monica "boot to the moon" s.'s Profile

After watching a film about Clarice Precious Jones' sordid youth, I thought it appropriate to lift the mood by treating my friends to beers and tales of my fleeting, whimsical childhood. One littered with stories of summers spent in South Beach under the watch of my 45-year-old, pothead best friend, one spent basking under the Miami sun giving .50 cents to boys in exchange for their affection, one filled with treehouse clubs and motorcycle rides.

Local 44 is just the place with brews as eccentric as my salad days.

Ever since I was young, my mother's been yelling at me for inhaling my food. You'd think I grew up in a competitive eating house with a team of rugby players where it's every (wo)man for him/herself. I eat FAST. Which leads me to my next point. I had dinner at Chew Man Chu last night where the food's so good, I needed to heed the restaurant's reminder to, well, chew man chu.

Please prepare yourself for the overwhelming array of dishes I'm about to lay on you.

Our table started with the oxtail dumplings, pork and shrimp pot stickers, and the scallion roti. While I've never been a real fan of oxtail, I found myself devouring one and then fighting my tablemate for hers. Ultimately, I thought of my mom, and then I resisted. Same goes for the pork and shrimp pot stickers. I shared those as well. I'm a huge fan of roti though and I was able to slyly hide this dish from my fellow eaters. One asked, "what's that on your lap?" "Oh nothing," I replied. (It was the scallion roti).

The Crispy Chinese Salad came next and that I was willing to share. It's salad. I'm willing to sacrifice. Nevertheless, it was a great salad.

Next up: Pad See Ew (my favorite hangover food), Angry Lobster, and Black Pepper Sirloin Steak. The PSE was definitely on the spicy side, so if you're not a fan of spice, you should probably mention that to your server before ordering it. I can definitely understand why the lobster was angry. Chef Tyson chopped it up into pieces. I'd be angry too. It was fantastic though and covered with scallions, garlic, ginger, and oyster sauce. Finally, the Black Pepper Sirloin was a perfect balance of pepper and chives. I feared it might come encrusted in pepper (ick), but it wasn't, it came encrusted in awesome.

I'm not done yet. Sorry.

The Wok Fried Rice with Tofu came next and by that point I was tenderly petting my food baby. Satisfied I was. Still, I had to taste it. Really, I did it for you, dear reader. I can assure you, my taste was a good one and even better when I added soy sauce.

Fiiiiinally, our wonderful (wanna eat him with a little spoon) server brought over Chef Tyson's famous homemade donuts. What a lovely touch. Tyson was so impressed with our eating enthusiasm that he finally came over to our table and invited me out for a game of racquetball, ping pong, or golf. I think he's worried I'll get fat. Ok, I'm done now. Thank you for reading.

Months before Percy Street actually opened, I'd been hearing mumblings around town of a BBQ joint that was -actually- Texas style. Bare bones Texan BBQ. I'd read about it on Foobooz, scoped the article in Philly Mag, stalked its progress on other local foodie blogs. I did all of this, all of it, without ever realizing Percy Street was opening two blocks away from MY HOUSE. Their quiet construction fooled me. Upon discovering their location, I literally gripped the sides of my desk chair and sent myself into a dizzying spin. BBQ and a BAR within a pajamas' distance. Whee.

With bated breath I waited, until last night, Percy formally beckoned me with its smoke signals. I looked to the clouds and there it was: "We're ready for you, Monica."

The interior is perfect. Open with large wooden tables, ample space. My friends and I took the 6-top and started with the mac n cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans, and vegan chili. It was all pitch perfect. To tell you any more about the dishes would be overkill. My only slight, and I really mean slight, gripe would be the green beans. I thought they were slightly overcooked, verging on soggy, but I'm a Texan BBQ amateur and this is probably how they're supposed to be. Nevertheless, they were perfectly flavored.

The chicken was absolutely tender in the way it's supposed to be and conveniently chopped up and wrapped in paper. No frills, just fantastic. I'd readily order the sausage seven times over. Sadly, they ran out of brisket and spare ribs by the time we arrived, but I think that's just Percy telling me to come back again. Soon.

We had every single dessert on the menu. Bread pudding, root beer float, quadruple layered chocolate cake, apple crisp, pecan pie. I love the simplicity here. Nothing impresses me more than uncomplicated perfection.

While I pleaded for cornbread, I was told time and time again, cornbread isn't Texan. Fine. So it's not. Do I know that? No. Do I care? No. I want cornbread with my BBQ. So Erin, if ever you were willing to make an exception, apply a "stain," to your perfect menu, I beg you to consider the cornbread. You never used the word stain and I know that.

