7inchSlam.com

Served So Raw From Miami

2009-07-08T10:24:00.020-04:00

The organizers meet the disorganized. Thanks to Danny and Nicole and So Raw for everything!

Welcome back, all. I trust you were all satiated when I posted my account of San Francisco's most delicious sights and sounds and wacky adventures of a lad gone stoned a few months back. I would hope you've come back starving however, for it's now time to reverse polarity and attempt to document my latest whirlwind thrill ride through the sunny and seamy shores of America's closest foreign destination: Miami, Florida.

For those who have never been to Miami, it's not like the rest of Florida. Instead of NASCAR and theme parks, Miami offers a glimpse of a glittering steamy world that is better signified with slip-on deck shoes rather than a redneck's bandana. And no matter what the city had to offer, Rot Shit was quite agreeable to accepting the challenge and playing the So Raw Festival in June of 2009. If you haven't gotten hip to us by now, some blog put up both our out of print 7-inches, so feel free to go get 'em.

Being the forward thinker that I am, I decided to stay for a week instead of a weekend. Why not? When you're playing a gig (or in this case a festival) you have to run around, deal with inner workings and machinations of the other people in your band (who in this case are America's stupidest band, myself included), meet everyone in a whirlwind of handshakes and partying in the span of 48 hours, and then go home a wreck and who needs that? Luckily I had Danny from Melted Sunglasses to make my trip the perfect introduction to the Bizarro Pittsburgh; and he shall go down forever in the annals of Great Dudes in History for showing me what was probably the best time of my life. For starters, as soon as I exited the plane and stepped into the Ft. Lauderdale sun, I was met by Danny on the curb and beers were shotgunned in the whip posthaste. It's nothing to say that my expectations were met right there within the first hour. Danny then decided to blow my mind even further by bringing my now-drunken stomach one of the savoriest treats in the Cuban culinary lexicon: El Rey de las Fritas.

A frita is a Cuban sandwich that is made up of ground chorizo and (I think) some beef. It's mixed in with spices and tomato sauce and then topped with shoestring potatoes. This was kind of a mind-blower because back when I was a young lad and the folks used to load Lil' Suzz and I up in the car to drive to DC we would usually have a couple sandwiches for the drive prepared and my mom would always purchase a can of shoestring potato sticks in lieu of potato chips. The memories I have of trying to get the obstinate grease off of my hands tickled the back of my brain for a second before I dove in and I have no problem telling you lovely readers that this sandwich will tantalize any sense you choose to throw at it.

The first night after Danny and I took in a Guinness or two on the street I got to begin to meet most everyone and I learned the following: A) I am old. B) Every girl in Miami is beautiful. C) The Miami lifestyle is quite different and I was up to the challenge to adapt. D) See ya white girls. While hanging at Sarah's house, baby found some smoke and Sarah and Amanda were making tiramisu.

We hit up Fox's Sherron Inn after that which is basically Miami's punk dive bar and I got to get a glimpse or two of the local punx/kids. The service was awful, the bar packed, and the air humid so we mostly just drank in the parking lot next to the bar which seems to be de riguer in the land of expensive Yuenglings. Hi ladies.

After that the rain began to fall (as it does every day in Miami... sounds familiar) and we headed off to Mary's Coin Laundry. I know that sentence seems strange at first, but I was hipped to the fact that Mary's is not only a laundromat, but also a deli/sandwich shop/smoothie bar... and it's open after 3 AM... and it is delicious.

After we all regrouped I found a large gaggle of us just lazily hanging out in the small outdoor seating area, and after Tony V. pulled down the awnings for what seemed to be the first in the establishment's history we were ensconced in a private booth on the street and able to listen to the rain and chill out. I was fairly drunk and pretty tired but I did my best to soldier through. I also got to eat some dishes I have never experienced before, like my first beef empanada, perhaps a bizarro cousin to our humble pierogi back home.

Victor commanded that I eat a choripan sub and I'm always happy to indulge him. Choripan was probably the best-tasting meat of the trip, and the revelation was much like when I discovered milanesa in Oakland, CA. Choripan is another chorizo based sandwich that comes on a crusty sub roll and tastes like a firecracker of deliciousness. I forgot to take a picture of my sandwich but I just stole a picture of another one that would have been better quality anyways (I didn't take out my real camera [and I forgot to borrow Lil' Suzz's GOOD camera] till Day 2 and the iPhone has done nothing but bum me out with its inferior image capabilities, especially for a gent on the go with a food website like myself). It's nothing. Much love to Mary's. Will eat again.

Danny made me some mate, too. Love first time food/drink experiences. Best guy.

From here on out I did not stop partying for the next five days so I am surprised I could even eat let alone anything remember to take pictures of it. But as the actual festival draws nearer and nearer down the page the coverage will get intense, so please bear with me and don't be upset because you're not getting what YOU want from ME. I'm trying my best here.

The next day I got to go to the only Tex-Mex in Miami that is worth a damn (this came from the mouths of the locals) at Taco Rico. I was advised to order the fish tacos by Danny and I took him up on it and made three new friends who I quickly murdered and cannibalized.

As I said in my last post, Negra Modelo with a lime has become my beer of choice when I'm not throwing money around like a horny sailor and now I am sure the guys at Gooski's are bummed that I order this during a packed Saturday night gig, but hey. I suppose this brings me to another point. Another bizarro point of contention between Miami and the Steel City: kids in Miami can seriously pound booze, and if they had their choice I'm sure they would drink the Pittsburgh Brewing Company dry on the same cheap beer that powers our parties. There is no time in Miami for your fancy IPA's or stouts or whatever. People want to get drunk and get drunk NOW and they do not care how it happens. I was in no position to argue, so from there on out it was High Life, Modelo, Budweiser, and all the rest I remember from my youthful indiscretions. Beer was cheap and it was hot so here we are. Happy dude here:

From what I have gathered, Miami is definitely a bumpin' city with 5.4 million residents and plenty of stuff to do, but the only game in town for real rock n' roll is the small cadre of local bands that are made up of the same group of kids, and surprise surprise, that's who I was hanging out with. Miami's most known exports right now (both of whom have LP's coming out on Florida's Dying really soon - pick 'em up!) are the Jacuzzi Boys and Electric Bunnies (who were kind enough to actually make it up to Pittsburgh to play Totally Wired Fest back in April) and So Raw set out to showcase what else Miami's scene had to offer. Over the next couple of days we kicked it around town and raged, and eventually Friday night rolled up on us and we finally got to check out the So Raw venue at the Ism Gallery. I was pretty anxious to see some live jams and my juices really got flowing when Electric Bunnies took the stage. Here's Victor:

When Electric Bunnies first 7" came out I picked it up. While hearing the 45's gives you a decent enough introduction to the band, I have seen them excel much further in the longform, meaning I have enjoyed their two live sets immensely and I am quite interested in seeing where their upcoming full-length will take them. It's strange that the band presents such a low-key fuzzy beach pop image when in actuality there is a psychedelic charge hidden so far under their preconceived sheen. The songs have more room to breath and expand when the band stretches out and they were in fine form during this particular gig. There's rumors of a tour coming up, but I won't spoil any surprises.

"Nobody takes pictures of the drummer" according to a shitty metalcore band.

In addition to the Bunnies that night, Eric (Bunnies and Melted Sunglasses lead guitar player) was playing TeePee songs with a full band. Having only heard his "Wooden Noise" tape before my turntable unfortunately met its untimely demise, I wasn't sure what exactly to expect. When I was driving to the beach with Christina and Rene to pick up Solange we were listening to CDR's in the car and Christina said "This song is awesome, you need to listen to it." Well, it was indeed awesome and is indeed included on the upcoming TeePee full length that Eric is putting out and if you head over to the TeePee Myspace you can check out this exquisite bedroom pop number called "I Told You So". After we listened to it about three times in a row between sprinkles of the rest of the TeePee full-length I immediately told Eric when I saw him that I was hoping to hear that song at the gig and sure enough he delivered. While I missed the first improv half of his set running around with Drugula's dumb ass (who had gotten wasted enough to forget his PIN number... good Lord) I made it back in time for the second half when Eric was slamming out my request.

TeePee seems to be a musical lynchpin of the Miami scene due to his involvement in multiple projects and his multi-instrumental/multi-genre-spanning talent. While I usually don't have a lot of good things to say about mining the comforters and dust ruffles of America's bedrooms, I find the TeePee songs to stand above most of his contemporaries due to the sheer volume of influences and styles TeePee experiments with. Anything ranging from the dissonant slop guitar workouts of the later Scientists to the narcotic nudges of Spacemen 3 to the dreamy and hyper-sexual sounds of French synth-wave becomes grist for the mill in my ears and the creative spark that drives TeePee can ignite that pile when it all melds together.

TeePee has 7"s out on Weird Hug and Hozac right now and a debut LP on the way by winter-time. Don't be an idiot.

Not soon after Vinnie and BD Biz fell on the PA and busted it that first evening, leaving the Yolks soldiering on and singing out of a harmonica microphone and giving the kids what they want (thanks Lauren for the photo), we headed over to the penthouse on the beach (not kidding) that Manny and Danny had obtained for us for some righteous debauchery and the beds were soon covered with vomit, babes, booze, illicit substances, and a whole lot of Natural Light courtesy of Eric. Pink Reason immediately became null and void due to overconsumption and the party raged on till the fuzz showed up and gave everyone the boot. I don't remember TOO much but it was a pretty great time and we had another gig and another late night to look forward to coming up. And with that, baby went to the beach.

Rene and Christina and Solange and I had rolled over to Miami Beach earlier that day. I'll level with you readers here. I've never really been a beach guy. When I was around six or seven my family went on our last vacation together to Rehoboth Beach in Delaware. While that may now be the burgeoning gay vacation mecca of the mid-Atlantic these days, all I remember back then was getting knocked over by dipshits on boogie boards every fifteen minutes and nearly being dragged under the water by the undertow. Couple that with seventeen or eighteen years of being overweight and out of shape and pretty soon you haven't taken your shirt off in public for five years or so. But thanks to the bike and the yoga mat I decided to strut my stuff and actually expose my skin to the sunlight and let me tell you - one soak in the warm and inviting water of Miami Beach is enough to slough off any hangover, heartbreak, or nagging worry that may attempt to tether itself to your mind. I swam out past the crowd and into the deep water and floated on my back over the waves until I couldn't hear anything anymore. Perfection.

After that, we headed off to get some grub at David's Cafe down along the beach. Here Christina and Solange got some enticing milkshakes.

I opted for my first Cuban sandwich of the trip, and I must say aside from the slightly higher beachfront price tag, I was not disappointed in the least. I got the regular Cuban and whomever was sitting next to me got the Media Noche (which is basically the same thing only served on Cuban sweetbread, which is yellow and fucking delicious. Here is my Cuban:

Here is my reaction to its deliciousness:

Here's the Media Noche. See how the bread is yellow? That's Cuban sweet bread. They serve baskets of this stuff, too. I must say, it opened my eyes.

After the meal, Solange got us some Cuban coffee which was enough to raise your hair on end with how powerful it is. I had about four shots and was ready to rip phone books in half, so think espresso concentrated with even more sugar and you'd be getting close. I can definitely see how this could keep you up till 5 AM without blinking. Two out-of-town members of the entourage REFUSED Cuban coffee in Miami. I won't mention any names but these two dinks were thereafter regarded as complete morons (and a little rude if you ask me). Who travels to another city/state/country/culture and then doesn't sample an integral part of the cuisine? Bah. Anyway, I'd like to thank the girls and Rene for rolling me out there because the beach trip had me jazzed to hop onstage and throw down later that night. While I am probably hopping back and forth on the space-time continuum due to being out of my mind for a week straight, there was a day show at the Upper East Side Garden. I guess it was pretty tough for most people in Miami to be outside before 1 PM but the show went on and I checked out the two bands who played Little Beard and Fluffy Lumbers.

I didn't really know what to expect from Little Beard. Sarah and Nicole are in this band and I planted myself next to the "stage" to check them out and I'll be damned if I didn't hear some delightful indie pop with some Korg or Moog or Floog or whatever people who don't want to play a piano play. Sarah has a fine voice, the band a tight rhythm section, and the songs were upbeat and snappy. While this isn't my normal cup of tea, I could see them actually doing something with the right push in the right direction. The two guys and two ladies make for a cute-looking young foursome that actually has some musical chops and could get kids moving were they not walking zombies from the night before.

Fluffy Lumbers played next and honestly I didn't really care because I was probably thinking about NEANDERTHAL and looking at girls at the gig. I threw my drink at the singer's head during a lull in the set and apparently made disgusted faces every time I heard a change I didn't like and so what? What are you gonna do? Call a cop? Take me to jail! Weird Hug has put out their first record. Weird Hug are my dudes. YOU make the call. Here is a picture of Alex who did play some noodly yet tasteful lixxx which I could appreciate since no one wanted to listen to the Grateful Dead with me except Manny.

Oh yeah, I am beginning to remember the timeline a little more clearly now. After we awoke at the penthouse, and before the gig at UEG, we piled into Eric's work van with no windows and a bucket full of hats. Drugula and I both donned one and we decided to eat something else. The last time I'd been in Florida (Orlando to be exact) I was taken by my friend Natalie to their grocery chain Publix and I ordered a sub. In the back of my mind I always remembered that fresh and inviting smell of their bread, the Boar's Head meats and indulgent condiments they used, and the toppings that snap in your mouth with all the flavor of a farmer's market. So I told everyone "Yo, we should go get sandwiches." Publix never disappoints.

Wylie and Drugula stepped it up a notch by ordering the chicken finger sub.

Kevin and Vinnie split a box of chicken, I decided to go the healthy route and grabbed a tuna salad spinach wrap, a banana, and a blended health beverage made up of numerous green fruits and veggies. It can't be all bad all the time. Sometimes you have to listen to your body. Look, a handsome gent.

Here's another Bizarro Pittsburgh twist for you. Most folks in town, especially the ones who work in Downtown Pittsburgh know Franktuary (whose dogs have made an appearance or two on 7-Inch Slam before). Speaking of which, here's the bratwurst I wrecked from there last week:

Anyway, Tony and Elena were driving me over to Rene and Manny's for a pool party or maybe even to the gig or something, I don't know! But they stopped to grab some grub at none other than the spot that caused Franktuary to christen (I kill me) itself its current name after some hefty legal wrangling.

The Dogma Grill. Seems their use of the word "dogma" caused a lawsuit and Pittsburgh's Hot Dogma (the better name by far) had to change their name even though the respective restaurants are 17 hours away from each other and honestly how many yinzers are going to be strutting around Miami that aren't already Pittsburgh Steelers getting their dongs polished by tanned fake-breasted starfuckers? Riddle me that! Dogma did have some pretty tasty chili cheese fries that I sampled, though.

The Sedona Dog. From the menu: "Homemade spicy salsa, grilled bacon, fresh sliced avocado, sour cream, diced tomatoes, and vinaigrette". AKA: Fuck you, Franktuary.

So now we're here. Saturday Night. Game time. ROT SHIT has to deliver. But first there were some other bands to hop onstage at ISM Gallery like Couchfaces with Nicole and Sarah T. and Tony and Danny, some acoustic act that played because someone died in their band or something (I can't remember anything about the conversation I had with the dude while i was waiting for a beer), and basically just a whole lot of nonsense since there were cancellations and lineup shufflings to attend to. Of course, I'm sure everyone knows what was coming up: the man with the plan, bringing you nothing less than the razzle, the dazzle, the agony, and the ecstasy of Brian's Dirty Business or as we refer to it: "motherfuckin' BD Biz". Check his onstage harem:

One song. Six times? Did you like the slow version? The fast version? The mid-tempo rocker? What does it matter? It's all a party, man. The kids shook it up and had a blast watching this man dismantle himself for our viewing pleasure.

Vinnie: "Yeah, yeah, you heard the Quick and wrote a song and it wasn't good." Mad clown love to BD Biz. Up next: ROT SHIT (photos by Lauren... if anyone has any other good ones, lemme know)

Actually some newspaper or blogger or some other bullshit took this one:

Kevin joined us onstage for "DEAD II". Sick dogpile. Dope like Sublime.

It's nothing to say we were awesome. I heard the live recording Eric did and "Power-Pop Faggot" sounded like INFEST. Thumbs up!

Drugula and Gabriel and your man of many hats.

After we were done, the band I was most excited to see all weekend was up next: MELTED SUNGLASSES!

Melted Sunglasses are my favorite group from Miami. One night recently I got super fucked-up alone in my apartment thinking about my time in Miami and I just opened up Microsoft Word and had to get this down:

Miami sears into you as you coast along its congested highways upon entering this glittering paradise. Commerce pollutes the landscape with the most fashionable of shimmering glass monoliths to empty corporate promises that leave the most intrepid of the young in search of something, anything that will pull them into a new direction. But while the fight burns inside a small group of dedicated musicians, they must sacrifice and explode and implode and feel the tearing and the exhilaration and the utter futility of pounding away at something new. And when these bands release songs like this, I feel it in me from years apart and over a thousand miles away. Miami was a new scene to me and the band that makes it stand out the most as a representative regional beacon of its mesmerizing culture and good feeling and uncertainty that we experience everyday in these turbulent times is Melted Sunglasses and I for one can do nothing but offer all my unbridled support and whatever words they permit me or not.

Utilizing the musical and emotional tools from all parts of this group of young men making things happen musically in a city with the means to crush everyone’s dreams before offering a solution for the young people tired of their ingrained existence unknown to the rest of the USA, Melted Sunglasses tack on a new dimension, dragging their toes through the final grains of lush warm sand on the beach until they hit the parking lot and are wandering with bloody toes under a neon sidewalk sale of futile glitzy urban dreams begging for a return to the clouds and warm breezes and the electric touch of the girl waiting for them in the grass on a hill with a hit of acid and a six pack of Tecate and a lime for you to share.

Photo by Michelle

Danny and Tony and Eric and Tony give their songs (and the Miami scene) the true harsh sexual-psychedelic twists that belie their joyous adolescent punk/pop sensibilities and turn each song into either a throbbing sweaty variation on a synapse-tweaking theme or a joyful romp through theories meshed in a mind-melting drift down the Opalaca River in a boat built for you and whatever friends you feel are ready to harness all the electricity their body can muster. I’ve felt it. You can feel it too.

"Sun King Pt. 2" sounds like King Tuff meets Flipper. Should I say anything else?

Drugula didn't know what to do at this point, but after that, it was time to make the scene while waiting for Pink Reason and Jacuzzi Boys to close out the night. That's when I retreated to the merch booth where our Greatest Hitlers cassettes and Bart Simpson Acid shirts were flying off the shelves. Sitting on the band beers were two righteous babes, Michelle and Amber:

"YEAH BUDDY"
-Liquor Store

Pink Reason and Jacuzzi Boys either sloshed themselves off the stage grinding through their hazy drunkenness or were sloshed with beers by the adoring crowd. Things had begun to veer off in the rawest direction yet and after cleaning up the actress blood, whipped cream, saliva, beer, vodka, and Vitamin Water it was back to the Penthouse for Party #2. It's nothing for me to say that it went well, complete with drunken lust, excessive overindulgence, another visit from the fuzz, and the repeated clowning of Midwestern freeloaders. Finally, the party just ended up like this:

By the next morning, no one had slept, everyone was hung over, and I had lost my white polo shirt over the 39th floor balcony and was swathed in Gay Josh's tiny white shirt that I am not even sure was a shirt. Needless to say, it did not fit. The boys on the balcony with our man Manny:

We kicked it the next day relaxing at Sarah's house playing pool and foosball. Great times. And soon, with the other 3/4 of Rot Shit and Pink Reason back en route to our respective domiciles and me flying out on Tuesday, it was time for me to begin to say goodbye to my new friends in Miami, and what better way to do that than with fancy beers and grub and plenty of the beautiful ladies of Miami. Rene and I took a drive through Miami's more opulent communities and met up with everyone in a gorgeous plaza complex where tap after tap spewed forth with pleasing libations. Naturally I had more than a few Rogue Dead Guys and we made the most of my time, and nearly everyone made it out to see me off. Wylie showed his appreciation for these nachos:

Rene and Christina looking stylish before their big move to NYC.

No blog entry about Miami is complete without Raul. What is this?

Tony G., Nicole I., Steve A. Much love. $$$ GETTIN' MONEY $$$.

The food here was quite a fine pastiche of seafood and Tex-Mex with a swank trendy bar inside and enormous tables outside that we had all to ourselves. I couldn't ask for a better send-off and luckily I can scam more website hits off of pervy dudes watching Christina eat dinner.

Dessert.

As I took this picture I said to myself, "I wonder what everyone in Pittsburgh is doing right now. HA!" Say hello to the lovely Allen sisters Christiane and Michelle with Sarah T. and Christina, Nicole, and Elena. Let's finish out the night here and at Manny's before Danny shipped me off to the airport with a parting embrace. I'm glad I can post this picture and that the Internet exists:

And a final go-round with the boys:

So there you have it. Rot Shit may be banned from So Raw next year (HARSH SHIT), but it was worth it. I will never forget my trip to sunny South Florida and I doubt you will either. Reporting live from the G-20 are my great memories of new friends, new foods, new jams, and new beginnings. I will be in attendance next year, and bands can get in touch with So Raw for touring Miami till then. It is worth your time. Trust me. Build a scene with these awesome kids and remember it for the rest of your life.

I'm out. Turn on your lovelight.

Here Comes Sunshine

2009-05-08T12:31:00.013-04:00

Greetings to all fellow travelers, eaters, jammers, and rockers out there. Since the last quick teaser from HONE featuring our good buddy Nobunny tearing up the Burgh back in April, I've aged another year and have now crossed the threshold of 27 when musicians are theoretically allowed to die and in addition I've been out on the road doing big thangs for all the readers out there who are so bummed that they don't get to see this page updated as regularly as they'd like. But after careful consideration and some pensive late-night reflection, it makes me happy to bring you what I've been up to recently outside of the Steel City (pictured below).

The winter had been harsh in town this year both personally and meteorologically and I needed a lot of time this year to clear my head and figure out how I was going to wrench myself out of the doldrums and rise above (no Rollins). Thanks to my ever-benevolent bosses who I think get some kind of vicarious thrill out of watching me stumble across America, I had plenty of time to just be broke for a few weeks and then hop on a plane to leave it all behind. My first choice of venue change was to everyone's favorite jealousy-inducing, wallet-emptying hippie paradise known as the Bay Area. With guarantees of food, spirits, libations, and much more coming from such notables as our own Vinnie, Mitch Cardwell, Icki, and more - we also had the ultimate face-off. Not Travolta vs. Cage, mind you, but myself and Andy The Inhuman Eating Machine. If you've been to this blog before, we've had the link up for a long time, so give yourself a refresher.

My flight left in the afternoon from Pittsburgh International and waiting for the 28X with my messenger bag, yoga mat, and wide-eyed anticipation of a city, state, and environment I'd never entered before was ballooning my expectations and getting me jittery for the five-hour flight. I knew that upon landing, I'd be navigating BART to Mitch's house to get the weekend started, and as I slipped into town around 9 PM I headed over to the East Bay, the whole time thinking about food, girls, tunes, and of course, Too $hort:

Mitch picked me up from the Macarthur station and I was pleased to find I hadn't gotten lost on my first night. He and Dulcinea set me up with a delicious sandwich on the couch and I got myself together with the help of the ever-progressive California medical community. We were due to meet up with folks at longtime Oakland institution the Kerry House. I was overjoyed to reconnect with old friends like Mitch and Mark. The last time I had seen both of them together was in Brooklyn at the Teengenerate reunion with Chuck Barrels and I was quite tired of all this internet hullaballoo and just needed a solid hang. What I got was more and then some.

