Top 10 Things To Do While Listening To: Certified Air Raid Material by edIT

10. Hunt Sea Donkeys with latex bait.

9. Clean the house in your chonies (not that I have. I'm just saying).

8. Cry tears of inferiority that you are not, and never will be, as awesome as this music.

7. Practice pole dancing (not that I have. I'm just saying).

6. Shuck corn.

5. Stand your dog up on his hind legs and make him dance with you (not that I have. I'm just saying).

4. Impress your friends by remarking on the wonders of "glitch-hop" and IDM and reference this wizardry as a fine example.

3. Hop in your sweet Prius and hit the open road with the windows down, pretending you're in a futuristic Asian-inspired music video (not that I have. I'm just saying).

2. Rock out with your cock out.

1. Jam out with your clam out (I have. I'm just saying).

Fudge & Sea Salt Brownies

I brought these into work the other day and they were a huge hit. Everyone in the office was clamoring for more. The salt makes the brownies taste extra chocolaty and fudgy. The recipe is very easy to follow. Just be sure to use good chocolate -- I use Scharffen Berger unsweetened baking chocolate and Valhrona cocoa powder -- and don't overbake the brownies. These look really pretty if you sprinkle them with a bit of flaky sea salt like Maldon just before they finish baking or right as you take them out of the oven. After baking and cooling as directed in the recipe, the brownies can be refrigerated for three days or frozen up to one month.




Ingredients

1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped (it helps if chocolate has been refrigerated or if knife is cold)
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
2 cups sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon Maldon sea salt

Directions

• Preheat the oven to 350°.
• Line a 9-inch square metal cake pan with foil, draping the foil over the edges. Lightly butter the foil.
• In a large saucepan, melt the butter with the unsweetened chocolate over very low heat, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat. Whisking them in one at a time until thoroughly incorporated, add the cocoa, sugar, eggs, vanilla and flour. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the surface. Sprinkle the salt evenly over the batter. Using a butter knife, swirl the salt into the batter.
• Bake the brownies in the center of the oven for about 35 minutes, until the edge is set but the center is still a bit soft and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out coated with a little of the batter. Let the brownies cool at room temperature in the pan for 1 hour, then refrigerate just until they are firm, about 1 hour. Lift the brownies from the pan and peel off the foil.
• Cut the brownies into 16 squares. Serve at room temperature.

Note: This recipe is from Food & Wine magazine.

Hungry Cat

What can I say . . . I love Hungry Cat. Indeed, some might say my love of Hungry Cat borders on obsession, and maybe it does. But if I am obsessed, it is completely justified. The food at Hungry Cat is amazing, and truly seasonal. I've eaten at Hungry Cat three times in the six weeks, and the menu has been slightly different each visit. The Pug Burger (with bacon, avocado, blue cheese and an optional fried egg) is always on the menu, but don't get too attached to anything else. Despite the kitchen's penchant for mixing it up, though, everything is always incredibly well executed and just plain delicious. Here are the details on my last visit:

The drinks:

I went with my standby cocktail at Hungry Cat: the Greyhound Proper. Hungry Cat does the greyhound better than anyone else in LA, with Plymouth Gin, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice (squeezed in an old-fashioned citrus press) and a piece of candied grapefruit. Yum! Everyone else tried the persimmon margarita. Mellow yet tart, with a cinnamon salt rim. It tasted like a margarita, not a syrupy fruit bomb. Two people in our party wanted something a little sweeter, and two of us liked it as is. Thus, the persimmon margarita isn't for everyone, but I thought it was a great use of an underrated seasonal fruit. In any event, they ran out of persimmons after our first round, and the non-greyhound drinkers made the switch to tangerine margaritas.

The food:

We started with a half-dozen oysters (self-explanatory) and the marinated diver scallops, served with asian pear, green curry vinaigrette and peanut brittle. Sounds odd I know, but everything worked. There was just a hint of spice, and the natural sweetness of the scallops paired really well with the small morsels of peanut brittle. We were really really hungry and I forgot to take a picture of this course, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

We tried four mains (rather unsurprising since there were four of us):

(1) Grilled arctic char with sunchoke puree, roasted carrots, mustard greens, beets and hazlenuts.