DiBruno's is a must stop shop for anyone with culinary leanings. Want to host a small dinner party? DiBruno will hook you up from hors d'Oeuvres to dessert.  All this selection making you woozy? Stop by their coffee bar for an Illy espresso. Need a nibble on the fly? Sample from their generous array of freebies. Hankering for potato salad? Check out their cold to-go dishes. Navigating the city in search of Orangina? It's there. For the business lunch crowd, head upstairs for a café experience, you order, they prepare.

If you, like me, are always hungry, DiBruno's is a serious place to stimulate your olfactory. Their stuff isn't cheap though. I came in last night for a bottle of olive oil and $14.99 was the least expensive thing they had. Imported ish comes at a price, y'all.

Agent is, hands down, the best clothing store on South Street. Every time I walk in there, I peruse the fine selection of men's shirts. While they offer stuff for the ladies too, the store is heavily bro-geared. It makes me wish I were a guy. OBEY shirts, awesome local prints promoting the Illadelph, a vast array of Nixon watches, cheap, trendy shades, wooly winter hats, this store could outfit the coolest of cool.

And it's all fairly inexpensive. If you ask me, Agent is all about keeping it real and keeping it local. I mean, their store tees read, "I Copped This Jawn At Agent." How much more Philly can you get?

4am.

Stumbling.

Stewed.

Hungry.

La Moon.

Super Perro.

You're welcome.

I went to Buck 15 last night and got carried away in a flurry of dance floor action. My team of 14 arrived to find an empty bar with Kidrobots all over the place! Well, really they were just confined to a display case, but still, the vibe was already working for my 10-drink-deep self. It was all loft-graffiti-industrial looking. The music was amazing, everything from head stuff (Radiohead to Portishead) to happy-go-lucky ish (Len's "You Steal My Sunshine to the New Radicals). Eclectic as ever.

As the night wore on, the DJ hit the switch to booty shaking standards. Good move. Gaggles of hip, fun gays mobbed the floor and before I knew it, some pocket-gay was hanging off a rafter and wrapping his legs around my neck. I think there was gyrating. I think I swung him around in circles. I think everyone stared in horror. People here were exceedingly nice and eager to get down. I danced with some girl and then she took off her shirt. It was a "look I'm not wearing a bra" moment. I got scared and ditched her.

If you're a fan of spots like Vagabond and other design district haunts, you'll probably like this place. I'm definitely coming back.

When my coworker, Kevin L, told my dinner group that we'd be going to Tapas y Tintos on a Tuesday night, I coyly shook my head in approval. Little did they know we'd be dining there during their free salsa night. Just like Superman, I hid my dancing outfit (http://fitdivadesigns....) underneath my inconspicuous street clothes. I was -ready- to go.

Let's face it, after gorging on gambas al ajillo, patatas bravas, seafood paella, and tortilla Espanola, I was feeing a bit bloated. Did it weigh me down? Nay. I washed down my modesty with 3 pitchers of sangria and once the salsa maestro cued the pulsating rhythms, I busted out my ensemble and joined the fearless dancers. I may not have been the best in the group, but at the very least, my outfit confirmed I had the most heart.

Nothing makes me feel more at home than a generous helping of palomilla con cebolla, arroz y frijoles, and maduros. This, my friends, is a proper Miami order. David's doesn't serve it up the best, but when you're existing without Cuban nourishment in a city like Philly, you come to appreciate anything with latin origins.

Comparatively speaking, David's doesn't reign supreme in Miami, but it definitely gets the job done for a Cuban-deprived Northeasterner.

It's been almost 9 years since I've lived in Miami and every time I come back, I'm baffled by the developments. I've noticed South Miami, my hood, is now "super cool." Well duh, I knew this back when. Now though, it seems like an extension of Coconut Grove with outdoor cafés, loud bars, bro-girls and bro-boys exchanging bro-talk. Miami and Philly are worlds apart. Serious worlds.

My friend and I had drinks and dinner at RA last night. Even though I couldn't really get past the cheesy spelling of the name, I thoroughly enjoyed their Sunday night happy hour special. Judging from the massive arrival of patrons at 8pm, I'm guessing everyone knows it's half off select apps and ridiculously stellar drink specials. My friend and went with the $6 Godzilla bottle of Kirin and a bottle of warm sake, the short ribs (eh, only ok), and the Viva Las Vegas roll (I didn't have any but it looked like a calorie-filled utopic experience).

It's cheesy but then again, it's Miami. What do you expect?