I don't normally drink liquor, but why not? A common refrain I've perfected over the last couple of months sealed the deal: "Baby's on vacation." Kelsey has since bailed the Bay for the concrete pastures of Brooklyn, but it was great to meet her and chill with the gang.

Myself with the lovely Andy. I didn't get to steal any Revolver trade secrets, but I do think I managed to be sufficiently charming. She had to bail town that week for Chaos in Tejas, as did Mark for family business, but it was great to vibe my first night. While sitting at the Kerry House, I noticed a bum sleeping on the bench against the wall. Thinking that the bar showed compassion to street people, I inquired if this was normal.

"He works here". I looked in the back of the room and saw a woman passed out on the pool table. Mitch told me some stories about the sordid goings-on there as I watched a derelict pedal a bike through the door behind us. I zipped my head around and noticed he had a sandwich strapped to the rack on the back of his bike.

"Oh, that derelict is delivering sandwiches," I mused to no one.

It was our bartender. Soon enough, I was accosted by Oakland's finest after a brief conversation in which I utilized some obscure Oaktown 357 knowledge to meet some new dance partners. Shake it up, white boy.

We headed back after that and I prepared for my first day. Upon waking up on the couch, I decided to head for a walk in the morning and see what was up with Oakland before I was hit with a hammer or beaten like a 97 year-old woman. What I found was a lovely stroll through the park and around the lake.

The Japanese Tea garden had some lovely flowers and strolling baked through the sunshine made me forget about getting rained on for the past two previous weeks.

I came upon a large music video set and walked through it to see a bunch of jokers in board shorts and ballcaps running around like crazy catering to the whim of some unseen band they were setting up an American Pie-esque comedy bit to film. I got bored after twenty seconds and did a lap around the lake. Soon I was back to where I started and saw the "band" which turned out to be some solitary Puerto Rican screamo nightmare sitting alone in a director chair. If you squint you can see him/it. Harsh vibes.

Andy and Mitch soldiered up to the task of beginning our descent into food debauchery. And so it begins. Our first stop was the Sinaloa taco truck.

I was told to order the suadero taco and the seviche tostada, which I did. Luckily, the tostada had an option to get all the seafood on the menu (mixta) and it was one of the greatest things I've ever tasted.

Hello, Andy, welcome finally to 7-Inch Slam.

A little lemon and lime and you are in business. The seafood was so fresh and inviting that I murmured after every bite, savoring the thick avocado and the heat beating down on us. And look at this taco. Suadero is thinly sliced beef off the brisket and I highly recommend haunting the Mexican grocery in your town to find it. Pittsburgh will never have it and I am already sad about it:

And now for more me:

Morty Cardwell:

From there, we needed more. The next order was the Bahn Mi Ba Le restaurant that Andy and Mitch had been talking about. While we have bahn mi in Pittsburgh, ours are generally crowed about by the vegetarian set, and while they're great, this one said it contained meatball and egg. You bet I will. Note: I apologize now for the blurry pictures.

Look at this sensitive man. When Icki says "That's a good picture", you hold onto it. From there things began to get heated as we headed over to the El Ojo de Agua truck.

By this time I realized that all the Spanish Suzz had ever learned had never rubbed off on me and the dudes gave me a hand and helped me order my first real torta. I ate the beso de novia, which I can't describe in words, especially since I don't know the Spanish versions of what I was eating, nor did my honky upbringing prepare me for such delicious savory meats.

Note the cheese sauce, queso blanco, avocado, fresh lettuce and tomato. I haven't even described the three meats in the torta. And why should I? You should just go eat one. Everyone stepped up to the plate and tried a different variety and we stood in the parking lot housing sandwiches off the hood of the car and deciding where to go next.

Here's a size comparison to help out (that is half the torta):

Due to my extreme cultural sensitivity, I found it necessary to traverse the racial culinary spectrum and I was taken to check out the West Coast version of BBQ at Everette and Jones in Oakland.

The sauce here was THAT FIRE and folks behind the counter were getting heated up watching Lebron dominate, and we chilled outside and met up with Patrone who you may remember from FM Knives and more recently Photobooth. With a cute little dog and some stylin' shades, Jason joined our gang and we began to fight our way through the meal.

I ordered the hot links. They were smoky and spicy and full of hot pepper flakes and served with a tangy potato salad and bread. And here I have to admit after the first ten bites I had to run to the garbage can and hork because my stomach was too full of delicious food. Too much food in too little time caused for a quick detour from mastication, but Andy finished my grub and I remember my E&J experience fondly.

For dessert from Mi Puebla (more on that later), I tried two firsts: not only did I experience the mamey fruit for the first time, but I got it blended into a swirling cavalcade of freshness known as the agua fresca.

After all this, we journeyed to the Mormon Temple on the hill so that I could get a cool view of the East Bay in all it's hazy glory. Seeing Mormon money in effect lording their wife-swapping, do-gooding ways over the people of the bay was a trip indeed... one of the stranger megachurch whatnots I've seen and I've seen plenty of Christian FREAKS.

Handsome guy.

FREAKS!

From there it was a blur of a day. I can't find any pictures to confirm but I do know for a fact that I spent a night of intense partying with Brace, Eric, Heather, and Neil, I found myself walking alone through the Tenderloin at 10 in the morning doing my best to make it back to Oakland without losing my eyeballs/teeth. I must thank those kids for A) playing me a pretty killer Wild Thing CDR and B) Heather giving me a sweater to stay alive in the freezing chill outside and C) Eric for saving my Nalgene bottle and eventually mailing it back to me when I got home along with some other goodies like some of the records he put out on his own label Daggerman and a couple travel guides for my next trip back. Love ya, Eric. There's more Brace coming up, so fans of the internet and Vinnie-esque characters are in for it.

You know this burger if you're from California, but if you're like me and you're rolling there with the boys (including Mitch's roommate Clark who added some more good vibes to the trip) you're stoked. My companions soothed my horrid hangover and primed my gullet for In-N-Out Burger, a California institution that I've been dreaming of ever since I saw The Big Lebowski. I was convinced that I needed to order everything "Animal" style from the Secret menu, so that is what I did. Here are my fries:

Here is Clark about to dig in.

Never have I had a fresher fast-food burger anywhere in America. The employees are also given a living wage, which is extremely righteous and explains why they are busting their humps all day in those ridiculous paper hats. While the company is owned by kooky Jesus freaks who put biblical scripture notation on the underside of their cups, I can't knock their hustle. I think about the Double-Double at least once every three days.

When I mentioned Mi Puebla earlier, I was talking about the large Mexican grocery located in the East Bay. Upon my initial visit I snapped a photo of one of their employees preparing a bunch of grilled chickens in front of the store. No sooner had that happened that a large security guard stopped me and informed me there would be no pictures to taken inside. Well, that guy could eat a dick because I tucked my camera away the second time, got my camera in there and took pictures of all I could. Whole Foods tried to do the same thing to me on my own block, and all it made me do is begin preparing the "Fuck Whole Foods" 7-Inch Slam entry that brews a little more every time I go over there.

Anyway, here is some of the shit you can get in the grocery store over there. Made Giant Eagle Market District look like Beirut and for that, I salute the proud Hispanic tradition contained therein. But never tell me not to take a picture of food, motherfucker.

Delicious pastries I'd never seen.

Veggies qualified to satisfy, so fresh, so moist, so inviting.

Fruits that you've never even heard of before.

Chorizo ground fresh that day.

A seafood case built for a king. Each crab in there was probably 10" in diameter.

Premade BBQ supplies/meats/grilling fodder. This was three sections of a 15 section case.

The salsa case. WHY GOD?!

The Chickarron case - AKA giant pork rinds. Yes please.

Not only do all these beautiful creations come presented to you in the cleanest grocery store you've ever seen, but it is filled to the brim with hauntingly beautiful ladies strutting their stuff on their shopping day or working. And then when you go outside, there is a churro cart which you can utilize to fill your churro of choice with chocolate, caramel, strawberry, and more. I got a plain churro, Andy went with caramel and gave me a bite, and I learned that a churro pulled out of fresh oil on the street will make even the most hardened anti-desserter (me) wince with delight.

Cue the homophobic males jealous of me looking handsome/getting stuffed.

Moving on, later that evening we made a trip out to the lovely town of Porta Costa, CA to the Warehouse Bar, which is across the street from an old brothel and still serves up a lobster dinner and hotel room for the low sum of $65 if I am quoting correctly. We had some drinks and enjoyed the scenery. They also had something else that I enjoyed (though I must confess here, Mark was the man and took this picture and I realized there are no pictures of he and I from the whole trip, so I apologize Mark! Bacon cheeseburger dog on me next time.):

As the sun drifted away to the lilting strains of Mitch's 237th Fleetwood Mac attack of the week, the vibes circulating around the picnic tables outside were good and we co-existed happily amongst the shuffling old Deadheads and Parrotheads. Special note: if you have an internet jukebox in your bar of choice, there is a good chance you can search "Cheater Slicks" and come up with at least the In The Red albums. I learned this and life may be easier in the future if I'm ever stuck in a smoky life-ender with nothing to do. Andy and Kelly gave me a lift to their place and I dozed in the backseat and we crashed out watching the FSU episode of Gangland. They did not talk about any sweet bands. They should have also interviewed Freddy Madball just because. Especially about his hilariously awful new rap career.

Andy had plans for me the next day. We headed into SF proper and went to one of his favorite restaurants, Le Cordon Bleu, which served French Vietnamese eats at a counter the size of a dining room table. We shuffled in around 11:30 or so after Andy gave me a quick tour of Pacific Heights, Golden Gate Park, and the beach. The weather up to this point had been quite fair in the East Bay and SF but today it was beginning to get wet and chilly as the day went on. I cursed myself for not bringing a jacket to California. Cordon Bleu made up for it. There are five items on the menu. #5 is everything on the menu for 8.95 or so. We both ordered it.

The dish is sliced grilled beef (they call it shish kebab but there are no skewers or veggies involved), a large piece of chicken, white rice with meat sauce, cabbage, and a roll called the Imperial Roll. The meat fell apart in your mouth and the roll was so packed full of sumptuous flavor that I was drinking water just to cleanse my palate and retaste it with every bite. I didn't really finish my white rice and meat sauce, but Andy was happy to oblige and further impress me with his WMD knife and fork. He's like me and does his best to eat healthy then splurge, and it was a joy dining with him. Here's a couple more shots... look at the Imperial Roll. Just look at it.

Do you even like eating?

Andy took me off to Marin County and showed me lots of California that I never thought I'd see. The communities of Sausalito and Alameda and were gorgeous, and if you weren't aware San Quentin resides on the most gorgeous cliff over the water you'll ever see. How do you feel about that? Wild place, man. By this time, I decided that I finally needed to take the plunge and indulge in one of the things I'd come for: the Haight. He dropped me off and I began to walk.

Suffice it to say, there were a couple nice things about it. There is a market for buyers on the street and I was treated quite right by a fellow Deadhead from Humboldt County. Despite the testy weather, I had a borrowed sweater, a piece, and the tools to get the job done. I walked up and down Haight Street searching for some glimmer of the Grateful Dead spirit and instead found a larger dirtier recreation of Pittsburgh's South Side with more fuzzed-out bums and psuedo-hippies offering me the dank nugz. Any plans I had for freelovin' hippie babes, flowers, and sunshine were dashed.

Looking into their eyes for a brief moment showed faces devoid of emotion and charged with expectation. They were nothing more than stony vessels of gruff hustling - the mellow ineffectualness of the hippie of old had been replaced by a grizzled hick with a drugrug and an underage girlfriend tugging angrily at him. A t-shirt at any store ran at least $25 and the one bar I stopped into for a beer (the Toronado) was packed with rowdy financiers and very unwelcoming. The community was grasping at straws and it seemed to me that any vestige of what was important there probably never even existed. I waited for Brace so we could enjoy some Mexican in the Mission.

I did meet this nice dog when I ducked into a park for a reality detour.

Moving on.

We had a party to get to with all the young punx where I was sure to feel like an old man, but we needed fuel and we hit El Castillito which served us up two excellent grilled vegetarian quesadillas. My camera got a workout in here which i think all the cooks were bummed about, but with a trusty Negra Modelo and some righteous sauces and salsas any tensions soon subsided. The meat here looked great too:

Look at this asshole:

I think I am the number one supporter of little asshole punk kids and I really wish there was some kind of summit where the Braces and Vinnies of the world unite then get their asses kicked by their older friends. Too fun hanging with this guy.

I've also come to the conclusion that Negra Modelo with lime in it is probably my favorite reasonably-priced beer. Best bottle, good memories, and refreshing as can be.

After swinging by the party and kicking it with the kids from Buzzer, Apache, and Wild Thing (and feeling super old), I headed over to the knockout to go see some swingin' garage bands. The first band on the bill The Mindless Things started things off great with some rousing R&B-tinged rockers that actually culled some soulful Oblivians moments and some good hooks. Only problem was the guitar amp shit the bed after five songs. That stuff looks great but then when you gotta fix it what can you do? The five tunes I heard were hot and I would check them out again gladly.

Dusty the drummer was an A+ guy and introduced himself and we hung hard in front of the club till I was in a haze. The other bands on the bill were the Boars (aptly named) and the Shangorillas (who I think were actually using a pedal board for a rote 60's rehash). I passed. Met some cool folks and got loaded. Couldn't complain about the venue. The Knockout looks and sounds great and is packed with lovely ladies so give it a shot. Here's me and Melanie, and she kicks ass.

The Castro is the cleanest, nicest, most inviting neighborhood I've ever seen. They have a cafe called Tangerine which had a brunch that I couldn't believe. I ate a corn and macaroni pancake with fried eggs on top for under ten bucks in a cute place and I must give it my highest rating.

Some more killers from brunch land - my grilled brie and tomato croissant from a cafe I cannot recall the name of, except there was a wait for everyone else and there is no hostess.

Scrambled eggs with avocado:

Since it was time for exploration, this time I took the trip out towards Delores Park through the Mission. I stopped into the Needles and Pens zine store:

This spot had a lot of great material and a nice dude working the counter. There was a family with three children inside the store screaming and wailing and moving items around and he and I exchanged knowing glances. There is honestly one thing that bugs me so much on the street and it is "cool" parents. Sickening. While I was there I picked up a copy of Human Being Lawnmower #2 which ended up not only including a great Rot Shit review, but also righteous interviews with Andy Shernoff, Eddie and the Hot Rods, and more. I really liked this zine a lot even despite its obvious clinging to some sort of NYC punk history which to me seems like trying to hold onto sand at the beach.

I met a girl in the store who began to wander with me and she struck up a conversation about how she wanted to move to Pittsburgh. She was cute so I listened as we walked. After she told me she was interested in the anarchist community in Pittsburgh, I said "What sort of activities do you want to participate in besides living extremely cheaply?" When she had literally no other answer I figured it would be easier to just blend into the park and forget the whole thing. Two of her friends we bumped into introduced me to an old gold-toothed hippie who was doing bong rips in the middle of 1500 people on a hillside and I sat and conversed with him and enjoyed myself for awhile. Soon I began to get hungry so I nabbed a parting gift and headed out to a bar for a couple quick beers in this place called Delirium. One thing I learned is that shitty barpunk culture (along with the hipster grandma - which I got to see at the Nothing People gig coming up further down the page) knows no cultural limitations and even if you think your town is still the only place where new Misfits, rockabilly, The Dragons, Heavy Rebel Weekender, and Pitchfork combine to sluice a musical slop onto willing soon-to-be county employees, you are WRONG, brother.

After imbibing a few terrible beers and watching the near-homeless eat free bar garbage with every guy you ever saw at a Deftones show, I needed respite and the cheap delicious sushi at We Be Sushi killed it. I jammed the dinner special and three rolls and some cold sake and got fucked up and full and ready to roll. My last roll was the spicy creamy tuna salad roll and it was tight.

I haven't mentioned my buddy Damian yet, but here he is in his studious glory.

Damian has been my man since he and the elusive AA of Cool Dude Quarterly banged their way through Pittsburgh after the WFMU record fair last year. HONE and I were happy to have them for a few days and we made fast buds for life. Here are all four of us looking smart and lonely last Halloween at my house.

Damian saved my life multiple times on this trip and I can never repay him for anything ever. But for some reason he seems to still like me anyways. He has since moved to Berkeley and is ballin' out of control at school there running his lab and getting ready to crack the whip at grad students. I salute him. He took me all over Berkeley and showed me the campus and the rotten hippies polluting the streets. Once again, cheap tie-dye was a loss but the lasses were beautiful and the
lunch we had at the Intermezzo Cafe was on point.

I got the tuna salad and thai chicken noodle soup:

Damian jammed the corned beef and a half-salad (the whole salad is enormous and looks like something I need to try right away when I come back):

While Damian was busting his hump in the lab a couple days, I was strutting around Berkeley hitting up Yoga for the People and Yoga Kula (which was my first introduction to Anusara Yoga and an awesome refreshing class that got me very psyched). I also hung out smoking in People's Park watching the people mill about and then explored the city some more. The campus is bright and inviting and I forgot what being on a college campus was like, especially one as big as this. There were also many furry friends for me to say hi to:

That night, Damian and I went to Oakland to go see Nothing People at the Lobot Gallery. This was a huge highlight of my trip as I'd come to really enjoy the singles and World's Lousy track this band produced and I had heard nothing but good things about the LP's S-S has been putting out.

The gallery was housed in a desolate industrial area in Oakland and we were quite early. Using this time to purchase beers from the corner store, we settled in and waited for the gig. Luckily, Nothing People were up first and I was sufficiently zoned and ready to get some low-key space vibes rippling up through my spinal column. Nothing People came to play and they brought along ex-Monoshock member Doug Pearson as the new guy on bass and keys (even though everyone in the band switches instruments at least once during their set). The songs were crystalline in my ears and the room expanded and contracted with every brush over the strings. Tube amps and analog synths pulsed together creating a buzz in the room that rushed in and out of me with each breath. "It's Not Your Speakers" carried me along on a slow journey to the end of a beer bottle and gave me pause to close my eyes and take it all in with the beaming red lights and enormous installations.

The band were all sweethearts and were stoked that I was so excited to see them. Apparently they play about three times a year so I witnessed a pretty uncommon event and I am quite thankful. Amazingly they even tossed me a copy of their record and I must say Late Night is standing high above any other LP's I've heard so far this year with the exception of the Slicks Bats in the Dead Trees. A dirty satin and hard sex vibe sinks under the surface making the tones and sounds employed on this record drip like morphine, filling the room with blue smoke and warm, controlled feedback slowly melting into a throbbing k-hole of sound. Late Night lives up to its name and makes for a great listen when you truly need to disassociate with a smirk and the end of your trip. Pick one up while you can. They canceled their tour so live vicariously through me and support a great band. Get the record here.

Ran into Rob from Tractor Sex Fatality who I hadn't seen since Buffalo two or three years ago for Big Neck Fest. He is happily married and prowling Amoeba looking for more 45's to put in his special bin and it was nice to rap for awhile. Jesus, look at me.

One thing I noticed - kids are fucking FREAKS and I don't get it.

Another thing - CAVE headlined the show and sucked dicks while looking like Jesus playing prog rock and making all the kids flip out. Sorry boutcha. Damian and I shook our heads and headed home.

Eventually all good things must come to an end. My last night in town brought us all together at Thallassa in Berkeley and we had plenty of beers. Missy and Kelsey came out again with Andy and Kelly and Mitch and the vibes were great and I was really happy to have made some killer new friends and chilled hard with some old ones.

He's single, ladies. But don't ever try to get in the way of his Tapeworm 45.

After the bar I was loaded and we headed up the street for the perfect cap to the vacation: TOP DOG in Berkeley!

These sausages will stand up to any of our Euro brethren in the States and I could not get enough.

I killed the bockwurst, knockwurst, and a calabrese. They serve all these on French bread. Heaven! I got kraut, onions, and mustard on all three of mine and I must say: FUCK YES.

Here's a guy who had a good vacation.

Time for one more bite:

After heading home and waking up at 5 AM to get to BART to get to the airport, I walked an hour, discovered I left my debit card at the bar and had no money and was an hour away from the airport. Damian saved me at 6 AM, gave me ten bucks and sent me on my way. I got to SFO, missed my flight, slept under a bench for six hours, rotted in Vegas next to the ugliest, most annoying British family I'd ever seen (which was made all the better when I watched one of their sniveling five year olds faceplant on the carpet in the Vegas airport), got stuck on a Vegas runway thanks for Air Force One, and was met at midnight that night by Vinnie and lil' Suzz who brought me a sandwich and a kombucha. Best sister ever.

I'd just like to say, thanks to everyone: Damian, Mitch, Andy, Mark, Dulce, Brace, Melanie, Heather, Eric, Neil, Missy, Kelsey, Andytai, Dusty, Rob TSF, Nothing People, and more! If I forgot you, please forgive me, but I am a bum and sometimes it slips my mind. All I know now is I love the Bay and I'll be back.

Prepare for next time: STEVE HITS MIAMI. Coming soon!

Happy Birthday Nobunny!

2009-04-15T21:07:00.009-04:00

The irony of our back from the dead post being Easter related isn't lost on me, we're taking some baby steps here with a little food, a little music and some hype for this weekend's Totally Wired Fest.

One of my favorite things about any holiday dinner at Mama Rizzo's are rice balls. They are a tasty little rural Italian concoction of rice, Parmesan cheese, ricotta, parsley and salt & pepper rolled in bread crumbs and fried in oil until a crisp golden brown:

Ready for the table:

After stuffing ourselves silly, playing video games and a little secret gambling (I won twelve bucks!) we slogged on over to the Polish Hill Punk Palace to catch the Nobunny/Rock N Roll Adventure Kids/Savage Lines show.

Vinnie stepped up with a holiday appropriate carrot cake from the Paddy Cake Bakery in Bloomfield.

Schleep digs in, punx are oblivious and the dog works on a plan of attack:

After carrot cake, watermelon and a kicked keg Pittsburgh's Savage Lines lay it down:

Rock N Roll Adventure Kids:

Mistress of Ceremony, the fabulous Sharon Needles:

Nobunny works his special brand of furry sex magic, American Apparel modeling skills and proves that his taint really does smell like an aromatic blend of Pabst and Cadbury Mini Eggs:

PS:
Don't sleep on this weekend's Totally Wired Fest:

Out of towners should take a looks at Schleep's Tips!

Photo credit to Rizzo on the band pics.

Secret Stash (or What I've Been Up To)

2008-09-04T13:15:00.021-04:00

It's a jungle out there. I'll vouch for that. With all the turmoil in America right now, I think we could all use a break from the norm: the accusatory ranting of ultra-zealot neo-cons trying to sell our populace snake oil, a tanking economy, a media circus election that still is one of the most crucial turning points in our history, and of course, every member of my generation acting simultaneously like a morose 1920's West Texas pipe-liner and a drooling, whiny baby with unstable bowels about topics ranging from the most inconsequential (Vivian Girls, iPhones, sexy Halloween costumes) to one of the most consequential (the fact that all this gas price nonsense you motorists have been hooting like buffoons about is taking a dangerous toll on all manner of FOOD AND GROCERY PRICES!).

But whining and caterwauling aside, I'll admit in the past I would normally have had a bad attitude about plenty of the other completely ridiculous problems our world faces these days. But as time goes on, I've learned that life is much tougher than most of us could dream of and tuning in to gripe on message boards from our lofty office drone perches only makes us look more spoiled and laughable to the foreigners who have been ravaging eBay lately, pillaging and plundering all of our essential United States hardcore and punk vinyl history with our ever-shrinking exchange rate.

And basically, all I can say is I've been doing my best to detach, beef up my daily yoga practice, and to stay full for the long winter coming up. So let's take a look at some special sandwiches and assorted other ephemera that I have been foolin' with since our last update (and a couple special blasts from the past, as well). But I guess no day is complete unless you begin with a hearty breakfast first.

