm just giving some quick props to our pal Dan from the
Test Patterns. While you were chilling in your crib, scratching your balls (or whatever gender specific itchables you may have) and watching The Office, Dan was in Japan scratching his balls and eating pizza filled with a hot dog crust.

He wins...



On closer inspection...



Posted by Hone