My new apartment has a pretty large kitchen, and before jetting off to LA with Eric Courtney for her new career, my girl Roxanne (who you may remember from our Leekfest Spectacular in West Line) gifted me this kitchen table where I can sit on a nice morning to enjoy my vittles and read. Here we have my bachelor breakfast, which on this particular day, consisted of an egg-white omelette stuffed with spinach, tomato, onion, and Monterey Jack cheese. My cereal of choice here was a bowl of Total mixed with Grape-Nuts.

Despite the meats and cheeses and assorted nonsense I've shoved into my yap in the last 26 years, I have never been big on sweets and I like my breakfast cereal like I like my women: crunchy, full of fiber, and whole-grain. So yeah, jab away, but I will eat the criticism up with some soy milk. Also, the Yoo-Hoo hit the spot. After Vinnie and Drugula couldn't stop talking Yoo-Hoo back in July, I made it a point to grab a six-pack, and it made for a nice treat for awhile. The potatoes, which I have been making since back in college, were spicy, crispy, and the perfect breakfast side dish. Add some fresh fruit, and you can turn your hovel with no TV, one free-standing lamp, and resin on the coffee table into a swank little private soiree for you and your lonely morning.

Chicago Dogs can't be beat, but the only problem is locating the perfect ingredients when not tromping through Illinois. Hopefully one of these days, one of our Chicago readers sends me a care package with the proper tools to replicate the joy of a true Chicago Dog. I've done most of the leg work and found the stores with the sport peppers and the proper franks, and now I need the neon green relish and the seeded buns! A few years back when I began working Downtown, there was a hole-in-the-wall on Liberty Avenue called Yovi's. It was run by two Chi-Town ex-pats, one of whom I assumed was Yovi, but I don't think those dudes could have gotten their names out from under their moustaches anyways. The shop, which was dirty in all the right ways, was completely covered from floor to ceiling in Chicago sports memoribilia and served the dogs in the exact same manner with the exact same ingredients that I'd come to find in Chicago proper. It is missed.

Here's a snap from lunch at the new Downtown PGH standby Franktuary with Vinnie and Pittsburgh all-around nice guy and record aficionado, Dan Allen. What you see here was half my order... my Bratwurst special didn't photograph well on my new phone, but you can see the Detroit (chili, onions, and yellow mustard [and I added jalapenos, sauerkraut, and banana peppers]) and the Buffalo (bleu cheese dressing, Frank's Red Hot, and I always add the chopped red onions). Someday I will have a full Franktuary rundown, but for now this will do. I am five dogs away from a free one on my Franktuary card!

Moving on, here are some pretty boss sandwiches I think you should take a peek at.

Turkey pastrami is my go-to lunch meat now. Here it is with some jalapeno mustard, onions, and Swiss on some multi-grain Tuscany. Don't mind if I do.

I whipped that turkey/avocado/bacon/Muenster/tomato/mung sprout/onion number at 3 AM after ingesting some fungus. Not too shabby.

My co-worker Chris (who loves eating and food and complaining as much as I do) went out to lunch one day and about forty-five minutes later I received a mysterious phone call from him. He said "Which do you like better, corned beef or pastrami?" That is a difficult choice for anyone who loves the most delicious of the salted, cured meats. I opted for the pastrami, and he brought me this killer greasy pile of slop from Smallman Street Deli topped off with about a pound of salted and spiced mouth-watering shaved meat with all the love that the Jewish community is known to show to their cuisine included.

Thanks Chris!

Here is the result of when Ciggy and I made some fried bologna sandwiches. This hot one had two kinds of cheese (Colby Jack and provolone), mayo, tomato, and onion. It was quite tasty when put on toast. Don't forget your roots.

Here we have one of my South Side moving casualties. No longer can I walk a block and a half to Carson Street Deli for this monstrosity named The Donnie Brasco. From the CSD website menu: Buffalo Chicken on Fresh Italian with Hot Pepper Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato, Onion, Hot Pepper Rings and Egg Salad with Your Choice of Ranch or Blue Cheese Dressing. For seven dollars? Forget about it!

Internal!

Spinach, salmon, and feta. Delightful. And in order to further confound and anger Andy from Inhuman Eating Machine, it's another with sprouts on it. I've decided recently that leaves of lettuce are pretty weak, so I am going to be garnishing sandwiches with sprouts or leafy greens from here on out. No sense eating solidified water in Iceberg form (unless it's shredded finely... shhh...)

Fresh fruit often makes any sandwich more appealing. This didn't need it, but it didn't hurt.

And with that, here's a sandwich that puts shredded Iceberg to GOOD use, and as recently as last week supplanted the Varsity Pizza in Moundsville, WV as my favorite Italian hoagie in the world. Any Pittsburgher keeping up with the internet knows this place, and I'm glad to give some props to the East End's finest new pizza shop: SPAK BROTHERS PIZZA. In addition to employing Cig and a host of other young punks, including Vinnie on a part-time basis, they serve plenty of food for the veggies out there. I picked up some Spak Bros. last week to celebrate Lil' Suzz's birthday and she says the Seitan Melt is the best sandwich going right now, so you know what to do if you haven't yet.

Here is the Italian close-up:

I haven't sampled much else, aside from one slice and three curly fries, but Spak Brothers deserves all the praise it gets. All they needed to do was print the ingredients of the Italian on the menu (sweet capicola, hot capicola, hot soppressata, and Genoa salami, all from Parma Sausage Company in the Strip. Remember them?) and they had my backing for life. Congrats to Ryan and Nate on their opening and I wish them success for years to come. And free sandwiches for myself.

This last set will mess your brain up. Get ready.

It was my boy Cla$$y Chri$' 35th birthday and he and the wife called me up for some deep-fried hoagies down at Jerome Bettis' horrid restaurant on the North Side. Aside from the terrible servers, the gaudy faux-celeb design, the wobbly table, and the moronic yinzer fanbase that filled it up, all I can say is they served DEEP-FRIED MEATLOAF SANDWICHES (see above) and then what I decided to wolf down...

THE DEEP-FRIED ITALIAN. Here's a closer look:

Moving on...

Ever been to Texas? On my first trip, I ate so much outstanding food I reconsidered coming home. Ever had a brisket taco from Mia's Tex-Mex? It was the first thing I ate there and the shock and awe that these marinated slices of heaven brought over my person was on par with the time I first I ate the Elbow Room's clam chowder, which I think is saying something.

I also sampled some of the "famous bean soup":

And I really couldn't have asked for more, thanks to my lovely tour guide. Ashley #1.

But I did ask for more. I asked for some giant beers:

And then I asked for a trip to Cafe Brazil. And a chorizo egg-white omelette with hash brown casserole. I got that.

Ashley asked for some SERIOUS fruit pancrepes. She got that.

And then she asked for some of my omelette. She got that.

In case you were curious, Cafe Brazil was stocked to the gills with bountiful, healthy, and fresh ingredients; a large and diverse menu that appealed to all walks of life; and coffee so good even I had to have a cup or two. We were the only folks there and the atmosphere was gorgeous. Quite a fine joint, that Cafe Brazil. I would love to return. Probably the most amazing food-related sight I saw in TX was Central Market, which was the size of a Sam's Club or Costco filled to the rafters with gourmet food. Delicious treats, outstanding produce, huge meat and seafood sections, football-field size wine racks and fancy beers of all stripes were everywhere, and you wouldn't believe the gelato stand!

We ate up the Forest Berry Yogurt Crunch mixed with Vanilla, and it put the tame cherry, lemon, and chocolate flavors the Eyetalians have here up in Bloomfield to shame. STEP YO GAME UP. But I digress... there was sushi to be eaten at Fujiyama. We hit this place twice, and the second time I was smart enough to get some pictures. Feast your eyes:

And finally, here are some records sent to us by fans and some that I have been jamming at the new spot through the summer and fall.

All 7-Inch Slam readers should know of the Inhuman Eating Machine by now. Andrew Levy from the Touch-Me-Nots happens to be the proprietor of said blog, and he and his lady make up this San Francisco twosome who were nice enough to toss their LP and 10" my way a long time ago. And finally I am getting around to writing about it, but here's what I have to say. The TMN's fire off a gaggle of snappy, witty tunes and I can hear a touch of Woody Allen's New York loser humor in the lyrics that showcases Levy's East Coast roots.

The sound is minimal, with Kelly Tschantz providing plenty of more than capable straight-eight pounding and dreamy backing vocals. The guitars twang and sling about a Southern heft, and honestly, I am reminded of ol' King Louie himself and his one man band spectacular, minus the years of self-abuse and backstage eight-balls. I feel like the Touch-Me-Nots would be much more concerned with a glass of smooth sippin' whiskey and a burrito after the show instead. The guitar work shows taste and restraint at times, and can break into a wild blues stomp, complete with off-kilter shredding during others. It's a sound that works in their case, but my main caveat is there is very little low-end in the tunes die to their lack of a bassist, so maybe you want to fiddle with your equalizer beforehand or petition Andy to fashion his Fender combo into some kind of dual G&B rig. But anyway, if you can grab either of these records, I'd say go for it. I especially like "Class Reunion" as an example of their low-key hopped-up sound. I'll back 'em! The LP is self-released and should be able to be gripped here. And you can grab the Sheldon Munn 10" up above from the Frenchies over at Yakisakana.

"Don't Hit Record!" Records out of my my favorite little touring spot, Memphis, TN, dropped off two EP's for me to peruse, one being the split 7" (take THAT, Mike Sniper!) squaring off my partners in crime from Chicago Daily Void with Montreal's newest dark and moody punk darlings The O-Voids.

Daily Void checks in with two tunes, including a reprise of their hit "Devil's Gold Window" from earlier in the year. Having played shows, partied, and hung out with the DV boys ever since Horrible Fest #1 when they were still Functional Blackouts, I must say that this is not an act and these guys are one of the more unique combos going right now, and any chance I get to praise their work is more than welcome for me. The jerky robotic paranoid vibes you get here stem from a break from the Chicago "cool kids" and an introspective look into a strange dystopian universe which I hope never comes, but I am always happy to hear songs about.

This happened to be the O-Voids first vinyl appearance at the time, and they did not disappoint. Apparently all the PCP and gorgeous girls in Montreal didn't stop them from keeping their songs moody and dissonant, worming the dubious "noir punk" tag from some press releases and reviewers. Philip Marlowe this ain't, but it sounds just right to me with bleak tinges of Warsaw and I think it would make a more than suitable companion for lonely beers and window-staring or a drive in the rain to somewhere you don't want to go. There's a stripped-down post-punk clatter that works well with some heavy reverb on the vocals, but not too much to garner a chorus or render it unlistenable like some of their contemporaries who are much too busy checking Pitchfork for their names to bother with making memorable songs. Great first effort. "Remote Control" would be the hit to me, and if these characters make it down here, this is a band I could see sharing a bill with Kim Phuc, who share a similar vibe.

As for the Staags, this record threw me for a loop. You might know their bassplayer by his internet psuedonym Jack Stands and his stellar live recordings for all your Memphis and Gonerfest darlings. I checked out a few songs live when Rot Shit played with these gents down in Memphis at Murphy's in January and was duly impressed, but this record separates them from the pack with its pure hardcore sentiment. Sometimes live hardcore can have an off-night, but a 7" record is ALWAYS its truest test. Regardless of whatever hip jams may get you laid these days, raging hardcore punk was never on that Top Ten list, but I couldn't care less. The Staags attack, charging headlong into pounding 80's template rhythms which will always work as long as young, white men are mad about something, however ridiculous. This record carries my highest personal recommendation if you want to turn your brain off, drink ten beers, fight your friends, and pretend you're Matt Coppens for about seven minutes, and that's just long enough for me.

Cool cover art and simple basic hardcore pounding make this a winner, and the songs on their Myspace also show off some great catchy rock n' roll chops, so they are firing on all cylinders... check out "Noise Ordinance Rock"! Hopefully we get another EP in the pipeline, and I'd say the Staags could call it a day and be remembered fondly on Killed By Death: The Termbo Years (which Aaron Lefkove needs to get on comping RIGHT NOW, got it pretty boy?). That being said, I'd roadie for these guys.

Hook or Crook didn't send me this one out of the goodness of their hearts, but the thirteen bones I plunked down in June before the USPS lost my pre-ordered copy of the new Human Eye LP "Fragments of the Universe Nurse" was no sweat off my back. And when lost, head honcho Chris was kind enough to supply me with another copy of the colored vinyl, limited to 200, even! What a guy! But getting down to brass tacks, this is an essential long-playing platter in '08 and Human Eye continues to bring their warped psychedelic vision to life on wax with more force and drive than ever before.

Everyone liked the first LP fine after they shook off their acid hangovers, and the recent singles (two of which share tunes with this release) were even more of a step in the right direction. But now Timmy V. has pounced on his art and has got me reeling whenever I drop this on the turntable. "Poison Frog People" on the B-side gives you the shivers with the winding tear the guitars rip into, and the multi-instrumentalists they are, they send Johnny LZR on a Pigpen-esque racket of xylophones that back up Vulgar's guitar histrionics over the tom-pounding that will make you twitch. They've really hit their stride, and I'd love to get the chance to check them out again. We've been pulling for a PGH show for awhile now, but let's see if we can finally make it happen. I would be afraid to see them torch another vacuum cleaner again, though. Wait, who am I kidding? No I wouldn't. Hook or Crook is putting out some important platters these days (Lamps, Haunted George, Mirrors, the Rebel), everyone. Don't sleep and make sure to throw them some business.

As for new singles, you bet I got some for you!

Tyvek? They just put out another 7-inch on M'Lady Records with some more old songs from the Fast Metabolism CDR we've all been listening to over and over since they started kicking around the MTV-approved "LO-FI" scene a few years back. This time, we have one of my favorites "Sidewalk" kicking things off and "Future Junk" from the split with Cheveu as well. "Flashing Lights" tops it all off, and what you have is a much-needed DIY blast that echoes long-lost UK wonders like Desperate Bicycles, Swell Maps, and good old budget trash recordings like no other. Y'all missed out on this 300 copy gem, so maybe there will be a repress. I believe they have a full-length recorded for Siltbreeze as of this writing, so hopefully there will be a tour coming up that hits my neck of the woods. Seeing them at Southpaw in Brooklyn wasn't gonna cut it when I had to sit at a merch table all night two hundred feet away, so hopefully TVK will be OFF DA GRILL soon!

Mayyors? Only getting better. With the "Megan's LOLZ" EP they have got their sound hammered into place and the noise blasting from Sacramento is deafening. Woodhouse has his recording on point as always, but I am continually turning to Mayyors for a dose of garbled unintelligible droning screams and the fuzziest guitars and bass this side of a shitty broken Pignose amplifier. Not much else to say except you've probably missed out by now, but you can jam it vicariously through me during bong rips.

Monoshock? I know, not new by any means, but a cheap eBay pickup of "Model Citizen (Nitroglycerine)" warranted posting as it has one of my favorite tracks on the flip. "Hawkwind Show" breaks the cycle and shows Grady and the boys at their most pop-oriented. My sister added that track to her Suzz's Jams iTunes playlist, but this should give you the hint to buy the Monoshock singles and rarities comp CD "Runnin' Ape-Like From the backwards Supermen" on S-S post-haste. The double LP is getting some bids on eBay now, so pick that up while you can. Baby needs more singles, so write in if you can help! Hippie San Francisco Psych-freakouts never felt so good. Also, I need the lowdown on Grady's in Ventura. This blog is for ME, people!

Eddy Current Suppression Ring? One of the best bands going right now, and they're leading the charge which along with our shitty dollar is filling the touring circuit up with GREAT Aussie bands like Witch Hats, Ooga-Boogas, and more! The Demon's Demands 7" on Iron Lung is long gone, but Goner is repressing the first LP, and you can pick up the Primary Colors LP right now! This band will unite all the freaks, rockers, bangers, weird punks, not-so-weird punks, and louts alike, so get in where you fit in and pick up all the ECSR you can! I need it all, baby!

Kim Phuc? I've dished on them already, but the new 7" is beyond the pale, and the My War Matt recording on their new 7" disc for Criminal IQ finally does them justice. They have two more 7"s recorded, so get ready for the barrage of depressed musings and wimp-slaying guitars emanating from our Burgh real soon. Not much else to say. They do now have a Myspace page, so you can go pretend to be aghast at Ben's Confederate button-up, but I'll be happy to go see 'em next week. Young Eli's got a hot new pop band called Plastic Idea, as well, so there are some great things on the horizon.

Cheater Slicks? The best band in the world. Hands down. Between them and the Dead, I didn't listen to too much else this summer. HONE has the hook-up for a few 45's I'm missing and my partner in lazy blogging crime Tony over at Cool Dude Quarterly sealed the deal this morning with my Slicks Holy Grail (the giveaway 7" from their 10th anniversary show), but I still need the following:

SINGLES
"Chaos" b/w "Destination Lonely" 45 on Gift of Life
"You Don't Satisfy" b/w "Little Red Book" 45 on Sympathy

ALBUMS
"On Your Knees" LP on Gawdawful
"Don't Like You" LP on ITR

Last time I checked, I gave you this lovely blog and something to read while you were bored at work. I never asked for much, so please do the needful and email me if you can help with any of these. I will be happy to drop some $$$$ or trade something of value. Until next time, keep your RSS feeds locked right here. Missed y'all.

And that's that.

Big Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

2008-08-08T12:24:00.008-04:00

Just for a quick taste today before we get to the meat of this post, here are some fine examples of the extremely red-eyed Steve and Ciggy tossing together some most triumphant (in the parlance of Count Drugula) fried chicken over at Sarah Street this spring. I like to think we made some great chicken, but sometimes you can't hold a candle to the real thing, which you will see after this set of pictures.

So since our last update, I've been uprooted from my humble digs in South Side and have scampered over to the East End in our beloved 'Burgh, shacking up alone in a space-age bachelor pad in East Liberty suitable for the likes of a disheveled fancy-boy like myself. Back when I was a youngster, most Sundays I was shepherded into the ominous sanctuary of East Liberty Presbyterian Church by the folks, much to the consternation of the newly minted Sunday School teachers, until about the age of nine when all parties concerned decided that the Lord's work was not a vocation designed for my wise-cracking then-metalhead constitution. But now, I have returned to my familiar stomping grounds in the shadow of the steeple over on Highland Avenue, much to the delight of Momma A ("Just think, you get to wake up and look out the window and see that church your great-grandfather helped build" - OK, Mom) and finally I have two grocery stores within a two-block radius that supply me with better ingredients than the South Side Giant Eagle could ever dream of.

In addition to having said grocery stores within easy walking distance, I got myself a new pizza place, a new bar with some delicious food and Punk Night which gave me the chance to spin records there about a month or so ago, a bunch of Ethiopian restaurants I don't see myself visiting anytime soon, and a brand-new bike commute straight down Liberty and through the Strip District that tacked eight extra miles onto my route everyday.

However, now my favorite part of the day is zooming down Liberty at 7:30 AM inside a fancy private bike lane and then rolling through the Strip on the freshly-repaved Penn Avenue, and you've already seen what can be consumed by any aspiring gastronomist that breezes through there, I'd guess. But the place I want to discuss today is further down Penn next to the 16th Street Bridge and I roll by it everyday: Big Mama's House of Soul.

I decided to take the trip during my lunch break Downtown, and I rode over to the Strip again, hoping to be the first customer that day. My hopes were dashed when I noticed a group of retirees had beaten me to it:

But undeterred, I waited through the sea of people that piled up in about five short minutes and eventually filtered out through the door. I placed my order for lunch: fried chicken, greens, and mac and cheese - my soul food standard order - so I could effectively give Big Mama a chance to show off some of the restaurant's finest wares. Big Mama is not an imagined marketing creation like Betty Crocker. She is very sweet, very real, and a lady who commands all the respect you can deliver when you are in her presence. Her waiting area had become flush with patrons who had little room to stand and little control over their volume and slightly pushy behavior.

Here's Big Mama (real name: Brenda Franklin) in action:

After she took my money, she succeeded in clearing out the waiting area in front of the kitchen in order to work. All the patrons were told to go around the corner to an air-conditioned room on the side of the building. I figured it had to be better in there than sitting out in front at the picnic tables with a bunch of white-haired norms, so I went around the corner, only to find an open door to a room lined with football Astroturf and Steelers memorabilia covering the walls. I was the only one there for some reason. None of the other customers were even on the side of the building I sat down in a chair with one of Big Mama's helpers hanging out nearby and opened my Styrofoam container and silently began to eat. The food was stellar:

Here's another look.

Killin' it.

I was taken aback with how great this chicken tasted. It had an excellent crunchy breading, spiced perfectly with a noticeable cayenne-addled kick and delicately tender meat. But you probably don't even like eating. Lord knows I don't...

Big Mama breezed into the room and finding me there immediately gave me a tour of her Steelers room after I asked some preliminary questions while I was eating. She was quite happy to dish with me about her life, her restaurant, and more. The Steelers figure heavily into her universe, as she is lauded for her fandom and cooking by the team. Santonio Holmes and Hines Ward seem to be her #1 dudes. Autographs decorate items all over her pickup room (which is where I figured I was) and I was getting the VIP treatment by even being allowed to be in there. Here's a taste:

The Super Team XIII LP. I think Siltbreeze is repressing this... oh wait, they're probably Eagles fans. WHATEVER.

Hines had to say this:

Good enough for me. Also, good look on adding XL MVP to the signature, Hines. YES.

All the Steelers and BBQ stuff is great, but you have to remember one-half of our coverage here is music. Well, of course Big Mama had us covered. She has been a jazz and gospel singer for decades, playing with every notable jazz artist in the city, and for the non-Burghers out there, we have a pretty extensive jazz history in town including dudes like Harold Betters, Roger Humphries (who Big Mama sang for and is in the 8x10" up above), and more. Then I got the best part... Big Mama turned up the stereo that was playing and sang me a gorgeous gospel snippet that was so moving that I gave her a hug as soon as she was done. Here's the video (you might need to turn this down... I did the best I could):

In case you've noticed, I've kept it pretty clean in this entry, and that is because Big Mama is a reverend and will not tolerate any cursing. I was well-appraised of this fact when I dropped an F-bomb in my conversation and was strictly admonished for cursing in her presence. But sometimes you need to shut up, so I appreciated her telling me who's who and what's what. Big Mama is a number one lady and I'll do pretty much whatever she needs me to do. I was invited to Jazz on the Bridge that weekend, which I guess is every Sunday down on 16th and Penn. If I had the chops, I'd bring the Epiphone down there and try to swing, but instead I think I'll return for the ribs this time. Anyone who wants to come with knows where to find me.

Steve's Lousy With Ideas, Vol. 1

2008-05-08T12:29:00.005-04:00

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

2008-05-08T11:16:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-08T09:52:00.005-04:00

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

2008-04-28T12:20:00.007-04:00

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

2008-02-06T10:20:00.000-05:00

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

2008-02-05T09:40:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-18T10:04:00.000-04:00

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?

2007-07-17T20:57:00.000-04:00

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

2007-05-17T22:30:00.000-04:00

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

Please visit this site!

2007-05-14T17:01:00.000-04:00

Andy from the Touch-Me-Nots has taken it to the next level with his new site THE INHUMAN EATING MACHINE. Dude is housing food and making us look like wimps by comparison. Also, look for a new entry from BIG SCHLEEP tomorrow! Check it out and help spread the word. Look for both blogs to meet and eat in spectacular fashion at Gonerfest 4M in September!

Blogs That Desire to Be 7inchslam.com

2007-05-10T11:28:00.001-04:00

Summertime is upon us. The Penguins are done, the Pirates are below .500. The sun is shining. Babes are struttin' around showin' off what they've got. Dudes are struttin' around looking at babes. Everything that's cool year round becomes even cooler in the summer.

Especially food.

Summertime food means everything is fresher, cheaper, and preferably cooked outside on a grill. When summer rolls around, you need to call up everyone you know and throw together a cookout. Tell all your shitbag friends to bring a dish to share, and probably a 30 pack too. Well, at the onset of warm weather, us Pittsburgh rockers threw together one hell of a cookout.

The ultimate cookout never starts outside. It starts by calling your friends and telling them to show up on a Sunday afternoon with food. Then it continues when some girl decides to actually prepare all the food you need for a kickass cookout. Luckily, Big Suzz was on the case. She woke up at 6am to make some famous Anderson family potato salad and a nice pasta salad too. At a more reasonable hour of the morning she sent the dueling shitbags to pick up some hamburgers, sausages, fake burgers and dogs, buns, condiments, salad, and chips. Things were starting to come together.

We arrived at Pittsburgh's historic Schenley Park early in the day. We staked out a pavilion, waited for friends, and gathered sticks from the woods. After witnessing a previous cookout in which a family of Russian Jews said "fuck you" to the Kingsford charcoal company and cooked their food using scavenged wood, we were ready to do the same. Charcoal, like prostitutes, costs money. Cooking over a bunch of scavenged wood found in the forest takes a little longer but, if you apply yourself, is free. And better.

After people started showing up we were ready to start cooking. We had potato salad and pasta salad and a couple bags of chips, but the highlight of every cookout is the grill. Our woodfire was kicking ass, and grillmaster Specs handled his business. For a kid who's really into wearing sweater vests, this guy can grill with the best of 'em. He showed up with BBQ shrimp skewers and chicken breast, then threw our burgers, sausages, and assorted soybean meats onto the fire. The key to grilling any piece of meat is to sear it using high heat, which keeps the juices inside. Or just get drunk at noon and let somebody else handle the grill, which worked out really well for me. Good work Specs!

Every great summer time cookout should have plenty of food, a couple cases of beer, liquor for the chicks, and preferably some sort of honky sports like bocce. We had all of those things, but we were missing out on hot summer jams. With no electricity and no jambox, it just wasn't gonna happen. But if it did happen, we'd need some John Legend (official site, myspace)to accompany our outdoor gluttony.

White folks don't know about summer jams and they can't roll joints. So I stopped listening to white folks about anything and started loving John Legend. He's a soul singer from Ohio who does everything that summer jams are all about. Summer jams mean upbeat soul songs for hanging out with your boys, and slowed down classics for when the ladies are feelin' sexy. Legend gives you both of those in spades. His first record "Get Lifted" is his best effort, and Kanye West did a bunch of beats for this one, so you know its gonna be a rocker. The first 6 tracks are mostly all about cheating on his old lady. Note: These tracks are not for your old lady. The first half of this record is for dudes, preferably hanging out outside. The standout jam here is track six, called "Number One," which Kanye spits a really hot verse on. Then the record changes mood and slows down a little, this is for when the sun goes down and you're with a lady. Even Snoop Dogg is in the mood, as he says he wants to "put down the pimpin' and step his love game up" on a guest spot in "I Can Change." Even when you can't get any girls to look at you twice this is still the record for you, I went a whole summer with nothing but this record and 8 dollar bottles of whiskey. Legend recently put out a second record called "Once Again" but his first record is the one you need for summer time livin', so make sure to download it, since its not available on vinyl.

Summer time is here, finally. We've got cookouts, hanging out on porches, short skirts, cold beers, and hot summer jams. If we'd had football on Sundays we wouldn't need anything else.

One more thing...

Over at the 7inchslam.com offices we are trying to organize another kick ass summer cookout for early to mid July at Vinny's drug addled new house, and we want to have bands play. If you're in a band we like and you are gonna be around Pittsburgh, let us know! If you are in a band we don't like then talk to these guys. Thanks!

Posted by John.

Uh oh...

2007-05-07T09:43:00.000-04:00

Somebody went on a lil' tour and got a lil' Hot Doug's in Chicago this weekend with Tony Valone and other assorted characters. Just a teaser here since I didn't have a camera, but thought you'd like to check it out. My order (never forget the Dr. Brown's Diet Black Cherry Soda):

First there were two of Doug's famous dogs (I prefer them steamed):

Then, the Game of the Week (this week it was a Brown Ale Buffalo Sausage with Roasted Garlic Mustard and Applewood-Smoked Cheddar Cheese... mercy):

I housed these before anyone had even taken two bites of a hot dog. Thanks to Tony Valone for this photo on his huge lame phone so I could rub it in Ciggy's face.

John-Boy is up next with some BBQ reporting. Until next time!

Wake and Bake

2007-04-18T14:12:00.000-04:00

We're back! And from the desk of Lil' Schleep:

Once again, I'm here to wake our site up and let you know our blog still exists and that we're also going to keep at it until we are given free money. For the past few months, I've been dealing with a winter that won't end and a bunch of yutzes making my brain melt into a puddle of synapses and dirty thoughts in all facets of my daily life. But I still managed to eat all the food and buy all the records, so I thought I'd step my blog game up today and show you what's been happening for a couple months in my world. This is going to be pretty picture-intensive and I apologize for the camera phone pictures, but I am not this guy so I am not carrying a camera anywhere that I don't have a press pass or other opportunities for Mapplethorpe-esque perversions.

For starters, here's a few silly ones:

I've been eating a lot of SECRET SANDWICHES lately. Naturally, these are the best kind of sandwiches in the world. First we have one I whipped up under cover of night when John-Boy and Lil' Suzz were getting all the schleep:

This may look a little crazy, but it is in fact Stagno's fresh Italian bread sliced up with some great roast beef, fresh mozzarella, mung bean sprouts, tomato, onion, and Sriracha chili sauce. This was a winner coming out of the broiler piping hot. Don't sleep on sprouts, people.

Up next, we got a little Twin Peaks action today. Here we see the infamous "brie and butter" sandwich favored by our two favorite brotherly miscreants, Ben and Jerry Horne. This sandwich doesn't photograph well due to butter melting and brie being, well, white, but I recommend everyone reading now to get yourself some fancy cheese and get that baguette tasting sumptuous.

Up next we have a grilled cheese that really hit the spot. Fresh mozz, tomato, alfalfa sprouts, and pesto combine to create a decadent treat even John-Boy-like hippies can destroy.

Pair it with some Garden Vegetable soup and a little bit of Pabst (in your favorite coolie, of course) and you have a fancy secret meal you can prepare for yourself instead of just getting drunk and eating cubes of Velveeta and thinking about why life sucks.

Then maybe you can have your dumb-ass buddies over for some beers. WHAZAAAAP BOSS.

Here's a secret burger I made while everyone was busy lying on the couch to escape the cold. You can't see it, but this was a jalapeno burger (diced jalapenos in with the meat) topped with Buffalo sauce, provolone, tomato, and onion. This put me on the couch, too. But then I watched some secret Larry and everything was allllllll-right.

And naturally, I like to have a Mike and Tony's gyro (my favorite in our fine city and only four blocks away!) every couple weeks or so. Hey Lil' Schleep!

I also got lend a hand to Hone and Carmela's Moving Spectacular. They were so grateful that they got us these Triangle subs (one Italian and one turkey... hoping for more of these soon!). I unfortunately also helped drink most of the beer they bought and ended up hungover and with a cold, but it was worth it!

Then I stole a ciabatta sandwich from work with some awesome sprouts and kettle chips. I assume there may have been free pizza that day, too. I wish Au Bon Pain catered here everyday. Also, I have been eating a lot of roast beef, apparently:

And of course I had to document the first BBQ of the year. Sadly, we got one day of this due to shit-life weather, but with Momma A's homemade potato salad, a great cheeseburger, some fruit salad, and a big fat sweet Italian sausage, I was in heaven!

There might even be a Franktuary Chicago dog. You never know!

I also don't want to forget about the excellent club sandwich I had from Pamela's in Squirrel Hill. This hit the spot on a hungover morning with Ciggy, Dev, and JB. I also tried mustard instead of mayo this time to extremely satisfactory results. Note that I got home fries and not French fries, because I am what they would call: NOT A LIL' BITCH.

I'd also like to give a shout-out to this DEEP-FRIED TURKEY I had at an Easter cookout last week:

And while I apologize for the cameraphone picture quality here, I thought I'd rub it in about what I had at the office Christmas party this past year. For reference, note that there is a server in the top right hand corner, so if you look at her hands I think you can guess how big this table of shrimp, crab claws, and oysters was. I filled up on this for two hours and was the first one to leave before 180 people had gotten to it.

Mercy, that was quite a bellyful.

Moving on, we have quite a few records to discuss as well today. Two LP's I've been hyped on lately are California's Haunted George (Steve Pallow of Necessary Evils fame and one of my favorite singers) and Memphis' KAZALOK. Both of these records make great mood modifiers, with George's dusty take on frightening desert soundtracks, sounding like pre-WWI Americana warped through demented country blues and sounding all the better for it. I really enjoy the green/black limited vinyl, and it's in the Top 3 Best-Looking Records I Own club now. Check it out on Hook or Crook; there may still be some colored vinyl left.

KAZALOK are warped in a whole different way. I actually got to hang with these guys when they showed up in Pittsburgh and somehow got my number from who-knows-who last summer. Well, these dudes have released a banger of a 12" EP on Shake Your Ass Records with six songs of varying styles and textures. From the punk bashing of "CIA" to the lilting melodies of "Caspian Sea" (a one-two punch good enough for any band), these dudes mix up psyche and punk and folk and rock to create a record my sister now calls "her favorite in the world right now". But then again, she likes drinking wine and wearing sweatpants, so you be the judge. All I can say is this is recommended for fans of well-made songs, wacky instrumentation, and you should really pick it up right-quick from Goner or wherever you can!

As for EP's, here's what I have for you today. I'll keep it short:

For starters, let's get to Cheap Time! My good buddy Jeff Novak has surpassed all his previous efforts with this snotty little mash-up of early LA punk and teenage who-gives-a-shit that has already netted them this debut release on Sweet Rot and an upcoming LP on In The Red! I also have the limited CD-R and I can say everything I've heard that they have recorded smokes! Don't miss out, white vinyl's gone already!

Top Ten recently came here back from Radio Heartbeat and played a great set to about four people. This is less sugary than Tina's glossier power-pop efforts, but it still maintains the brash poppy punk sensibilities her bands are known for, despite me hating the Bobbyteens and Trashwomen and whatever other shit she was doing. I prefer her take on Travis Ramin's tunes in the Total Babes, but then again, I am debonair and some people listen to the Mentors. Needless to say. Top Ten is great stuff! Think Cheap Trick, Ramones, and much-too-tight clothing!

Gentleman Jesse and His Men played one of the best sets of the year here and put out a 45 to match it. I got to share the stage with these guys last month, and if you think this is just a one-off, you are wrong, brother. Perfect, and I mean, perfect Rickenbacker power-pop coming off as the Jam/Elvis C. with a little of Nick Lowe's GOOD stuff (AKA two songs on Jesus of Cool) for good measure. Pick this up while it's in print on Douchemaster. I missed the colored vinyl and am currently hitting my balls with a hammer about it.

Brainbombs: I don't need to say anything about possibly the greatest band of the last 20 years.

I also finally picked up the Tyrades Blood Sister EP. I only need the Die Slaughterhaus EP and I've got everything, so let me know if you've got a double! Anyway, I wish I had picked this one up when I saw it everyday at Brave New World. The Tyrades may be done, but those records won't be breaking anytime soon and I can relive the one time I saw this band over in my head for the rest of my life. You already know how great this is, and Lowery finally didn't fuck this one up.

Tuff Bananas have risen out of the ashes of the Catholic Boys for some good-time keyboard driven FUN PUNK. I just copped this single last week and while it took a couple of spins, I can safely say seeing this band would be great and I'm anxious to hear another 45. This is dopey and dancey and a perfect record for good spring weather, so check it out on Three Dimensional Records and look out for their Dusty Medical 45 coming up!

Finally, we've got the Tokyo Electron "Put a Charge In You" EP on Shattered. I was not an early fan of these dudes since no one could find the SSLD single and I didn't care for all the Jay Reatard hype on various nerd portals on our fabulous interweb, but suffice it to say, I WAS WRONG. Get this and get the LP and get whatever you can find. These guys take the scuzzy blues-punk most Euro bands have ruined and turned it into songs with big hooks! Imagine that, blues-punk with big hooks! Well, that makes it just about perfect for me. This label may be done, but I think you can find this record somewhere out there. The riff of "Innocent" killed anything recorded by any musician last year. Do yourself a favor.

So that's it for right now. We'll all be back as soon as John and Hone get their lives together. But we're loving every minute of it.

*Posted by Steve

PS: This entry was John Rando approved. He says FUCK HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.

See ya!

Hone's Deep

2007-03-05T22:20:00.000-05:00

To say things have been a little busy around these parts would be a gross understatement, Rizzo and I have become home owners. I've now achieved a whole new level of commiseration with my peers and looks of puzzling bewilderment from those turks a few years my junior.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to modestly named Hone's Deep:

To celebrate the final signing, the lady and I hit Jo Jo's on the way to our new digs:

The fear, confusion, mild hangover and the sudden realization that I have just acquired a good 30 years of debt is quite apparent as I prepare to dig into my bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and home fries:

Rizzo in between the great inner contemplations of tax assessment and having to pay for garbage pick up, mowed down one of the tastier lookin' burgers I've seen in quite awhile:

Since all the records are in boxes and in one form of transit or another, I grabbed a bag of mix tapes for the for this week's back and forth transit mayhem. Here's an homage to the jammage that's keeping us going (and keeping us from killing each other) :

From Hot Tub Eric in Memphis:

From Henrik in Sweden:

From Rob T. in Pittsburgh:

Along with two more of my own:

Hopefully next time I'll be back with a joint that the holly jolly Sebak hasn't scooped us on.

Posted by HONE

Special Guest Alicja Trout from the Lost Sounds / River City Tan Lines!

2007-02-26T14:22:00.000-05:00

We're very excited to bring you our second special guest cook from the 7inchslam kitchen. Our first guest cook, Warzone Womyn's Mike Bolam set the bar really high. So we knew we'd need a creative, delicious dish, and a really badass record to follow up our last effort. Luckily, we lined up a really badass special guest who didn't disappoint.

Alicja Trout has been doing big things since back in the day, and she's not slowing down anytime soon. This Memphis legend is best known for her work with Jay Reatard in the Lost Sounds. She's currently kicking ass with the River City Tanlines and Black Sunday. As if that wasn't enough, she's running one of the coolest record labels out there right now, Contaminated Records, which put out a couple Feelers records and a bunch of other stuff. If that's not enough punk rock scene cred for you, she's also a smokin' hot babe who can party anybody under the table.

But can she make coconut curry ginger soup?

Well, yeah, she can. Alicja brought over a couple bags of groceries from our local Asian grocery in the Strip District and got right to work. She fried up some battered tofu for the vegetarians (me) and defrosted some shrimp for the meateaters (everyone else). After that was taken care of, she sauted green and yellow onions in some olive oil for a couple minutes, until translucent. While we were drinking beers and talking records, Alicja threw a can of coconut milk and a can of vegetable broth into the pot with the onions. Into that went some big ole chunks of potatoes and carrots. Those have to cook on high for probably 20 minutes. This soup turned out really well because of all the different flavors mingling together. Our favorite Memphis rocker added a couple tablespoons of curry powder, chili paste, arrow root, and freshly grated ginger. There's no fuckin' around here, its sweet, its spicy, its everything you want, served up steaming hot.

After hanging out, being dudes, and generally not doing anything except smelling this soup on the stove, we were really excited to try it. It was really excellent. I dropped a couple chunks of tofu in mine, everybody else opted for shrimp. Either way, you had everything you want in a soup. Sweet, spicy, a little creamy, and loaded with vegetables, this was a whole meal in a bowl. I always knew Memphis folks knew how to eat, but this was nowhere near the fried chicken and mashed potatoes that are southern staples. Aside from the optional shrimp, this was entirely vegan, complete with egg replacer. When you're eating this good, you don't need meat, despite what terminal boredom might tell you. A+ for Alicja, that broad knows how to cook.

And she knows a thing or two about records too. We asked Alicja to bring over some jams to go along with her delicious soup, and she brought over some hot ones. She showed up with a Yum Yums record, which would've been cool but we never got around to it. As soon as she saw Steve's copy ofSlayer - Reign in Blood she jumped up and threw that on the turntable. How many chicks do you know that would play Reign in Blood? That's the record you played because you couldn't get any chicks. I don't even have to tell you about Reign in Blood because you already loved this record when you were 15 years old. Nothing pisses off your parents quite like Slayer, and your parents are probably still not too pleased with your underachieving ass, so you should still be rocking the hell out of this record. Don't be one of those dorks that used to like this record, be a badass rock n roller that still loves Slayer. If its good enough for Alicja, its good enough for you.

I'd like to thank Alicja for coming over here and cooking. She's a cool chick, she's in some awesome bands, and she's put out some great records. So buy her merch and go see her band, they're on tour right now. Alicja was a great special guest and everyone involved appreciated her efforts very much. Thanks!

We're always looking for other guests to come cook food, play records, and get drunk with us. If that sounds like something you want to do, let us know!

-Posted by John.

Love Songs For the Unloved

2007-02-15T14:37:00.000-05:00

So another Valentine's Day is upon us. One more day to see every 22-35 year-old lady get flowers at work, watch couples stroll arm-in-arm down Carson Street, and sit alone in my apartment braving black metal-caliber weather and wishing the entire human race would get exterminated in some extra-"grimm" fashion (note the "extreme Nordic Deathcrush" spelling).

My neighborhood looks like this:

Pretty shitty, I'd say. No one's plowing the roads, I can't ride my bike, and no one is leaving their house; so there I was sitting around doing nothing on Valentine's Day because I have no woman to begin with, which I figured would happen anyways. So since I had nothing to do, I figured I'd spend some time with my records by myself. I'd say on Valentine's Day, most people would be running around with their significant other boring the shit out of me at a restaurant by talking about what's happening at work/school or who's pregnant or who's getting married. Fuck you! I've got better things to do. First off, I'd discuss the three releases I got sent to me here at 7-Inch Slam HQ.

Here we have the Black and Whites two singles on Shattered and Douchemaster (along with a great cassingle on Hiss Lab, which I originally assumed was assembled by the band themselves). These were sent to me by B&W's singer/songwriter Talbot Adams of Oxford, MS. He's the brains of the operation and a fan of ours (yeah!) who's really shocked the underground Rn'R community with how cool these records are. Imagine the "No Place Fast"-era Real Kids meshed together with a little tougher guitar chops and Southern boogie and some super-clean vocals. Talbot has a knack for penning a catchy tune, and dips into his former Jenny Jeans songbook for gems like "Bad Expectations". The tunes were right on for how I was feeling at this point in the evening: bouncy, full of hooks, and with some slightly subversive lyrics that have a little bite to them but could still get you laid by the end of the night. You never know. "Fucked Up Heart" is the great punker here with a little jangle on the guitar and plenty of tambourine to keep you shaking.

These guys and girl (that fine lady Twinkle Van Winkle is credited on playing on a track as well) have crafted two great 45's and I assume the sky is the limit for when they record an LP. Just one suggestion to the B&W's, the packaging for the cassingle is the shit and really sets these apart, but the 7" covers leave a little something to be desired. However, Talbot was nice enough to send me the Douchemaster colored vinyl limited to 75 and that record looks out of this world. One more tip: PUT THE SONG "CIGARETTES AND CONTROL FREAKS" ON YOUR NEXT RECORD! It's the best and most people haven't even heard it since it isn't included here! The Black and Whites are the band you need when you're either loving or leaving. If you're in a bar and some wack bullshit dipshit DJ/cop drops one of the B&W's tunes on their iPod, go ask the cute girl you saw sitting alone to dance. It's probably the best chance to do it and this is the best soundtrack you can ask for before you smoke dope in the bathroom and puke after making out with her. I don't think I can pay it a higher compliment than that.

But when you're alone and the shittiness of the world sweeps over you and you can't handle your anger any longer, there's something else you need:

THE MOTHERFUCKING BRAINBOMBS.

Remember when you listened to Funhouse and thought "Wow, no record is this raw and this cool"? Remember when you listened to droning, crushing, vile music? Remember when you got so fucked up you couldn't get off the floor because you were melting into the carpet? The Brainbombs helped get you and I there. They may be done now (who knows, though, there have been multiple break-ups since the band began in 1987). They just released a "final" 7" EP on Portland's Anthem Records in a scant pressing quantity of 377. The only other Brainbombs record I've been able to procure without dropping 30+ dollars is the Ken Rock Records' "The Grinder" EP. There's not much to say to describe the Brainbombs. They include members of Swedish bands like Totalitar, which makes no fucking sense since one of the repeated lines here is: "I was born of a whore/I sucked his cock/Stinking memory". The Brainbombs might be the most scuzzy, acid-drenched, hate-filled group of fucking Swede pricks like myself pummelling their guitars and droning out deadpan vocals about slicing open hookers and murdering sexual conquests ever.

I have nothing. But I do have the Brainbombs. Anyone who wants to make a trade for or sell me the "Obey" and "Genius and Brutality" LP's, please give me a buzz on Myspace. Being alone is never the same after you've been alone with the Brainbombs.

I know what you're saying: "Where's the food, dick? I'm not a punk. I'm a cop."

Well, once I was good and lit up and pissed, I debated what I was going to make to eat. We had plenty of food since we had bought groceries that day and everyone was gone except me, so I decided to make something big and dumb and stupid, because what else do I have to lose?

I started off with some smoked sausages. I boiled these in beer, then broiled them. My toppings were chopped onion, garlic, tomato, feta cheese, and Buffalo sauce. Since I was taking risks, I was hoping this worked out alright. To my surprise, the sausages were excellent. If only I would have had some bleu cheese, but what can you do?

One the side I had a few other interesting ideas. I'm a fancy guy, I can cook, but I love shitty food, too. That's part of the reason this site exists on the web. So why not throw some trashy fare into the mix? That's where Tina's Frozen Burritos come into play. While many people would gladly say "Oh, well, I can get those for two bucks down in Hip Neighborhood #1 with so many different good gourmet toppings". Well, fuck you, you queen. I've got limited time and even less patience to watch a bunch of limpwrists strutting around in track jackets and beards pretending not to be rich and white. I want a dumb fucking beef and bean burrito with some Tapatio hot sauce that cost 50 cents and nothing else. So I made that in our toaster oven (we don't have a microwave and I don't miss having one) and put it on the side.

Then I had some broccoli cheese couscous that I thought would really liven up the mix. See? Gettin' fancy again. I'm worth your time, ladies. This stuff is the best. I could eat it everyday. My final side dish was some steamed green beans and edamame. You know why? Because you can blow your fucking gullet out 24 hours a day and go back to being a fat kid like I was, or you can actually have a working colon and maybe try to get some girls next year. I'm hoping I'm not dead from anger by then so I can actually give it a go. So enjoy the meal and just remember, FUCK VALENTINE'S DAY AND FUCK THE HAPPY COUPLES. You've got records and a full stomach and that's better than eating at Boston Market alone on Thanksgiving, I guess. Later!

PS: Thanks to Talbot for being a great dude and sending some stuff to us. Bands, follow his lead! Go check out The Black and Whites and tell him we sent you! Also, send Twinkle Van Winkle to me!

Havin' a Laugh, Havin' a Go, Havin' a Scotch Egg

2007-02-05T16:54:00.000-05:00

Its been said for centuries, America is the melting pot of the rest of the world. We've incorporated the tired, the hungry, and the poor from all across the globe, and they've all brought a little bit of their culture with them. The French gave us the Statue of Liberty, the Polish gave us pierogies, and the Germans basicly just gave us a hard time. But before any of that, one of the first groups of immigrants to inhabit America were the English. What did they give us? Well, not much, actually.

The Pilgrims came here to escape religious oppression, and found the freedom to oppress everyone else. After a few hundred years and two British invasions, one by the British army and the other by the Beatles, England and America became BFF's again. The Ramones played shows in London, and Sid and Nancy shot heroin in New York. However, by this time, America had taken a clear leadership role on the world stage, and England assumed the role of our gay cousin who everyone laughs at behind his back. This is probably because England hasn't ever cooked anything good. Remember Arthur Treacher's Fish 'n' Chips in the Food Court. That shit sucked. That was what your mom ate while you slammed Taco Bell. The English never cooked anything worth a damn. At least that's what I thought until I discovered scotch eggs.

A scotch egg is a hard boiled egg, wrapped in sausage, then breaded and deep fried. It also has nothing to do with Scotland. This is British food through and through. They are popular in British pubs, on picnics, and in the break room on BBC's "The Office." One of our favorite South Side hangouts, Piper's Pub, serves up a mean scotch egg, best enjoyed with a McEwans IPA. However, their scotch eggs are made with real sausage, which a hippy ass vegetarian like me can't eat. So I made my own.

I used four hard boiled eggs, one package of Gimme Lean Meat-Free Fat-Free sausage, a beaten egg, breadcrumbs, and some chopped onion and minced garlic. Chill the hard boiled eggs for a couple hours, I went to happy hour while they refrigerated, I suggest you do the same. Mix the onion and garlic into the sausage with your hands, then wrap a layer of sausage around each boiled egg. Roll the sausage covered egg in the beaten egg, coating the whole thing. Then roll that around in a bowl of breadcrumbs. Repeat for each boiled egg. This will all be worth it, trust me. After you get all your eggs taken care of, drop them in about two inches of hot vegetable oil. After a few minutes of deep frying you'll be ready slam the best food those limey British bastards ever created.

These scotch eggs turned out wonderfully. I've never had the real meat version, but it couldn't be any better than this. This is a boiled egg wrapped in sausage and deep fried for Christ's sake! How could that not be everything you've ever wanted alongside a pint or three? If you could eat scotch eggs while watching pornography you'd never have to leave your crappy apartment.

So what else did the British give us? The Clash? Overrated. The Sex Pistols? Overrated. Skrewdriver? Get real. One of the few British bands that I actually like was started by an Irish kid who hated England -- the Nips. Before the Pogues ever became the best Irish punk band, Shane MacGowan and his old band, the Nipple Erectors, tore the British punk scene apart. If you haven't seen the Shane DVD, you really should see it. If you have seen it, then you already know a couple really hot Nips jams, and their Tits of Soho LP has plenty more where those came from. The Nips play traditional British punk like you'd expect, but you'll also hear plenty of fun, poppy influences and even some tasty harmonica licks. Johnny Rotten never could have pulled this off. And even after most of the '77 punks either grew up or died off, Shane MacGowan refused to do either, and he ended up writing some of the best songs that are probably already on your record shelf. So if you're a Pogues fan, and you damn well should be, check out the Nips.

- Posted by John.

Today's Special Guest: Doug Mosurock!

2007-02-05T12:43:00.000-05:00

Doug Mosurock is a Pittsburgh ex-pat and has been a fan of 7-Inch Slam since our inception last year, and has graciously volunteered to take time out of his busy schedule of blogging, reviewing, DJ'ing, cooking, and whatever the hell else people do in NYC to grace our humble site with a mountain of a meal. We'll all be back later this week, but Doug has certainly impressed us with this entry and we'll hope to see him next time he graces our humbles city. Thanks, Doug!

-Schleep

Pittsburgh and NYC are both pretty damn far from North Carolina and its BBQ’in ways. Hell, it’s impossible to find a decent chunk of non-contaminated soil up here in which to dig a proper pit for BBQ, much less the space and property to cook outdoors. Necessity has taken the need for satisfying, slow-cooked meats inside the oven. That’s just how it is. And truthfully, the results are pretty goddamn good. So here I present to you my recipe for Oven-Roasted Pulled Pork.

For a house full of carnivores, there’s nothing like making pulled pork. It’s cheap to make, given how much food it yields, and your guests will be very stoked on the end product, so if you need to serve a large crew (like I did on Super Bowl Sunday), it’s a lock. The moist, fork-tender meat shreds like a phone book in the hands of a gorilla. The decadent preparation lets you know you’re in for something good. The burnt, highly-spiced crust that forms on the outside (known by BBQ aficionados as “brownies” or “burnt ends”), torn up and mixed in with the meat, makes it all the more perfect. Even better, there’s no one right way to season and serve this dish. I like thick, tomato-based BBQ sauces with a lot of heat. Others swear by Carolina-style vinegar sauces; still others eat it plain. Some mix the sauce in all at once, while others do it on the side. Some throw it on a bun with slaw and others just eat it from a plate, all sauced up. My recipe here (which I cribbed from a bunch of different online suggestions, and made my own) is good in that you can do what you like to the pork once it’s done cooking, and the preparation gives you a well-flavored meat no matter how you wish to serve it.

One thing that pork BBQ does take a lot of is time and effort. It’s not gonna cook itself. To that end, it needs some slightly skilled prep work and TLC to get it where you are ready to cook it. And cooking it takes a long, long time; longer than most are willing to spend. However, take heart in the fact that every time you open the oven to check on it, people are gonna notice. The smell of heavenly, seasoned BBQ will linger in your home or apartment building for a week or so. And every time you smell it, you’re gonna want it again. But with great power comes great responsibility, so it’s recommended that you have some experience working with the oven, and enough knife skills to be able to prep this thing the way it needs to be treated. Above all, you need patience.

OK, so here’s how we start. First of all, you need a pork butt. This is also known as a Boston butt, or a pork picnic. Basically it’s the butt of a pig’s front shoulder, anchored by the animal’s shoulder blade (the big bone inside). You can get these fresh and vacuum-packed at most butcher shops or supermarkets, and it’s usually cheap, rarely more than $2 a pound. Might I suggest you get in good with your local butcher. Those guys get a lot of joy out of selling you awesome cuts of meat. Your pork butt will be between 8 and 12 pounds, untrimmed. Try and see if you can buy the bulk shoulders that the store gets, and then trims down for sale. Most butchers will be glad to accommodate this request. A pork shoulder will work in a pinch, but the butt is the best cut to cook this with, so look around for one. If you’re cooking for a lot of people, best to get two, as I’ve done here.

Here’s a list of preparatory ingredients:
• A bottle of cheap olive oil
• A good 6 ozs. or more of dry BBQ rub per butt. There are many out there for sale, or you can make your own. In NYC, I rely on a storebought brand, but you can create one out of chili powder, black and Cayenne pepper, ground red chiles, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, sea salt, Turbinado sugar, a little oregano, and just a pinch of ground star anise, nutmeg, and other savories to help sustain the flavors. But really, this is your call. Do some research, buy a pre-made mix, or doctor one up. Just keep those basic ingredients in mind – you need salt, sweetness, and heat to make a BBQ rub work, and the other spices to help those flavors hold longer. But the base should be all chili powder, cumin, sugar, salt, and pepper – the granular, sandy, savory spices. Experiment until you get one you like, and then make a lot of it.

• A 2-liter of Coca-Cola or Dr. Pepper (regular, not diet)
• Apple juice
• Apple vinegar
• Cheap yellow picnic mustard (this is optional, and I don’t use it, but some do)
• Liquid smoke (optional – use sparingly, if at all!)
• Cheap hamburger buns

For kitchen implements, you will need:
• A good set of sharp carving knives, and the skill and common sense to use them
• A big metal roasting pan
• Aluminum foil
• Plastic wrap
• A V-rack for each roast you’re making
• A meat thermometer
• A plastic spray bottle
• A big serving dish into which you’ll shred the finished product

You’re also gonna need about three days altogether to prep and cook this thing. For a Sunday football kickoff, I started working on these the Thursday night before.

OK, here’s what’s up. Get out your cutting block and sharpen up your knife. Take the pork butt out of its package and rinse it with warm water under the sink. Then move it over to your cutting surface, making sure it’s all cleaned off before you start. If it’s a bulk, untrimmed piece like I suggest, you’re going to see one surface side of the meat that’s all fat.

It’s your job to flense this, cutting away as much fat as you possibly can from the exterior of the meat. You may end up hacking off layers of meat along with the fat. This is OK. Any of this meat you’re saving is just going to make the cleanup and shredding that much more greasy and difficult. Since this is going to cook slowly for a long time at a low temperature, you want to help out the process as much as you can. And, since you’re marinating it as well, you want marinade contact with the meat, not the fat. Connective tissues, arteries, and fat have got to go, so remove as much as you can. I figure I cut off about a half pound of disgusting flab off each of these roasts. Turn it over and trim more. Remember that the meat is going to be well-marbled, and you won’t get all of it, but think about where this part of the pig is, and why the fat is distributed the way it is there. You don’t want to eat that. Get it out. (If you’re not so good with a knife, I would suggest you let the butcher take care of it for you).

Once you’re done cutting, it’s time to put your pork inside a serving dish, casserole, large glass bowl, or something big and solid enough that can withstand the marination process. I don’t recommend plastic here, though if you have a HUGE Zip-Loc freezer bag, that would work.

Once the pork’s in whatever container you’re marinating it in, slather it generously with the olive oil, on both sides. You want this thing to be slippery with oil. This stuff helps the rub to stick to the meat, and will lube up the outside enough to get a good burn going once the meat starts to cook.

At this point, some like to slather the pork even further with yellow mustard. This is sort of a cheat, but it will provide a significant crust to the pork once it’s roasted. I don’t do this, but some do. Give it a shot to see if you like it sometime.

OK, all done? Now, take your rub, and with clean hands, firmly massage the rub into the pork, going for full coverage. You’re going to end up with this oily rub slop, which is great – rub that deep down into the meat, covering every exposed surface.

Now, pour on the Coke (or the Dr. Pepper, whichever you chose). You’re going to use enough to let a significant part of the roast soak it all in. Expect fizzing, as the carbonation will react with the sugars in your rub. This is cool. You know how Coke will dissolve a tooth, or take the rust off chrome? Same principal is in effect here: the acid in the Coke will help to tenderize the meat, and the remaining cola syrup will soak in another subtle layer of flavoring to what you’ve already done. Don’t drown the pork in the Coke; use enough so that the bottom is submerged in it, though. It’s going to go flat, so don’t worry about putting more in.

All set? Okay, take the plastic wrap and loosely cover the pork, then the dish itself, and stick it in your fridge. This will help to keep the moisture in as the pork marinates. If you’re using the Zip-Loc bag method, this step is not necessary.

I have marinated the pork for this recipe for as little as six hours, and as many as two days. I think you can find a happy medium with either, but the longer you let them soak, the more tender the meat will turn out. This batch you’re seeing is probably the best I ever made, and it marinated for two whole days. Let ‘em soak, keep ‘em covered or sealed, and don’t disturb them until it’s time to cook.

Alright. Now the day (and night) is upon us. Put the oven rack in the bottom of the oven, and set the oven for 250 degrees. That’s low heat, and that’s just fine. Nobody said this was gonna be fast. Take your roasting pan and line that thing with aluminum foil. The nightmare of cleaning pork grease is not yet upon you, and this preventative measure will make your life a LOT easier once this thing is done cooking, so line it thoroughly with good, even coverage, and try not to leave any surfaces exposed. It’s easier to clean up the oil this thing will drip than the grease the roasting will bring out of it.

At this time, you’ll want to set a V-rack in the pan. The rack is built to elevate your meat out of the pan, and let the grease and drippings run out of it.

Take the pork out of the fridge and discard the marinade. Let the pork sit, covered, out on the countertop for a good 15-20 minutes, in order for it to get back to near room temp and its juices redistributed throughout the meat. When you’re ready, place the pork on the rack and put the whole pan into the oven.

Pork shoulder cooks at about 2 hours per pound at this temperature. Why? This is slow cooking. This cut of meat has the tendency to dry out really damn quickly. All of our steps up until now have been done to prevent the meat from drying, while suffusing it with BBQ flavor. During the cooking process, it’s pretty crucial that this stays a concern. The slow cooking will encourage the fat and connective tissues to break down and drip out of the pork, allowing the tender meat to remain.

To that end, what you’re going to do now is make a mop – a solution that you’ll use to keep the meat moist at certain intervals while it cooks. In the spray bottle, mix up 1 part olive oil to 2 parts apple vinegar, 2 parts apple juice, and 2 parts Coke. Close up the bottle and leave it sit out. You’ll need to shake it up when you’re about to use it, but that’s not gonna be for a while.

For the first six hours, DO NOT open the oven. Let the meat cook undisturbed. Find a way to stay awake while this thing cooks up, or have a friend nearby so you can nap in shifts if need be. After the first six hours, pull the pan out and spray down the pork thoroughly with the mop. It is critical that you do not allow the meat to dry out. From there on, you can open it up every 2 hours and spray it down, or as you deem necessary.

Since undercooked pork can make you sick, the temperature of the finished product is a pretty big concern. It should register at about 180 degrees Fahrenheit on the meat thermometer – make sure you don’t hit a bone, or any fat, but rather the meat itself when you insert the thermometer for a reading. Expect up to 16 hours of cooking for an 8 lb. roast, and more if the roast is bigger, but keep checking it in the later stages for moisture, temperature, and consistency. If you can stick a fork in the meat and twist it, and the meat strands break apart loose (kinda like spaghetti), it’s on the done side of things. Roast, mop, check. You’ll know when it’s ready.

And when it is ready, it’s time to pull. Take the meat out and off the V-rack (this is tricky, as it’s been sitting on there for the better part of a day). Put it in a serving dish or casserole and cover it with aluminum foil on the countertop, letting it sit for an hour or so until it cools a bit. Then, using your CLEAN hands or a couple of big forks, start ripping this sucker apart.

If you see any pockets of fat, just separate and discard them.

Remove the bone and discard that, too. You’ll end up with enough shredded pork for 6-8 people per roast (with seconds), and leftovers for days.

To serve, pile pork onto a hamburger bun, and apply sauce as desired. Serve with vinegar cole slaw and other BBQ-appropriate sides. Beer or a pop would be a nice beverage to compliment this with.

I served this at my Super Bowl party. No one was left disappointed, and though I was too blissed out on how good this pork ended up to take pictures of people eating, I think you can see in everyone’s eyes here how good it was. They all ate it, and look how stoked they are.

If you have a charcoal grill, this is a great thing to do outside, but I’ve never attempted it. Read up on BBQ techniques in books and online for more clues if you wanna try.

Anyway, a soundtrack for this would be more of a playlist, but the record I rocked the hardest during the cooking period and serving was a 1972 album by a British rock band called Jerusalem. It’s heavy-as-balls, dumb-as-dirt hard rock, produced by Deep Purple’s Ian Gillan when such a thing mattered. It’s not hard to imagine these guys handling barbaric, Flintstone-sized cuts of meat.

Anyway, that’s how it’s done. I’ll see yinz in Pittsburgh soon.

Coming Out of the Closet

2007-01-29T11:41:00.000-05:00

This is a punk rock record blog, and we punks are mostly all the same. We're all straight, white males. We drink Pabst Blue Ribbon and eat Ramen noodles. We get tattoos of the Black Flag logo. Boys wear tight pants and girls wear trampy skirts. For all of our Aus Rotten records and talk of "scene unity," we really aren't that diverse of a group of people. So, in an effort to make the punk rock community a little more diverse, I'm going to come out of the closet.

I like quiche.

When I told my mother recently that I like quiche, she really wasn't surprised. I think she always knew that I was different from other boys. When I mentioned quiche to veteran Pittsburgh rocker Rob Henry, he was very supportive of me. Maybe he likes quiche too?

Lots of people have done a little "experimenting". Maybe it was back in college, after a couple of beers, with a roomate who always seemed a little different. For me, it was when I had the afternoon off one day last week. I was all out of KY Jelly, so I used eggs, shredded cheddar cheese, frozen broccoli, milk, butter, flour, salt, pepper, and a premade pie shell. The recipe can be found here.

I beat a couple eggs, added milk and butter, then flour, salt, pepper, and cheese. Mix them together then set them aside. Bake your pie crust for about ten minutes, and defrost your frozen broccoli. Toss about 1/4th of the cheese into the bottom of your pie shell, then add your chopped broccoli. Distribute the broccoli evenly, then pour your egg and cheese mixture on top of that. Lube it up then slide it into a 375 degree oven for about a half an hour.

I threw on some Gilmore Girls DVDs and by the time Rory, Lorelai, and Luke had fast-talked their way around the Dragonfly Inn my quiche was lookin' good. I saw golden brown cheese on the top, flaky crust on the bottom, with eggs and broccoli in between. This quiche was damn good, no matter what Rick Santorum might say about it. It was great right out of the oven, and there were plenty of leftovers for the roomates.

When you talk about eggs, cheese, and broccoli in one dish, I listen. And when you talk about a record that Greg Oblivian produced, I listen really hard. Around here we've been slamming quiche and playing the hell out of Cemetary Trails by Milwaukee's The Goodnight Loving. This is the Swiss Army Knife of 2006 punk records. You can play this with your friends, with a lady, on the bus, drinking alone, or whenever you just need to hear fun music and feel good. These five midwestern guys are a little bit country, a little bit rock n roll, all done up right for the punks. As the snow started to fall, and you thought you had your "Best of 2006" list set in stone, these guys came as a breath of fresh air. If you're a fan of the Reigning Sound, rock n roll music, or making out with girls, you should probably check these guys out on Dusty Medical.

- Posted by John.

Big Schleep the Tour Guide

2006-12-12T14:13:00.000-05:00

NOTE: PLEASE FORGIVE OUR LAZINESS, BUT WE'RE BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER!

I was in a band for about four years that recently broke up. When we played our last show, our friends came in from all around to get completely wrecked and have some fun. Some of those friends had some time to kill, either from driving only a few hours to get to Pittsburgh or from being on tour and only having to get to Columbus the next day. Since I am always an entertainer at heart, I figured we could take these fine gentleman out for some of Pittsburgh's finest food and records. Because that's honestly what it's all about, right?

The first thing to do for those who have not had it (especially if you're a meat-eater) is to bring your guests to Primanti Brothers. We've covered John-Boy's homemade approximation of this mighty Pittsburgh calling card before, but this time we're getting into the real deal. Since I live five doors away, there was very little issue to hitting this place first. Joining me for this portion of the journey were: John-Boy, fresh from a delirious hangover that kept his face pressed to the table for most of the meal; Adam from Defect Defect, who were kind enough to play the show with us, despite 1/2 of their band camping out on my living room floor to zonk out to Twin Peaks (a noble pursuit, I must admit); The Pride of Buffalo, Mr. Chuck Barrels (back again as B-Town Dickie Jumbo) from Terminal Boredom zine (the finest punk record zine on the net); Dave Anchovies, a fellow friend and Buffalo Big Necker from the Trailer Park Tornados, and Icki (AKA Mark Murrmann), photographer extraordinaire and all-around dude/rocker who was on tour with Defect Defect. Here's the gang getting ready to rock. Notice John-Boy's wimpy hangover and garbage life:

I was saving myself for another stop later in the trip, so I simply grabbed a Yuengling from the bar and had a couple cigs. The out-of-towners stepped up to the plate, like Chuck B. with his corned beef and cheese:

Here's a cross-section of the finished product (thanks, Dave):

And because wimps like John-Boy can eat in filthy delicious sandwich places like the rest of us, Adam was able to grab himself one of these fancy little egg and cheese numbers:

So if you're from Pittsburgh, you've seen this a million times. Understandable. But I have to show these dudes a good time, and everyone definitely was into it, especially since Rich had never experienced it. Now to move on... there's two more very important places we need to cover, the next one being:

JERRY'S RECORDS: located on Murray Ave. in Squirrel Hill (right by plenty of restaurants, bars, bookstores, Hasidic Jews, and very few parking spaces). We rolled Dave's van over, and knowing I was with three staunch record collectors with probably thirty years combined experience under their belts, I knew this was a great idea to show people that Pittsburgh is not all Motorpsychos bar-rock horseshit and fifty days of sunshine a year. On the way, we grabbed fellow 7-incher HONE, and he took over as Squirrel Hill tour guide, being that he is the one who introduced me to Jerry's in the first place years ago.

I would venture to bet that Jerry's is the greatest used record store in America. While punk records can show up quite frequently when some goon sells off their stuff, I would say the crux of the Jerry's experience is getting all the records you A) never knew you wanted or needed or B) knew you had to have in order to be a well-rounded music fan. Where else am I going to records by The Band, Wilson Pickett, the Beatles, Johnny Cash, and the like for respectable prices and in decent condition? Jerry's no fool. He knows in the million (not an exaggeration from what I've seen) records he has in there, he is sitting on pure gold: hence his auction site (this is a great place to watch for rare soul, funk, psyche, and similar genres). Don't believe me? Well, you knobs can take a gander at this, which I assume is probably about 1/12th of Jerry's.

Now I have brought special ladies there, old friends there, and new visitors, and I would say upon walking in that this is the standard reaction:

I didn't buy anything this day, but I got to see my friends drool over nonsense, pick through assorted 90's garage-punk singles that had turned up in the last week, and generally be astounded that this place even existed. Here's HONE and Icki picking through some "NEW ROCKIN' PUNK!"

On the way out, naturally were we accosted by the infamous Manny Theiner, who turned down a request to cook for the blog while wearing Juggalo paint. This bummed me out. Moving on, we were about ready to head back to the homestead so everyone could get on the road, but I first had to get some delicious, greasy, and all-around Pittsburgh institution Mineo's Pizza. Raging debates surface on Pittsburgh hipster message boards about which place has the best pie in the city. Going out on a limb, I would say Mineo's would be number one for me (were it not for the dark horse: Little's Chicago's Deep Dish [not what you think, trust me... I will explore that in a future entry]).

I had to borrow money off Chuck Barrels since I didn't have cash on me, but he can spare 2 bones from selling off the shitty Solid Sex Lovie Doll singles for old Schleep. However, we were able to procure some delicious pizza which was highly enjoyed. All I can say about Mineo's (and this is breaking away from my fake-food writer persona), is just show up and eat it. Words aside from "greasy", "filthy", and "delicious" cannot describe it. I'll let the pictures do the talkin'.

I had the white because I am fancy. And possibly a closet racist. I do hate Vinnie and he is Italian:

Here's another one:

Note the shirt/pizza connection on Rich:

HONE tearing one up:

Dave was able to show off his two scores of the day, a Cosmic Psychos LP and another day taken off his life:

And here's your lovable host getting ready to cap off one of the most hungover days in his history. My eyebrows look great.

I don't have a record to discuss today, and for good reason... SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL RECORD STORES! Jerry's is decreasing in size next year (don't worry, Jerry is not going anywhere for awhile), and places like Paul's and Brave New World here in the city need your support. If you want every band you ever hear from now on to be either on Myspace or Sendspace, FUCK YOU. I don't want to take the money out of Rockin' Robbie T.'s mouth, do you? Fuck that! Go get your own records. You got three months of recommendations here. We're happy to eat the food you could be eating, but rock n' roll does not run on dreams and wishes. Get to work.

I'd like to thank all our special guests, especially Dave and Mark for helping out with some great photos. Remember to visit Terminal Boredom and learn something, give Icki some photo work, check out Dave's band and support both him and Bart Hart's Big Neck Records, and well, I'll take a beer and the Count Five 45 with "You Must Believe Me" on it. That's it, kids. Get crackin' and go see your city!

*Posted by Steve-O
COMING SOON ON THE SLAM: MY TRIP TO MY NEW FAVORITE HOT DOG PLACE, A REVIEW OF THE BLACK AND WHITES TWO EP'S ON SHATTERED AND DOUCHEMASTER. PLUS MORE FROM JOHN-BOY AND HONE. BIG THANGS, BABY! LATER!

Punk Rock Indoctrination

2006-11-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

It happens for different folks at different ages. Some folks were lucky and got in at age 13, some people are late bloomers and it didn't happen until 17 or 18, but once it happens, your life is changed. After you experience it once you want it more and more until you end up doing it every day.

I'm not talking about when you lost your virginity, that happened about two years after you started bragging to your friends that you lost your virginity. I'm talking about when some older and much cooler kid turned you on to punk rock. It doesn't matter what kind of garbage you used to listen to, it only matters that somebody played you a Stooges or Ramones record and you flipped out. Pretty soon you had a decent record collection, a couple beat up pairs of Chuck Taylors, and a drinking problem. You have arrived.

Then you moved out of your parent's house and developed an even better record collection. You made friends with a bunch of bands, started a few bands, and became one of those older kids that get younger kids into punk. Oh yeah, you still have that same pair of Chucks and drinking problem.

When my little sister announced that she was coming over to watch Steelers with us, it was time for kick ass burritos and punk rock indoctrination. We started with tortilla chips with both salsa and queso sauce to get us through the first half of the game. By halftime we had started cooking refried beans in one pot, black beans in another, and Morningstar crumbles in the frying pan. We threw in some onions and garlic into the fake meat, then seasoned it with chili powder and cumin. After everything was heated up and the lettuce and tomato were on the cutting board, we had fairly healthful burritos lined up for the second half of the game. Then we went all out and topped our burritos with sour cream and queso sauce, which ruined any nutritional benefits that we previously had going for us. We've all had the 50 cent frozen burritos from the grocery store, our homemade burritos put those things to shame. These burritos took less time than a trip to Taco Bell, and were so good that we ate 7 of them by the time the Steelers scored their game winning touchdown in the fourth quarter.

Here at the 7inchslam.com offices, we've discussed how perfect it would be to pair burritos with Los Crudos. Well that's not what I'm gonna write about. If you want to be one of those cool older kids that indoctrinates the youngsters to like everything that you like, you aren't gonna start with Crudos. You should start with the Rip Offs. Formed out of the ashes of Supercharger (which is another band that may be used to introduce youngsters to punk rock), San Francisco's the Rip Offs are everything a punk band should be. They've got dumb lyrics about cops and sex, catchy hooks, and nobody in the band knows how to play an instrument. Their only full length Got a Record is 14 songs in under 24 minutes, starting with the best instrumental intro track that anybody could ever ask for. When you want to introduce younger kids to punk rock, this is a good record to start with. If you can get somebody to like this record, they can pretty easily move on to Supercharger or any of the other Rip Off Records stuff like Loli & the Chones, Teengenerate, or The Marked Men. And if your younger sibling or friend moves on to like all of those records, then your work is done.

One of the coolest things about being into the music that we're all into is you can turn other kids onto it, and you can make them like all the things that you like. Giant burritos and the Rip Offs are one hell of a way to get into punk rock.

Posted by John

MAX'S UBER ALLES

2006-11-20T22:42:00.000-05:00

The years I spent slogging through life on Pittsburgh’s North Side in the early to mid-nineties were pretty good. There were tons of great records pouring out of America, Japan and France. The Rip-Offs, Teengenerate and Oblivians were still together. In walking distance of my place there were pawn shops, three decent thrift stores, a mom & pop video store that rented Blaxploitation, horror & porn, there were also two White Towers and one Stedeford’s where I’m pretty sure I found a record I wanted at least once.

Sure I spent my miserable days slinging pizza with goons, most of who seemed to be named Stan (except for the dude sporting an Ozzy finger tattoo, his name was Bob). My unfortunate nights were spent holing up in an apartment to avoid being murdered by migrating North Side Crips. I once had the misfortune of having a gun pulled on me and spent the next year or two under the false assumption that my surely imminent demise would come from the icy cold hands of an angry black dope slinging Crip. Nowadays, I just figure that those bad times were my penance for being dumb enough to go to Art School.

However, if I’d been smart enough to check out Max’s Allegheny Tavern I may have never left my dubious North Side digs.

Rizzo had the day off and I put in a quick “hack, hack, hack, cough, cough, cough, vomit, vomit, vomit” call off at work. We then proceeded to hit the North Side with a quick jaunt to AIR to check out the Black Panther exhibit (which much to my dismay had nothing to do with Jack Kirby or T’challa) but it was educational and DIY nonetheless:

After getting our social consciousness on, we were primed and pumped for Max’s:

We’ll let the pictures do the talking…Rizzo started with the hearty comfort of the Einlauf soup:

Then she moved on to some gravy covered Spatzle:

I plowed through a serious sauerkraut laden Dutchtown Style Kielbasa sandwich:

Although I’m not much of a dessert fan this Apple Strudel with French Vanilla ice cream was impossible to pass up:

Alright kids, now for the musical portion of our show.

You might remember Eddy Grant’s big hit “Electric Avenue” from back in the 80’s, that special far and away time when your parents were having coked up orgies in the backyard swimming pool and MTV, AIDS and crack were the hot new things. Well when Eddy was rocking his “one hit wonder” status in 80’s, The Clash (love ‘em or hate ‘em) were covering “Police On My Back” from his late 60’s early 70’s combo the Equals:

It’s hard to pin down the Equals mod/pop/bubblegum/rock/funk sound but suffice it to say if you don’t like the Equals, I’d be hard pressed to call you a friend. Not because you have shitty musical taste but because not liking the Equals is akin to not liking fun. Germany liked 'em so much they had 13 charting singles in good old Deutschland.

FOR YOUR STUDIES:

Posted by:
HONE

Remember....

2006-11-09T09:50:00.000-05:00

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-7IS.com

Fucked Up Weekend

2006-11-08T10:43:00.000-05:00

While I'm even more guilty of laziness than my other contributors, I feel it's important to say that I at least left the country in the last two weeks. I don't think either of them left their couches. However, suffice it to say, I'm back. I got the chance to cross the border into the Great White North with 7inchslam.com's favorite little teenage asshole, the singer of Rot Shit and world's number one shitbag, Lil' Vinnie.

Since we had planned to take a trip up to Toronto for the Fucked Up release extravaganza, I figured it would be a perfect time to get completely wrecked for two days, eat all the food in the city, buy all the records there, obtain illicit drugs and do them on the street, and all the various other nonsense that a mini-vacation entails. However, in grand Steve fashion, almost nothing worked out right and all I wanted to do was go back to Pittsburgh after about twelve hours.

Since we were leaving at 2 PM on a Friday (I took the day off, Vinnie quit his job), we decided it would be prudent to accompany one Mr. Tony Valone to my favorite pub, Piper's in Pittsburgh's South Side for some celebratory pints. Vinnie stuck with Piper's tastiest pint, the McEwan's IPA. I had three different pints: the Belhaven St. Andrew's Ale, a Franziskaner Weissbier (served in the fruitiest glass ever, which will get you made fun of by assholes drinking Labatt's like dogs), and also a Spaten Optimator.

We were picked up from the pub drunk in the afternoon and proceeded to annoy the others in the car with complaints of full bladders and empty stomachs. So once we got on the interstate, I made Rachel pull over at a gas station where I witnessed something I'd never seen in my years of honestly enjoying convenience-store snacks. This gas station (whose name and location I forget but was most likely located on I-79 North) had a case with ready-made Hot Pockets. Now that was a great idea.

I picked up a Beef and Cheddar, two hot dogs: one with chili and cheese and one with mustard and relish and onion, and then began stealing Vinnie's bags of Andy Capp's Hot Fries. So after getting drunk in the morning, I was full of the world's crappiest food in the car. Since I couldn't smoke, I attempted to lull myself into the realm of schleep to no avail. After the weather began to be unbearable, I offended the front seat with backhanded comments then demanded more food. We pulled into an Arby's, I ate a Beef Bacon Cheddar melt before anyone even got to the ketchup stand, then decided to go outside and vomit in the rain for ten minutes. The weekend was shaping up poorly.

By the time we made it to the first show, we had to stand an hour in the rain with Chuck Barrels of Terminal Boredom fame waiting to get in and see Pittsburgh locals Brain Handle play to a big crowd with sweet bands. Good for them, ya know? WRONG. No one gets let in forever, I'm freezing to death, Vinnie is screaming at everyone telling them they're queens, mandatory coat check, we miss Brain Handle.... just lovely. Fuck that.

Up next was Mind Eraser, a band I've seen in a basement (punishing) and own both of their LP's (destructive). They opened with a cover of "Black Sabbath" and raged hard for their set. I was expecting a little more Neanderthal dance-floor insanity but I just saw a bunch of gimps in sweatsuits jumping onto the backs of little Toronto HC fops. Great set nonetheless, and their records must be checked out to be believed. They play powerviolence with belligerent metal leanings and classic Nor'easter angst.

After that, the band we were most excited to see, Pissed Jeans, took the stage. Since I'd missed their recent Pittsburgh show, I was more excited than ever. Vinnie and I had double-fisted beers as soon as we got in, so I was feeling pretty lubed-up and ready to yell. When Da Jeans took the stage with "Throbbing Organ", I attempted to stage-dive, fell on my back, didn't care, kept drinking and screaming, and enjoyed the four song set as much as ever. The slow crushing jam from the recent Sub Pop 7" sounded great, and the packed-in feel of the crowd (the room was shaped very oddly, more of a DJ spot than a rock club) made it a lot of fun.

I'd like to take a minute to discuss Canadian beer. Canada: your beer is fucking awful. Who is going to drink Labatt 50 in America? No one, because we have the good sense to actually not pay five dollars a bottle for horseshit that must be imbibed double-time to get you drunk. This ain't Utah, asshole. Fuck that! I did not have a passable beer in Canada till the next day. And by the time the Bayonettes, Brutal Knights, and Regulations got to play at the White Orchid, I was already pretty pissed. Saw a great performance by the Bayonettes, who really impressed and inspired me to start digging for their records. Brutal Knights got the crowd moving and were OK, but by this time I'd had it with everyone there, including our host, Vinnie, all the kids who showed up, the weather, lack of food, and since I was baked anyway, I just shut up and watched Vinnie ruin everything. A punch to the forehead from myself later quieted him down for about five minutes. I missed most of Regulations, but I stand by my love for that band still, even when everyone else chides them for being unoriginal. Yeah, your Discharge rip-off band sure has some catchy songs.

After finding a random showgoer to stay with, Vinnie and I awoke to find ourselves stranded in Toronto with no bags, not much money, a set of keys that weren't ours, no ride, and no clue where to go next. We decided to head to Queen Street where the next show was. We were very pleased to learn that Toronto has AMAZING HOT DOGS.

For those who know me, this is possibly the best thing I could see happening. The first spot we stopped at had new toppings I never even thought of, such as yellow corn with red peppers. They had an excellent mustard, BBQ sauce, fresh relish and onions, and basically the makings of a perfect street dog. For $2.50 Canadian you could snag a large dog with a toasted bun. Vinnie and I both took part with reckless abandon, since we were very hungry and very unconcerned with how crappy everything was turning out and what to do next.

With about eight hours till showtime, Vinnie and I wandered over to Noise Annoys records, Cloud 9 headshop, and a great little pub called the Gorilla Monsoon. As we walked in, we noticed the nice decor, giant TV with the Milan v. Inter match on, and one pissed-up English dude calling everyone "fackin' greasy cunts". So we sat down and started getting drunk while we waited for Rachel to show up again. This place was a bright spot, because despite having only like six beers in the whole joint, one was American and the guys there were awesome bartenders and funny as shit. We BS'ed with the English guy Greg about the Cockney Rejects and Manchester City and United. Great time. I should also note by now that Chuck Barrels flaked today for the Sabres game. Christ!

After getting wasted high with them, it was time to get more hot dogs. They also served veggie dogs for $1.50 right outside so you should be in luck if you're veggin' it up in the Queen City. The night was a blur after that. Got to see Formaldehyde Junkies play a raging, shambolic set with the worst guitar tone in history, saw Criminal Damage's only East Coast show which sounded amazing and made me surprised at my recent respect for well-done Oi, saw the Darvocets suck live as well as on record, watched a little of Regulations again, didn't care about Nine Shocks Terror or Fucked up or Drop Dead. I was done. I wanted out. I needed to be back home. And in order to do that, I had to miss Career Suicide (who have raged the two times I've seen them) and the Inmates (who I was very disappointed to miss again) at the Saturday afterparty. I got home at 7 AM to see the Steelers lose. Fuck that. Here's a shot of Criminal Damage for y'all:

Here's a great gyro I forgot about. I also realized I brought beer everywhere I went:

Also, somehow Vinnie got babes to lick him. That little fucker.

Canada doesn't have poutine if you're not a Frog, has good hot dogs, costs too much money, hot Asian babes everywhere, has the worst beer ever, sweet record stores, drugs galore, and a bunch of other shit I'd talk about if I wasn't already boring myself. Thanks to Rachel for bringing us, Sian for putting us up, Vinnie for making me look awesome by comparison, and no thanks to the people who flaked on us and screwed us over on Friday night. You suck! Till next time! See ya!

*Posted by Steve-O

PS: For the rest of our trip, you can check it out here.

Balls in Your Mouth

2006-10-31T10:54:00.000-05:00

Well, 7inchslam has been at the height of laziness lately, sorry guys! I've been working, boozing, carousing, and lying to the police, but we're back with our first appetizer for you schmucks.

Sometimes a main course isn't what you need. Maybe you're having people over and you just want to feed them something small, or maybe you need a good appetizer to compliment a good meal. Maybe you just like the feel of balls in your mouth, so we're gonna make cheese olive balls.

My mother always made these appetizers around the holidays. The holidays are a perfect time for dad to get in a fight with grandma, and for mom to use an entire stick of butter in just about every recipe. This one calls for a whole stick of butter, a whole 8oz pack of shredded cheddar, and a cup of flour. Dump all those things in a bowl and mix 'em up. Knead the dough with your hands, and if its too dry add some milk. Wrap a small amount of the dough around an olive, one at a time, until you've used up all the ingredients. I got about 30 olives done before the dough ran out. Put the olives on a baking sheet and refrigerate for at least an hour, I'm not really sure why you have to do that, but the recipe calls for it. Then bake at 375 for around 15 minutes.

If you're vegan or on a diet, stay away from these and leave more for the rest of us. This appetizer is fatty, greasy, and delicious. There's really nothing fancy going on here, this is cheesy dough wrapped around an olive, what more could you ask for? The three of us here at the joint destroyed all 30 of these within 24 hours -- arteries be damned. I went over the top with these and paired them with a homemade white pizza, breadsticks, and some secret texts. It was a winner all around.

Appetizers are a great way to get small doses of different kinds of food, and the Goner Fest 2 DVD is a great way to check out a slew of hot bands that you may not be up on yet and a few old favorites too. I copied this off a gold toothed 18 year old, and watched it twice in two days. This DVD chronicles the 2005 Memphis shindig that's a venerable who's who of garage punk losers. Goner really outdid themselves on this project, with 3 cameras and great sound, this is so much better than some crap you'd find on YouTube. You start off with the Reigning Sound doing "We Repel Each Other" and end with The Reatards doing "Bummer Bitch" and "No One Stands Me." As if that wasn't already enough southern insanity for you, The Carbonas, The Persuaders, The Jenny Jeans and the Rat Traps all have really hot songs on here. Jay Reatard doesn't have dual citizenship with Columbia yet, but he does appear on here with the Reatards, The Final Solutions, and a a hot Angry Angles jam called "You Call It Love." This DVD is really well shot, has great audio, comes with a bonus CD, and features a drunken Ryan Terrible cameo -- what more could you possibly want? This is a great DVD, pick it up from the Goner Store.

Southern cooking is terrible for your arteries, southern rock n roll fests are terrible for your liver, but they're both really, really fun. So make some appetizers for your friends, put on the Gonerfest DVD, then punch your friends in the face for never making appetizers for you.

-- Posted by John

The 7inchslam Weekend Recovery Plan

2006-10-16T13:45:00.000-04:00

After spending the week at your crappy job, you're ready to party down by Friday and Saturday night. You worked all week, you deserve to have some fun. You're gonna go out Friday night, see some bands, drink a ton of beers, hit up some parties, and scheme on some broads. Then you're gonna wake up Saturday and do it all over again. You're still young and stupid, this is what you should be doing.

But after a couple nights of binge drinking and not going to bed 'till after 3am, you need a day to recover. That's why Sundays exist. On the 7th day the Lord rested, and he didn't even fall down the basement stairs of some punk house the previous night like I did. On the 7th day, you need to recover from days 5 and 6.

Wake up around noon, then move from your bed to the couch. Get a glass of water and be useless for a while. Look through your phone and see how many secret texts you sent the previous night, then get your ass in the kitchen.

The Steelers were about to destroy the Chiefs, but Steve and I couldn't get anyone over for the game. Even Suzi left us on our own. Anytime you get two dudes together, you're gonna hear "dude, you're sitting too close to me on the couch!" and "dude, we need pizza." Rather than fork over the money for pizza delivery, we decided to make our own pie. We set out to create the perfect white pizza to let our bodies recover from all the dumb decisions we couldn't wait to make again.

We started with a Boboli 100% whole wheat crust, then slathered it with olive oil. Add some herbs and spices, we used red pepper flakes and oregano, then throw on plenty of freshly sliced garlic and some tomato slices. We went with a mixture of mozz and provolone for this, some parmesan or romano would've been nice too, use whatever you have. Finally, we added some sliced onion and chopped spinach. This is about as nutritious as a pizza is ever gonna get. Give it ten minutes in a 375 oven, then get ready to swear off Pizza Hut forever. After two slices of this you'll be fully recovered from your weekend debauchery, after four slices you'll be ready to get just as rowdy as you were all weekend.

So what do you listen to to recover from a weekend of fast livin'? Punk rock was what got you into this mess in the first place, so you need something your dad would listen to if he was still a badass. Around here, we would put on some Neil Young. This guy lived harder than you ever will, but still wrote some mellow jams that should always have a spot on your record shelf. Harvest has some easy going songwriting that'll get you right where you need to be by the time Heart of Gold comes on. Prairie Wind will take you deep into the depths of relaxation with It's Only a Dream then bring you right back up with some tasty harmonica licks on Far From Home. If you're still feeling the countrified hippy vibe, check out Neil's Heart of Gold DVD, which is on regular rotation here. Then put on some Creedence or The Band before you go back to your regular rotation of punk rock ragers.

When you're 17 years old you can fill every night with MD 20/20 and endless carousing, but you're not 17 anymore. You need to take some time on a Sunday afternoon to enjoy some nutritious food, easy going records, and probably a nap on the couch. By Monday morning you'll be fully recovered and ready to head to the office and look at pictures of food.

Posted by John.

It's your special day, fancy boy.

2006-10-11T09:42:00.000-04:00

You know, anyone who knows me knows I love myself. But life gets you down sometimes. There's not much you can do about it. Maybe it's your job you hate, or the girlfriend you don't have, or the money that disappears from the bank as soon as it shows up. Well, that's life. Suck it up. That's what I do as best I can. And I've learned a special trick to share with all you readers that will generally help you through the trying times in your life: The Special Day.

Special Agent Dale Cooper of Twin Peaks once said: "Harry, everyday, once a day, give yourself a present. Could be a fresh new shirt from the men's store, a catnap in your office, or a scalding hot cup of coffee." He's right. But I have enough shirts, only take naps when I've fallen asleep after schlogging, and I will only drink truly great coffee. However, I can treat myself with the best of them on my very own Special Day.

On this particular early morning, the infamous Ciggy and I suited up on our bikes to head down to Pittsburgh's Strip District. The Strip is where you can find Pittsburgh's cheapest and finest gourmet and ethnic foods. You want bread? They have it. Sausage? Of course. Produce? Come on... I can't do this all day. Anyways, the weather was gorgeous and we were able to sample Pittsburgh's finest espresso at La Prima Espresso. Not only do you get a great double espresso for a measly two bucks, but you can soak in the Italian ambience, hustle and bustle of the city, and listen to badass 70 year old guys talk about the old days.

We got the chance to stop at the Parma Sausage Company on Penn Avenue first, where I purchased some of the best sausage I have ever had. They had two kinds I had my eye on: the Garlic Sausage and the Hot & Spicy Sicilian. From there we headed down the street, where naturally we had to stop at the Sunseri Bros. Pennsylvania Macaroni Company; also known as the greatest food store in the history of the world.

Despite the long wait in line at the cheese section, we made out of there with tons of food at bargain basement prices. After another espresso, we were on our way home, where the true awesomeness would begin. Remember folks, both those stores need your support, order online!

I soon began crafting what would become the best sandwich I have ever made for myself. But first, John-Boy and Big Suzz and I needed some appetizers while I was taking care of business in the kitchen. I chose to start doing up a loaf of Mancini's Pesto Bread. I chopped up an entire loaf and did some finger sizes for us:

So after that, I whipped up a quick bowl of fresh tomatoes with a little oil and some onions and garlic to add to the plate. Then I sliced up some of Penn Mac's stellar fresh mozzarella. Put it all together and serve it to yourself and you'll wonder why you have the same shitty friends who wouldn't do this for you on your special day.

So after this, I decided to take it to the next level, as I am apt to do. In went the garlic sausages into the can of Pabst, up went the food boners, and then things got a little crazy.

How did I ever end up with THIS?

After boiling the sausages, I then broiled them till they were plump and dripping in the oven. Slice them in half, throw them on some Mancini bread, toss on your tomatoes, a little more oil, more of your mozz, some onions and garlic, and keep the whole thing in the oven for about five minutes. Even fresh mozz melts down well (which some disagree with), so this sandwich will be sloppy yet stay together. Top it all off with some Sriracha and that's it. Life's over. Your special day is almost complete.

After destroying this, we threw on some jams and I picked 'em, of course. That is tantamount to having your Special Day. And on your Special Day, you can listen to your favorite band no matter how sick anyone is of them. You could listen to the worst GG or Skrewdriver records and it's cool, man. I chose an old favorite that I feel does not get enough respect and adulation from the punk public in general, especially when coming from the best band of all time. The Ramones It's Alive double LP (English pressing).

I mean, hopefully you already subscribe to the theory that anyone who doesn't like the Ramones is not someone you can trust. But with this live album (their fifth if you count it), the Brudders were firing on all cylinders on a snowy London New Year's Ever. This record contains all the hits, all played by the original lineup, everything careens by you at a tempo the Ramones would perfect and eventually surpass in what I like to call "The Dark Years". Sadly, this record is tough to find on vinyl, but I was lucky to score a used copy at Pittsburgh's best punk record store Brave New World for ten bucks a few years back. You can easily grab the CD, and there's always some floating around eGay.

But I don't think you need a long explanation from me. Just get that record, get this food, make this sandwich, drink till you fall down, and just remember the words of our Special Agent. My favorite band's best record, some beers, some cigs... I'm kickin' ass. Anyone can do it. You too can be a fancy-boy and maximize the life you lead right now. If I can do it, I don't think you'll have too much of a problem. Remember, be nice to me! It's my Special Day! Till next time...

*Posted by Steve-O

Here's to the Ladies

2006-10-10T14:04:00.000-04:00

You're going through life trying to be as drunk, fat, stupid, and lazy as you possibly can. You're in your mid-20's and all your shirts have band logos on them, and they haven't been washed in weeks. You have no idea how to clean a bathroom. Left to your own devices, you'd be homeless and living under a bridge in about 48 hours. The only reason that you're even still alive is because some chick is kind enough to save you from your own devices.

For my first 19 years of life my mother ran my life. My goal was to try to get away with as much shitbaggery as I could, and her goal was to not let me get away with any of it. That same theme has continued, even as I've moved into several different houses and apartments with several other shitbags and luckily for all of us, several good ladies.

Last Sunday Steve and I were getting psyched for the upcoming Steeler game. We made some calls and got a few good looking broads and mustachioed dudes to come over for a little get together. Left to our own devices, we would've had plenty of Pabst Blue Ribbon -- and nothing else. The legendary Big Suzz was able to save us from our own devices and put together a great spread for all of us to enjoy. She wasn't able to do much about Ben Roethlisberger's turnovers though, unfortunately.

Suzi started off by making some excellent, and very spicy, vegetarian chili. She dropped some garlic, onions, and Morningstar ground meat into hot oil. After a few minutes, she added plenty of black beans, hot peppers, diced tomatoes, and lots and lots of chili powder and cumin. After about 3 hours of stirring and simmering and a few secret naps, the chili was ready. We had big plans for chili dogs at halftime.

While the chili was relaxing over low heat, Suzz put together some of her famous guacamole. She does everything by hand, then cranks it up a little with some super hot peppers, cock sauce and spices. This is the best guacamole you'll ever eat, or even read about on food and music blogs. One of our guests confessed that he would only eat guacamole if Suzi made it, no restaurant or grocery store could ever come close.

Our drinking and laziness continued, and somehow more and more food kept appearing in front of us. Suzi whipped up about 3 pounds worth of cheese quesadillas, which we topped with either guacamole or chili. Finally we gorged ourselves with hot dogs, available in both cruelty and cruelty-free varieties. As a salute to overindulgence, we topped these with not only chili, but also guacamole and sour cream. There comes a point in every punk rock shitbag's life where he just starts topping hot dogs with every ingredient available to him. That moment usually turns out really well, it certainly did for us.

Not only do the ladies in our pathetic lives make sure we've got plenty of spicy food available for football games, they also run some pretty awesome bands. The River City Tanlines out of Memphis, TN, are a perfect example. These guys came to Pittsburgh last winter to play a poorly attended show, then hung out with all of us rock n roll jag offs. The two fellas in the band fit in perfectly with us, we watched football, drank beers, and schemed on chicks. The two of them are southern fried shitbags of the highest order, and somehow, Alicja Trout, formerly of the Lost Sounds, puts up with them. The Tanlines have a new Dirtnap LP called I'm Your Negative which picks up with their brand of Memphis garage punk right where their 7"s left off.

So look around at your life, your band, and your apartment. Everything that's wrong with it is probably your fault. Everything that's right about anything you have is because some girl did it for you. You're not gonna clean up, sober up, or get your life together, so you better thank your lucky stars that there are girls who take care of guys like us.

Thanks ladies!

Posted by John.

Today's Special Guests: Mike Bolam and Trouble!

2006-10-02T12:43:00.000-04:00

We here at 7IS.com are happy to bring you our first installment of special guests with our good friend, ardent supporter, and Pittsburgh metal master Mike Bolam. You may know Mike from his earlier days in seminal Pittsburgh thrash band Crucial Unit or his current bass work in Warzone Womyn (my current favorite in Pittsburgh's DIY punk scene) or even his vocal abilities in the new grind machine of Build Your Weapons.

Mike was stoked to come over to the joint and whip us up on of the more fabulous meals I've had the pleasure of experiencing: Vietnamese hoagies! Having never had even the flesh variety, I was even more interested in seeing what vegetarian Mike would cook up for us. The answer we got was more than I bargained for, because it was so fuckin' boss.

Mike showed up at around 6 PM on Saturday, loaded to the gills with a cooler full of beer (and fancy stuff, mind you... there's no half-steppin' here), bags of eats, and a boss record for us to check out. The whole crew was here, including not only John-Boy and Hone, but also the lovely Big Suzz, who not only helped document the evening, and clean up for our guest. We (especially me) were already a little bit lubed-up before Mike had gotten there, which made our conversations a little more nonsensical and the food taste even better.

After we got ready to roll, Mike set up his ingredients, which for tonight were going to be tofu, tempeh, assorted veggies, and a gang of sauces Mike whipped up which blew our minds; two words: wasabi mayonnaise. Immediately Mike started slicing and dicing while we threw on some tunes and cracked open some beers (and a little vino).

Mike brought over some delicious Dale's Pale Ale (an IPA for for those who have never had one before... meaning it was plenty hoppy and had a nice sweetly smooth taste). However, unlike most of the fancy beers I imbibe, Dale's comes in a can and it tastes even better for it, in my opinion.

Moving on to the grub, Mike set to work chopping up his tofu, mixing up his tempeh, and getting ready to lay it all down on the stove. Pretty soon things were heating up and they smelled great. We learned that when frying tofu, the amount of oil we had used before was quite inadequate. Basically, you need to move into almost deep-frying territory. Here's what we had going for us by then:

Pretty soon our apartment was full of the smell of delicious fake meats. Mike began slicing up carrots and other assorted veggies for this sandwich, and also steaming up a vegetable I'd never had before called edamame, which looked a lot like snap peas to me, only you don't eat the husks, just the bean-like pods on the inside.

By now, the tofu was frying; we were all huddled in the kitchen, drinking, smoking, and rockin' out; and generally having a blast.

Soon, the baguettes were heated (fuck you Whole Foods!) and we were ready to throw these together and get some grub in our stomachs. Mike added his sauces and veggies (and some special sliced jalapeno, which really completed the sandwich). Here's a couple pictures of the finished product. Please excuse the lighting and blur of any of these pictures, we're wasted. That's how it works:

Look at that! Do you know how big, filling, and delicious this was?

Well, we do. We destroyed them. There was no holding back.

Moving on, Mike brought a record with him to give us a little taste of what he likes to hear when he's cooking. It turned out to be some serious metal that I put 100% behind, the Midwestern 80's doom band Trouble. We were turned onto an album called Psalm 9, which is Trouble's first LP (and also self-titled somehow... confusing). I had previously heard this band only once when Mike spun it at his Metal Night here at Pittsburgh's Smiling Moose where he spins thrash, doom, grind, death, and all the other related metals you can think of.

Anyway, Trouble blew my mind back then when he played "The Bastards Will Pay". Not only was there a nice Sabbath-y groove coursing through my veins, but the melodic leads and vocals seemed to fit right in and show you that doom was not always SunnO))) nailing black metal fops into coffins. Trouble were on Metal Blade throughout the 80's, and actually played again recently in their home city of Chicago, must to the delight of white hi-topped Hessians everywhere. This is real metal for real metalheads. Anyone here listening to Avenged Sevenfold or any of the fake Headbangers Ball-core will be disappointed and rightly so, because you're a fuckin' dork, kid.

So with full bellies and brains full of "white metal" (the tag given to Trouble by their promotions department to combat the rise of the black metal style, from what I'm told), we took to a drinkin' and a-carousin'. People showed up who I've never met before, the cops showed up to tell us to turn down the jams, I passed out on the couch, and wine, beer, water, and all sorts of other things were spilled. Mike seemed to have a great time hanging with some of his favorite scumbags and showing off his stuff. He did a great job and made us all feel a little more metal (except for Hone... he hides it well until he gets wasted, calls us all gay, then stumbles off into the night).

We'd like to thank Mike for making us some great food and playing us a great record. We had a blast! We also apologize for the photo quality this time, but I think you understand what's going on here... scumbags of the highest order. Until next time!

* Posted by Steve-O

PS: If you wanna be featured on here, let us know and we'll set it up! Or if you wanna help us get more drunk and take our photos for us, too! Thanks Mike!

What are they feeding those kids in Cleveland? Definetly not anything this good.

2006-09-29T11:40:00.000-04:00

When you live in Pittsburgh like I do, you get bummed about it from time to time. Our economy sucks, our football team is 1-2, and you can't even buy booze in a gas station. Our music scene has some gems, but there's always some dork on the internet who's gonna post about how it sucks. Every now and then, Pittsburghers get bummed about being from Pittsburgh. So what do we do to cheer ourselves up?

Drive to Cleveland.

Pittsburgh is like that girl at the party who's not the best looking, but compared to her terrible little sister named Cleveland, she starts looking pretty damn good. So after a trip to Cleveland, I'm proud to sport my black and gold and put Heinz ketchup on absolutely everything. Even on our worst day, we're so much better than their best day. Here's why:

On my worst day, and I have a lot of them, I'll wake up at 10 even though I could've slept till noon. I'll stumble into the living room and watch Roseanne DVDs and be lazy. Eventually, I have to eat. On my worst day, I never know what to cook and it always ends up being veggie dogs and potatoes. I eat this meal a lot, its easy and doesn't require me to think very much. Plus I'll eat a veggie dog any chance I get. And, when this is what you make when you can't think of anything else, you're doing pretty well, because this is a great meal.

Start out by heating up some olive oil in a pan. Slice up a potato into thin slices. Fry 'em up. Let them go for ten or fifteen minutes, and don't forget to stir them up so they don't burn. Drop in some sliced onion, garlic, peppers, and whatever else you've got in the vegetable crisper. This is something that anybody can do, and everybody should do, but none of those yabbos in Cleveland ever will do.

After the potatoes are almost done, toss in a couple veggie dogs. Roll them around with the garlic and onions and let all the flavors meld together, while you toss a couple hot dog buns in the toaster oven. You also need a green vegetable to go with the potatoes and dogs, but I'll leave that up to you. Grab a plate and be happy that even when you can't think of anything to cook, you're still eating really, really well.

Even when you aren't imaginative enough to cook up new and exciting food, you still want delicious food, right? And when you're in the mood for a record but don't have anything new to play, you still want a hot record, right? The Black Lips are like veggie dogs and potatoes to me. I'll throw on the Black Lips a couple times a week, when I don't have any new or exciting records that I feel like experimenting with.

Last weekend I had the opportunity to go see the Black Lips for the second time. The only problem was that their show was in Cleveland. So I piled in a car with three other dudes, threw on some Reigning Sound, and talked about chicks. Before we knew it, we were at the Beachland Tavern, about to see one of our favorite bands. These In the Red rockers brought a fog machine, a strobe light, a bunch of hot jams, and a fairly new 7". The 3 track release was recorded at a party in their hometown of Atlanta, and sounds way better than a live record from a party should sound. The A side is clearly the better of the two, with their song "Oh Katrina". Opposite the catchy jam about a hurricane is a live version of "Sea of Blasphemy" from their Let It Bloom LP and a Link Wray cover that I already forgot. This is a hot record, and you should definetly pick it up. There's probably tons of them left, because none of the kids at the show in Cleveland cared about the Black Lips. The majority of their fans at the show made the drive from Pittsburgh, and the majority of their merch made the drive back to Pittsburgh.

If you live in Pittsburgh, its inevitable, you'll drive to Cleveland for a show. You'll see a great band, and you'll be the only one that cares. Then you'll sit at the bar and wonder why all these dorks are there to see some garbage like Be Your Own Pet. At least you can drive back to Pittsburgh, stop and get a few Sparks on the way, and make veggie dogs the next day. Life in Pittsburgh ain't so bad after all.

EDIT 12/13/06 -- Lil' Vinnie just posted the entire Black Lips Live at Rob's House set on Sendspace. Its the entire set, not just the songs on the 7". I have no idea how long this will be available, so grab it while you can!

-- John

WOULD YOU LAY WITH ME (IN A FIELD OF CHIPPED HAM)

2006-09-23T21:35:00.000-04:00

Growing up food stamp rich in western Pennsylvania’s Fayette county, nutrition wasn’t exactly a top priority in my shitbox of a family. Amongst the destroyed Christmas trees, broken windows, welfare cheese, wrecked cars, shotguns, broken noses, small time weed dealing, Pechin’s cheeseburgers, cigarettes, Satanic Heavy Metal mayhem, dirty denim, wood’s porn, junkyard dogs, comic books and thousands of gallons of cheap beer it wasn’t too hard for a well balanced meal to get lost in the shuffle.

The majority of my young diet consisted of “free lunches”, JR Simplots microwave French Fries, generic “nacho flavored” chips, TV dinners and lots of high fructose corn syrup. Not to say that my mother couldn’t whip up a lovingly prepared, down home fried pork chop, mashed potatoes with greens and a side of cornbread type meal when she was so inclined. It’s just that she was rarely ever, “so inclined”. One of her easiest outs was the sandwich that I’m going to make for this entry.

Thanks to good ole Isaly’s, chipped ham has long been a Pittsburgh (and by extension Western Pa.) favorite. Making due with what you’ve got is often the law of the land when times are tough and we made due with chipped ham a little too much. We’d have it cold for lunch with white bread and ketchup (this hillbilly concoction still sends shivers up my spine) hopefully garnished with some chips and then we’d have it fried for dinner with a dollop of Velveeta-esque welfare cheese and mustard on toast, maybe a side of baked beans. I’m gonna make my version of the latter only slightly embellished, not to fancy up this not so classic recipe (I’ll save that bullshit for those kitsch loving dorks who think things like the Spam cookbook are quaint) but to clean out the leftover items in my fridge.

So what I started with was the basic ingredient, a quarter pound of Isaly’s chipped ham. Then I broke out what I already had, one egg, a slice of pineapple, bell peppers, chopped onions, a slice of American cheese and a sausage roll. Fry ‘em all in one large skillet, starting with the egg (with lots of pepper is the recommendation)…toss the peppers and onions on the egg and after they’ve set a little, flip, flop and fry. The chipped ham, bun and pineapple will cook quickly and can be added at the same time, don’t forget to toss a slice of cheese on the egg. Add spicy brown mustard and the sides of your choice. Pictured here are Doritos, Mountain Dew (for the childrens) and a Black Label.

My musical selection for this garbage sandwich entry is a man who should really need no introduction but I’ll give it a go anyway:

Long haired redneck, Ohio born shit kicker, Mormon, ex-con, David Allan Coe’s music has probably been talked about way more than it’s actually been heard. His filthy “party records” filled with sexual misadventure and hillbilly bumfuckery have long been the stuff of under the counter legend. However, DAC is no one trick filth pony and his solid 70’s records are some of the best outlaw country ever produced. At times boastful, angry, sad and happy he covers a lot of ground that should make anyone with a refined hillbilly, chipped ham eating taste happy. I’d especially recommend digging up the “Human Emotions” LP. The country boogie gutwrench of the track “Suicide” is itself alone worth the price of admission. Lots of false rednecks (Kid Rock, Pantera) have jumped on Coe’s bandwagon for some sort of outlaw credibility, so be sure to steer clear of anything that involves those morons. Also be wary of some of his 80’s output as Coe took a real shine to the hero of middle aged frat boys everywhere, Jimmy Buffett.

Now that your ears enjoying the sordid country waxings of David Allan Coe and your gullet is stuffed with hillbilly concoctions of mind bending proportions it’s time to settle down for some light reading. In true Fayette county fashion, I acquired these little artifacts in the great 1989 Christmas “Weed for Comics” debacle. Now DC may have had your Matter-Eater Lads, Rainbow Batmans and Arm Fall Off Boys for shear insipid four color enjoyment but those turgid characters have nothing on the psychotronic madness of the Comics Code approved SON OF SATAN!

For your studies:

Posted by:
HONE

Stolen Pierogies Just Taste Better

2006-09-18T13:55:00.000-04:00

When I was trying to decide what food to cook and what record to review for you guys, I couldn't come up with anything. I had plenty of ideas, but none of them were working out. I already wrote about my favorite thing in the world -- being sleazy, so I had nothing to talk about.

Then I remembered that I could just steal all my ideas off other people. I'm a white male, and if there's one thing we know how to do, its steal. First we stole America from the Indians. Then we populated it with a bunch of laborers that we stole from Africa. Then a couple hundred years went by, and we white males started stealing presidential elections from each other. So in the grand scheme of things, my theft of a recipe isn't too big of a deal.

Earlier this summer Steve, Suzi, and I went to a potluck barbeque in the half-college half-ghetto neighborhood of South Oakland. The Pittsburgh punx were all there, and they all brought food. Amidst the sea of black t-shirts, I spotted some buffalo pierogies that our friend Paul brought. I slammed a bunch of them then got drunk and forgot about them until today. So with my hazy memory of buffalo pierogies, and the help of google, I decided to steal the recipe and recreate them.

Homemade pierogies are great, but they're way too much work for a Monday afternoon lunch. So you can feel free to use some frozen Mrs. T's pierogies, I used potato and onion. Put some olive oil, hot sauce, and cayenne pepper in a bowl and mix them all up. Use whatever kind of hot sauce you want, I used Frank's Red Hot. Toss the pierogies in the bowl one at a time, still frozen, and get them covered with the oil and hot sauce mixture. Make sure you spray a baking sheet with Pam, because these things will definetly stick. Put the pierogies on the baking sheet and give 'em 20 minutes in the oven. Flip them over after ten minutes, and add more sauce if you want, I did.

These pierogies are gonna come out of the oven a little crispy on the outside, with a nice soft mashed potato inside, just the way a traditional pierogie should taste. But a traditional pierogie never took a bath in hot sauce and oil. These things have some punch to 'em, and you don't even notice it until after the first one. After two or three of these you'll be wiping the sweat out of your eyes with that Ramones t-shirt that your girlfriend told you not to wear anymore. Who could ever argue with combining pierogies and buffalo wings? Definetly not me, especially when you pair them with a vegetarian bratwurst and some green beans. These pierogies were definetly at least as good as I barely remember them to be.

Not only am I gonna steal my food idea for this article, I'm gonna steal my music idea too. At the same backyard barbeque where I first discovered buffalo pierogies, I also rediscovered some great music. Local ragers Pyramid Scheme opened the show, but most of the bullet belted punk rockers were there to see Oakland, California's Annihilation Time. The long haired punk rockers probably all already know about this band, but I need to make sure that everybody gets into these guys. They're usually described as Black Flag meets Black Sabbath. If you're gonna combine two bands that go as well together as buffalo wings and pierogies, then Annihilation Time are the buffalo pierogies of punk rock. You want riffs? They've got it. Tasty licks? They've got that too. They're also pretty into drugs and chicks from Pittsburgh, so they've got all their bases covered. The aptly titled second LP, II, is out on Six Weeks Records. They only pressed a thousand of 'em, so make sure you pick one up before they sell out, which may have already happened.

When you take two things that are great in their own right and combine them to make something greater than the sum of their parts, you know you've got a winner. Buffalo wings are great, pierogies are too, but together they are unstoppable. The same goes for ass kicking hardcore combined with stoner riffs and long hair. You guys should keep combining two good things to make one great thing, and I'll steal the ideas and write about them three months later.

- Posted by John.

Pittsburgh rules!

2006-09-08T14:08:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was the first regular season game of our beloved Pittsburgh Steelers. John-Boy and I took a trip across the river to inspect the whos, wheres, and whats of the tailgating community these days. It turns out Pittsburgh's football fans have also come up with some excellent culinary ideas that will please any palate.

First off, you need some Steelers gear if you're going to attempt to talk to anyone. John-Boy's Persuaders t-shirt caused someone to look at us and say "Are you going to put a negative slant on tailgating?" Jesus fucking Christ, lady. I know we're degenerates and all, but we still like Steelers football. Luckily, I had my shirt .and was ready to go. However, I was not as ready as I thought for the endless avalanche of food and booze that was soon pushed upon me.

As soon as we walked up to the parking lot, we walked over to the first RV we could find with a buffet table setup outside and large coolers. This indicated to us that these people not only had food and beer, but most likely plenty of it. Anyway, we sauntered over, and I put John-Boy on the case in talking to folks first, as I was surveying the scene and mentally mapping out a route for us to take through the parking lots. We were greeted by a woman named Jenny (who was really nice and had a sweet rack, too). She was with three toothless weirdos who were cooking hot sausage sandwiches with meatballs. As a rule, I generally eat hot sausage at any chance I can get. She was kind enough to offer me one after we explained what we were doing, and also set us up with our first beers of the afternoon, because they had a shitload of it. We thanked her and moved on, but I definitely got the impression she was into ol' Schleep-O. Sweet.

Moving on down the line, we came to an extremely impressive tailgate featuring the following: a giant inflatable Steeler on top of a painted Steelers van with a keg system run through it; a deep-fryer doing not only wings, but provolone sticks, fried shrimp, and anything else you could think of; a large grill with steaks, chops, wings, etc., the list goes on and on. We started rapping with the folks milling around and were given a guided tour of everything and offered, once again, beers and food. It was too crowded for us to get around the grill, but I didn't want to blow my wad so quick in the preceedings, stomach-wise. We happily sampled a beer and explained this website to them. Everyone either though we were crazy or made dirty jokes about the name.

We got dragged by these people (a woman who wanted to be indentified only as Lynn, and some other lady who kept talking about her son's college golf career) to another tailgate run by a dude named Hector. Hector was really nice and had some good-looking stuff. Check this out:

I definitely took part in some of that. Hector had a keg, and by now I figure we had hit three different tables and had four or five beers. So as we resolved to keep being as polite and nice as possible, we were slowly getting more full and more drunk as things went along (which would probably explain my sweaty, drunken, horrible hair in EVERY SINGLE PICTURE).

Moving on down the lot, we met a dude named Tim. Tim was nice enough to show us the spread at his vehicle, and he had some stuff that was actually vegetarian for John-Boy. I enjoyed a great pulled pork sandwich, some wings, pizza rolls, and plenty of Iron City:

Tim also had desserts for those with a sweet tooth (AKA: NOT ME), Here's a shot of Tim's primary stuff. Very classy. We sampled the dips, cheese, etc. There were also stellar meatballs at this table. And this one was extremely clean, which I always find to be a plus:

By now we'd scoured a lot of the parking lot. PBC was giving out free beer, so we had some of those. All you had to do was give them a fake email and get a wristband. They had Augustiner, which I never drink, but I figured I'd sample as much as I possibly could. By now we were just being handed beers, which then went directly into my backpack. Things were heating up and it was getting more and more fun as we walked. Game time was closing in, so we tried to make a final run through both lots, so as not to miss anything.

Moving along, we ran into the grandfather of all tailgates. I say this because these very nice ladies and gentleman had an RV painted black and gold the size of a fucking PAT bus. This place had the largest bar that didn't employ a CO2 system. The guy was very nice, but he didn't believe for a second that either of us were 21, he then ID'ed us and made us go eat food before we could have any beer. Can't say I blame him. We look like we have a combined age of 28 between the two of us. However, he did hook me up with an awesome steak sandwich. John-Boy went straight to the pasta salad and vegetables.

After crossing through the lots (more pictures can be found HERE [for food only] and HERE [for everything]), the game got closer and closer, and eventually we had to split so we could watch it on TV (tickets ain't cheap). As I started to make the walk back downtown for the bus, I could only reflect on how much Pittsburgh loves its football and takes even the biggest party very seriously. Quite inspiring. I'll leave off the food portion with this, our only attempt at a Steelers art photo (where's Icki when you need him?):

All in all, a beautiful Pittsburgh afternoon. We went on to beat the Dolphins 28-17 that night. Go Steelers!

Pittsburgh is known for a lot of things. One that most in the know recognize is our excellent hardcore punk scene. They say if you do something, do it well. This will most likely be the outstanding DIY underground achievement Pittsburgh is known for (the Swamp Rats notwithstanding). New bands like Brain Handle, Warzone Womyn, FLAK, and Kim Phuc are all recording, touring, putting out records, and playing lots of shows. But the most well-known and most respected band in the current Pittsburgh DIY hardcore scene would have to be veterans Caustic Christ.

Caustic Christ arose from the ashes of Aus Rotten in 2000-2001. They've been a fixture here in the Pittsburgh punk scene ever since. While Aus Rotten focused on a heavier-than-the-norm UK peace-punk style similar, in my opinion, to a band like Crucifix, Discharge, or Rudimentary Peni, Caustic Christ has taken classic American hardcore and whittled it down to some of the most crushing tunes ever put to wax. They've released most of their records on Havoc Rex, aside from two splits (one with Pittsburgh's Intense Youth and one with Philadelphia's R.A.M.B.O.).

With quite an extensive discography so far (an LP/CD, three EP's, two splits), Havoc has now recently released what I consider to be their best record yet: the LP/CD "Lycanthropy". I was lucky enough to catch the record release show here in town with touring punks Direct Control and Strung Up. Needless to say, it was a pretty vicious display of pummelling hardcore, but Caustic Christ stole the show.

Caustic Christ has truly come into their own on this LP. The most obvious reason is easily heard in the first track "The Caustic Curse". This mid-paced pounder is easily my favorite tune of theirs live and simply grinds along with throaty vocals from Eric Good explaining his plight of turning into a werewolf. I, for one, relish lyrics like this in hardcore. It's always nice to turn away from the evils of young teenage punks everywhere sometimes and hear a band play something completely wacked and deeply personal. The stops and starts for short instrumental breaks in the tune are great to rage along to in your living room.

Moving along, the record picks up even more steam with a recognizable tune from their recent out-of-print tour EP "Doesn't Anyone Want to Impress Jodie Foster Anymore?" After that, seven more standouts until the final instrumental. A nice surprise, in fact, and when coupled with the guitar work of Bill Chamberlain on this record (hell, the rhythm section of Corey and Greg is unstoppable as well, I shouldn't be splitting hairs here) you get a driving record that can send chills through you when played at the proper volume and with the right mindset.

You should be thinking: Poison Idea, Negative Approach, Flipper (all three of whom I've seen them cover), bands that weren't afraid to stick to the tried-and-true of what makes hardcore great but weren't afraid to bring something new to the table at the same time. I think Caustic Christ's most unique feature is the attitude and feeling you get from these guys when they play, especially from the lyrics. They're more personal than most, and when I say that, I mean, they will sing about punching mirrors until they collapse on the floor because they can't handle society when your band is in your cousin's van talking about smashing the state and rolling your windows up in the ghetto on tour. They know what hardcore punk is supposed to be about. They're not here to kowtow to the current trends. They will show up in their van, set up, tear the place apart, and you'll know what you've seen means something. You've seen a band full of four dudes who turned up all the way, stared you in the face, and condemned your world right in front of you.

I can't say enough great things about this band. They define Pittsburgh punk today, they're still going strong, and they still care enough to book great HC shows, give young bands a chance, and pound you into the dirt if you let them. I can also say they're all extremely great guys, which is a compliment you normally reserve for shitty bands; not in this case.

Pick the record up from the band on their upcoming European tour (if you're out that way in November), or go here to the Havoc webstore. There is a limited pressing of 300 of these on red vinyl with screened covers of a wolf with blood-spatters on it. Havoc says 150 are available for mailorder, while us lucky folks in Pittsburgh got first crack at the other 150. I picked one of the limited ones up at the release show and it looks and sounds great (note: The limited version is priced at $15.00 through Havoc, but the normal version with different cover is set at the normal price of $9.00), but I would assume it's probably long gone by now unless you act fast.

Pittsburgh can be defined by many terms, but I like this: we're no bullshit. We love the Steelers. We love Caustic Christ. Watch out, or we'll roll right over you. A friend of mine once said to some wack-ass hasbeen Homestead Records character: "Bow down to Pittsburgh hardcore punk, washed-up indie rock losers". He was right. I'm sure if Joey Porter knew what that meant, he'd say the same.

*Posted by Steve-O

Home Cookin' from Both Homes: A Labor Day Special

2006-09-07T11:51:00.000-04:00

It's nice to get home and see the folks whenever possible once you've been out of the house for a few years. But while you can not only enjoy yourself at home catching up and spending time with some admittedly badass folks, one should never overlook the comforts you can enjoy on your own when you return. This September 2nd-4th weekend coincided with not only Labor Day, but also Momma A's birthday. So when I got to my lovely old home of Glen Dale, West Virginia on Saturday evening, I knew I was in for great food, drink, and possible shenanigans.

Upon arriving, I was greeted with the excellent surprise of my old man "Johnny Rando"'s marinated flank steak. A fresh piece of flank steak marinated just right definitely can hit the spot over the T-bones and Porterhouses one can purchase at your local butcher shop. My old man has perfected his craft over a number of years, and I must say I can rarely find a leaner, more zesty and flavorful cut of meat.

Top this off with sauteed portabella mushrooms, seasoned slightly too salty for my taste (but hey, nobody's perfect, I rarely salt my food) and the old man's patented homemade Caesar salad.

This salad has gone through remarkable recipe overhauls in the years past. One suitable addition I found was the salty combination of either fresh diced anchovies or anchovy paste to the dressing. The dressing is always homemade and can either take more a more vinagrette consistency, or in tonight's case, a more creamy, thick texture. I find both to be equally suitable. But tonight was nice, since our other side dish was a little more dry.

Top this off with a glass of merlot (my wine of choice for this meal is cabernet sauvignon, but unfortunately my parents switched over after years of CS consumption), and you have an excellent well-rounded meal which will leave you quite full and ready to commiserate with your family about nonsense such as who's married, who's dead, who just got in a car accident, and what the neighbors think of us (addendum: our family is known as "those people"... can't complain about that).

The next day, your BBQ can move into full effect.

Eventually, things start to get moving since company is coming. Parents can generally throw excellent low-key BBQ's, mostly because your tunes are going to be something more along the lines of Leonard Cohen instead of Career Suicide, and you may be having wine with lawyers and teachers and your parents instead of Jacob's Best with the rest of your hoodlum friends; but either is fine by me in this setting.

To start things off, wine and cheese... I know what you're thinking: "This isn't a BBQ, Steve, you're an asshole." You'd be half-right. But anway, we sampled an excellent merlot while I alternated between Rolling Rock pony bottles [a favorite of the old man's] and Pabst. Nothing wrong with that. Andersons aren't little bitches. But we had a fine assortment of cheeses as the afternoon got underway, including muenster, a sharp cheddar, some excellent brie, and Swiss (if memory serves). I was chilling extremely hard and rapping with the old man and other adults, and eventually the conversation turned to the politics of "independent radio" (as in shit like Pittsburgh's WYEP vs. a real indie station like NY/NJ's WFMU), Tom Waits, Sonic Youth, the merits of Bob Dylan (talking about this with a bunch of people over 45... no fun.) in this day and age, and surprisingly, "Bummer Bitch" by Freestone. I think enough people know this tune, so I won't go into too many specifics, but we'll just make sure it's known that this became famous from KBD#2, it's classic snotty punk with one of the world's catchiest choruses, and it will offend any square at any party, no matter where you are. Here's a link to download the tune.

Right before our meal was served, a drunken Schleep-O was cajoled by drunken adults to download and produce the song "Bummer Bitch" on the family Mac. With my folks moving into the 20th century and finally getting cable internet, it was a snap. However, I don't know who among us would want to sit there in the den as that song played, so I hit play and left the room. The adults shuffled out about 1:30 later, and the old man says "Keep that song on the computer." "Bummer Bitch" is now his only iTunes file. I'm waiting for the day when he says that to Big Momma. I will laugh.

Moving back onto the food. Momma A and Johnny Rando outdid themselves with a very nice spread.

In addition to your burgers and dogs, Momma A had whipped up her famous potato salad. There were also deviled eggs (which were out of this world), a fine giardiniera vegetable salad, and a homemade relish tray. Fried chicken was discussed but ultimately not picked up by a certain bum son who got too drunk to drive by 1 PM. Note to readers: Wheeling, WV has an excellent fried chicken procedure: pressure-cooked fried chicken. All this entails is covering your fryer with a large screw-on lid, a technique normally employed by mad scientists or something along those lines. As a nogood teenage punk, I worked as a butcher for four years. One of my other duties was preparing fresh pressure-cooked chicken in the back of the shop. Look into this. I'm sure Southerners have seen this and slammed it. But anyway, Yankees, let's get back to the point. The folks did a fine job, and I thank and commend them (especially for sending me back with a bottle of vino, case of Pabst, two packs of ciggies, and plenty of leftovers.

Finally, it's time to head back to the Big City where I get some much needed pipes and schleep. Waking up on Labor Day is usually pretty sweet. You've generally had a relaxing weekend, and you're probably still full of food. Well, I was, and we decided to have another cookout up here in the city.

Big Suzz and John-Boy helped take part in the preparations today. The first order of business was Suzz was going to make her exquisite guacamole. However, the grocer bummed her out with the quality of their avocados, so Suzz decided to make avocado salad. This was a delightful treat and very simple to prepare. With just some tomato, onion, avocado, a little oil, and some spices you can create a heart-healthy salad that can fill you up and make you forget about dipping things ever again.

Up next, we had plenty of veggie burgers, REAL burgers (vegetarians can suck it today!), and veggie dogs for the grill. But I had an idea to do them one better and marinated some eggplant we picked up from the Farmer's Market. After about half an hour, these were ready to be tossed on the grill with everything else. So we had something for everyone, which is what this blog is all about, isn't it?

The beauty of this is, after grilling the eggplant (which was marinated with olive oil, vinegar, and spices), it was put ON BURGERS.

I did my burger up with provolone, eggplant, sliced onion, tomato, and Momma A's homemade tomato ketchup (the only kethcup I'll ever eat). Quite a delicious burger, and hopefully, first of its kind. Leftover potato salad also got knocked out of the park and back into our stomachs.

So what jams do you rock at the BBQ? We didn't have a million people there, so it was a low-key chill affair in the afternoon. What record just came out recently that would work just right in this context? Well, if you said Reigning Sound's "Live at Goner Records", I'd give you a burger and maybe even a beer.

So far we've written about stuff that people who are not indoctrinated to the rock n' roll lifestyle should be listening to for those certain situations in life. Want some babes in striped shirts? Exploding Hearts. Need solid rock n' soul? Deadly Snakes. Need dumb punk FUN? Sneaky Pinks. Now here's the question... you wanna rock out with your people, hear some of America's best songwriting, great covers, a stellar recording, and just an all-around perfect band? Reigning Sound.

Eric Friedl's Goner Records has dropped a few stellar records in our laps over the past year, and this record and the Knaughty Knights 7" are at the top of the pile for me. From the choice covers of Sam the Sham and Carl Perkins to the souped-up originals and touching ballads, we get an excellent setlist that covers all the Reigning Sound's bases, even down to something like "I"m So Thankful" from "Break Up, Break Down" (most of the vinyl copies of this were damaged in a flood, I don't even have one!). Every song is a killer, even "Two Thieves" (Greg's song from the Compulsive Gamblers "Crystal Gazing Luck Amazing" LP... another gem)which is cut short in the middle due to an electrical problem. And while this band has their praises sung all over the net and in print, when there is a perfect BBQ record (not Mark Sultan, ya mutts), you rock it and you tell everyone about it. Pick this up from Goner, and seek out the other Reigning Sound releases on labels like In The Red, Slovenly, Norton, and Sympathy. Reigning Sound will continue to be the one band in my head that everyone can get together and dig on, and this is a great introduction if you're not sure what to pick up first.

Just to tie this all together, here's a picture taken by yours truly of your man Big Greg C. destroying a hot dog here in our lovely city at the Original Hot Dog Shop.

*Posted by Steve-O

Coming soon from Schleep-O: STEELERS OPENING DAY AND THE BRAND-NEW CAUSTIC CHRIST 12" ON HAVOC REX!(PITTSBURGH RULES!); HIPSHAKES, SOVIET VALVES, AND TRANZMITORS EP'S; MORE FROM HONE AND JOHN-BOY; AND MORE FOOD, FUN, BABES, RECORDS, AND FEELIN' GOOD!

The Art of Being a Gentleman and a Sleazebag

2006-09-05T14:01:00.000-04:00

Are you into being sleazy? Slamming greasy food? Listening to punk records? Getting chicks? Being wasted? Of course you are. You're a grade-A sleazebag.

So am I.

But its also important in life to be a gentleman. Show some class, you punk rockers! There's nothing wrong with putting down the Pabst from time to time and enjoying a nice bottle of wine. Get a haircut, read a book, be an adult for christ's sake!

These two extremes aren't mutually exclusive of one another. They can exist in perfect harmony. You can be a classy, cultured, sleazebag. Here's how:

Start off with something sleazy, like a giant sub and french fries. College kids slam subs and fries all the time. But this isn't delta delta daterape, so we'll class it up a little. Put the Steak-Umms back in the freezer.

Cut up some eggplant and zucchini and saute them in olive oil. While they're cooking slice up some onion, garlic, and peppers. I used some green bell pepper and half a jalepeno, you can use whatever you want, a red pepper might be nice for color. Stir in all the veggies with the eggplant and zucchini, and keep them moving because they burn easily.

If you're gonna want fries with this sub, and trust me, you are, then do them the way no fast food joint ever will. I sliced up three kinds of potatoes, a sweet potato, a yam, and a russet, into thin strips. Toss 'em all in a bowl with a little olive oil. Add some spices, I used red pepper flakes and oregano, and mix them up to make sure everything gets coated. Bake them at 375 or so. I could've deep fried these, but remember, we're being civilized, classy, sleazebags. We care about our health, and basicly we don't wanna get fat.

Forget about the fries for about a half an hour, they'll do their thing. After you saute the veggies for the sandwich, slice up a couple tomato slices and put them on a fresh baked roll. Top that with the sauted eggplant and zucchini mixture, and top that with some fresh cheese. Kraft American Singles aren't gonna cut it here, buddy. I used a nice slice of provolone, and added a little more red pepper and oregano. Put the sub together and put the whole thing in the oven for just a couple minutes. This is so much better than anything any college kid ever walked out of Subway with.

We made a sub and fries go from frat boy classic to something you'd serve your parents, if you ever even bothered to go see them, which you don't. We need a record that's a punk rock classic, but something that Henry Rollins didn't write while lifting weights. We need something fun, a little poppy, definetly nothing political, we need a classy record to go with this classy meal.

The Exploding Hearts first and only LP, Guitar Romantic is what I'd call a classy record. You guys already know that, you probably already love this band. And you should love them, they've got everything a poppy record should have. This record is incredibly catchy, and while it is a poppy record, its not more than you can stomach. This is powerpop, the way the Paul Collins Beat meant for it to be done. This is the record you give to somebody when you wanna get them into good music. This is the record you give to chicks. This is just... the record. And not only is this a hot record that you probably already love, Dirtnap Records is gonna reissue Guitar Romantic on vinyl, as well as a CD with some more rare songs, and video footage. Look for that this Halloween.

So be a sleazebag, its a lot of fun! But be a gentleman at the same time. All your friends are probably passed out on the couch with porn mags and cigarette butts strewn about the house. You can easily outclass them with a little eggplant and a hot record. Get to work!

Posted by John

Breakfast With the Family (but way better than when you were a kid)

2006-08-29T14:19:00.000-04:00

Remember when you were a little kid living with your parents? It was the worst. Sunday mornings for me meant that I got woken up at 7, dragged to church at 8, then breakfast at 10. The food was always good, but waking up early and going to church were always huge downers. And even worse, there were never any good records playing on any of those days.

So even though today isn't a Sunday, when my brother called me and said he had time to kill between classes, I decided we were gonna do the family breakfast the way it was meant to be done: no church, no parents, but plenty of good food and of course, great records.

My brother claimed to be somewhat of an expert on making scrambled eggs. Of course, any idiot can make scrambled eggs, but he did them up right. Add a little milk, and don't forget to raid your spice rack. We've learned a long time ago that every food tastes better with melted cheese on it, so we threw in some shredded mozz. This is why you didn't become vegan.

You can't just scramble a couple eggs and call it a meal, so while Matt took care of the eggs, I went to work on some homefries. Slice 'em up small so they get brown and crispy in the pan. Turn down the heat and toss in whatever you'd like. I threw in an onion for sweetness, a red pepper for spiciness, and a couple cloves of chopped garlic. If you aren't cooking with garlic, you really aren't cooking at all.

I'm not going to tell you how to make toast or slice up an apple, but you'll need to do both. Go to McDonald's if all you want are fat and empty carbs, I want a well rounded breakfast, with whole grains where available. Everything turned out really well. The eggs were fluffy without being too wet. The homefries were crispy with a nice kick from the red pepper. The toast was, well, it was just toast.

This breakfast was every bit as good as any breakfast I've ever eaten with my family on a Sunday morning in the early 90's, but they never played any bands that Greg Oblivian produced. My brother and I had a good looking breakfast in front of us, and we needed something easy going to listen to. I put on the Deadly Snakes second effort I'm Not Your Soldier Anymore. I know how great Porcella is, but let's not forget that that isn't their only record. They've released some hot ones before they ever put out that classic, and I'm Not Your Soldier Anymore is definetly one of them. This record is a rock n roller, but still mellow enough that you can eat breakfast and talk about life. You guys already know that the Reigning Sound does a great version of "West Texas Sound", but so do the Deadly Snakes. So if you've only recently gotten into the Deadly Snakes by hearing Porcella, check out some of their older stuff, you won't be disappointed.

After you've given this record a few listens, make sure that you take care of your younger siblings. Its okay to tell your parents to slag off, but you've gotta help out your brothers and sisters. If you aren't gonna clue them in on how to eat good food, or corrupt them with rock n roll, or tell them how to get chicks, who's gonna?

Posted by
- ,John

PP + SP = Gettin' Retarded

2006-08-22T20:06:00.000-04:00

I'm glad that I got clued into the fact that McKees Rocks has something more to offer than methed-out hussies that compete for horny dude dollars and post-industrial gloom. It's got some pretty good pierogies smothered in butter and onions (the kielbasa and stuffed cabbage weren't half bad either)...

It only costs $5.95 to get to hunky nirvana. Pierogies Plus is mostly a carry out joint that claims to have an "outdoor patio". This "outdoor patio" phenomena was missing in action on the day we pulled up, so we scarfed hungry bastard style* on the trunk of the car. Check the menu for Special Order Pierogies, the potato and bacon pierogies sound unstoppable.

Now that your guts are stuffed with kielbasa, pierogies and maybe a Polish hand grenade you can contemplate getting retarded. I mean the GOOD RETARDED like hot dog eating contests and not the BAD RETARDED like spending too much free time contemplating the genesis of Wonder Man and his mullet in back issues of the West Coast Avengers. Sneaky Pinks = GOOD RETARDED! Wonder Man = BAD RETARDED!

For your studies:

Posted by HONE
*Hungry Bastard Style is the only Deadly Kung Fu style I can fully endorse.

Welcome to Pittsburgh, let's eat!

2006-08-21T15:28:00.000-04:00

I've lived in Pittsburgh my entire life. We're a city of 300,000 that has been going downhill since the mid 70's. But even though our steel mills closed, we've still got things going for us. We've got such great universities and hospitals that George Bush calls us "knowledge town." Anti-Flag calls our city home, our city calls Anti-Flag idiots.

Our city knows how to eat. We've got hundreds of bars and restaraunts in my South Side neighborhood alone. One of those restaraunts is a Pittsburgh institution - Primanti Brothers. They've been serving up sandwiches, topped with fries and cole slaw, for as long as I can remember. Nothing tops off a night out like a cheap, messy sandwich that I can stumble home from after I finish it.

But I don't have a job, and I didn't go out drinking today. I don't really go anywhere. So I'm gonna make this sandwich myself, with my records playing in the background, in my city.

I'm gonna start off by heating up more than a little oil in a pan. Slice up some potatoes and drop them in. I could've gotten some Ore Ida french fries and taken the easy way out, but for once in my life, I'm not gonna take the easy way out. Fry up the potatoes and be a punk rocker who doesn't count calories. Keep the fries moving and slice up some good italian bread, get some cole slaw out of your fridge, and cut a few tomato slices.

This sandwich is usually consumed by drunken idiots who want meat and grease. I'm fine with grease, but I haven't eaten meat in a couple years, so I'll make this one with cheese. I threw on some provolone, pepper jack, and good ole American cheese. Layer those on the bread, then put your homemade fries on top of that. Spread cole slaw on top of the fries, and tomato slices on top of that. Sauteed onion is optional, but I went for it anyway. As you can see, this is a giant sandwich, and its gonna be messy.

This is a meal for a guy. Don't tell your girlfriend you ate this sandwich. Don't even tell her you read about it on the internet. You don't even have a girlfriend anyway. So to hell with the ladies, we're eating guy food right now. And I needed to listen to "guy records" to properly indulge myself.

Marvin Gaye is one of my all time top favorite guys. This guy does it all. He recorded great pop songs, hot soul jams, and between the sheets classics. We're all punks around here, and even though Marvin never wrote punk songs, we'd get along with him just fine. This guy lived in a van doing blow every day in Hawaii. He sang "Let's Get It On" to a 16 year old girl, then married her (he was in his 30's at the time). Marvin bought his father a gun "for protection," and we all know how that ended up. Yep, Marvin Gaye is punk as fuck. Your parents played his records and had filthy sex every day when they were your age. Your parents were probably a lot cooler than you will ever be.

If Marvin Gaye were alive I'd bring him to Pittsburgh. We'd slam giant, silly sandwiches, then go get laid by girls that would never want anything to do with filthy, young, punk rockers like myself.

Pittsburgh is the city of champions. We win Super Bowls and eat french fries on sandwiches. You'd love it here.

Posted by:
- John

Lazy Sunday

2006-08-20T13:55:00.000-04:00

The Lazy Sunday is an important tenet of my apartment. After waking up early, you always have a nice relaxing day ahead of you filled with a leisurely brunch, possibly a Steelers game, and definitely 100% relaxation. Today John-Boy and I decided to cook our own breakfast sandwiches with vegetarian sausage (I always have to defer in this case, since I live with two vegetarians), egg, and cheese. And I must say, this beat any fast-food or convenience store breakfast sandwich you could find.

Starting with some homemade biscuits, we then did up some great vegetarian sausage and some eggs (I did no yolks, John-Boy took them in his). This was a remarkably simple thing to make, and honestly couldn't have tasted better. It was greasy with eggs and cheese, so not having real sausage was no big deal this time. I would assume a real version is coming in the future.

We did a waffle apiece alongside it to counter the protein in the sandwich, unfortunately we didn't have any fresh fruit this time, but I expect that change when the Farmer's Market rolls into the South Side on Tuesday.

Here's a shot:

Even though this blog is dedicated to food and records, our first music selection is actually a DVD. We were able to check out the Minutmen documentary We Jam Econo: The Story of The Minutemen. The Minutemen are one of the bands that the old guys who eventually move onto alt-country in their 40's talk about as ruling their lives in '81 on a triple bill with Black Flag and Saccharine Trust. It turns out these guys actually do know something other than which wine you bring to your professor's grad school slumber party.

The filmmakers have created an in-depth look at this band, who hold the eternal spot as SST #2 and provided the perfect follow-up to Black Flag's Nervous Breakdown EP. The wiry, frenetic guitar of D. Boon and nimble bass-playing of Mike Watt combine together with George Hurley's STUNNING drumwork to create the most political yet personal, funky yet robotic, and all-around combination of what makes weirdo rock n' roll so interesting in the first place. The band had everything: the songs, the artwork, and maybe even answers.

Some of the interviews drag and there are only so many times someone can repeat "Yeah.... D. Boon was a great big fat guy who played a trebly guitar, maaaan..." And I don't need Flea and Rollins telling me about a band that was influenced by an amalgam of greats: Wire, 70's punk, CCR, Blue Cheer, and many, many more. But this is worth a watch and worth a trip to the SST website (as linked above) to pick up their stellar records.

We sincerely hope you enjoy this blog and feel free to drop us a line or leave us a comment.

*Posted by Steve-O

Welcome eaters and record nerds

2006-08-20T13:26:00.000-04:00

Welcome to 7-Inch Slam, a blog for fans of food and music. We're three guys from Pittsburgh who have set out to cook, order, and destroy all the great food that can be found and the records you should be listening to while you're doing it. We'll set out to introduce ourselves soon and introduce you to some of our favorite slams and records.