(2) Black grouper with braised octopus & fregola sarda stew, almond gremolata and romesco.

(3) Chorizo stuffed squid, grits, slow cooked peppers, basil and saffron aioli.

(4) Monkish stew with coconut milk.

The artic char was the hands down favorite. Despite the varied ingredients, the differing flavors and textures meshed beautifully. The mild fish paired fantastically with the creamy sunchoke puree, bitter mustard greens, crunchy hazlenuts and sweet beets. The squid and the monkfish stew were the two runners up. The squid was savory and tender, and the creamy grits were a nice counterpoint to the bite of the spicy chorizo-stuffed squid. There were two people in our group who had never eaten squid before; once they got past the ick factor (one woman thought there would be suction cups and tentacles) they really enjoyed it but still found it to be a tad adventurous. The monkfish stew was light yet creamy, and the sweetness of the coconut milk was tempered by a hint of curry spice. It was more of an appetizer than an entree, but given all of the other food we ordered, I suppose it was good that the monkfish stew was on the "lighter side." The grouper rated last only because we were divided on whether the octopus was on the right side of charred. One person in our group found the charred flavor overwhelming, although she found it less so as the meal went on . . . perhaps the flavors just needed more time to meld. The romesco sauce and gremolata, however, were bright and flavorful, and the grouper was cooked perfectly.

For dessert we shared the apple fritters with caramel and sea salt. Little warm bites of deliciousness, and perfect for sharing if you're already stuffed full of well, everything else. A nice alternative to the over-the-top (but utterly wonderful) chocolate bread pudding.

The verdict: MEOW!!!

(Sorry -- couldn't resist the bad pun!)

R.I.P: Sharkeez

In my continuing efforts to rid my life of all things asinine, I present to you the next installment of R.I.P:

Behold, Sharkeez-- a Tijuana knock-off bar that has actually become so popular for perennial frat boys and party tramps that they actually keep making more of them.

I'm not the only one who's tried to lay Sharkeez to rest for the critical survival of the human race. You know who else gave it a shot? God. God actually tried to smite Sharkeez.

One of these Whorehouse Training Camps spontaneously combusted in the middle of the night a couple of years back, which seemed to me a divine foreshadowing. And God said, "it is good."

Unfortunately, God didn't factor in that Sharkeez must've fucked a Gremlin sometime in the late 80s-- nowadays, you pour water on one and *poof!* another dreadful little nightmare pops up. And the fate of mankind rests once again in the hands of neanderthals who like to drink shots from a plastic syringe and head-butt each other.

I was lured into one of these for the LAST TIME yesterday, you hear me? Last. Time. I walked in there for Happy Hour and walked out with a missing dignity and a full 17 minutes closer to my expiration date.

To illustrate my outrage, here's a quick hit list of reasons I'd like to give the owners a swift slap in the mouth after my horrendous trip to Sharkeez:

1. It's called Sharkeez.

I mean, really? Something about that "eez" really punching up the profit marginz? Waz "Sharkey's" or even "Sharkees'" just too classy for you? Nothing sayz passing fad like a bar with a lame name and an even lamer intentional misspelling. But you post-undergrad Peter Panz just keep showing up in drovez, proving me wrong. And it makez me just want to euthanize you all.

2. They sell a drink called a Donkey Punch.

Do you people even know what a Donkey Punch is? I mean, really visualize a Donkey Punch for a couple of seconds (that is, what you think a DP is, since you all know Goddamned well no one you know has ever done it) and then look down at your drink. Do you want to drink a whole bucket of liquid named after a brain contusion and a contracted sphincter? Whatever, have fun.

3. They hold shouting contests for free booze.

4. There are more flat screens per capita than a Circuit City Best Buy.

5. They host regular Flip Cup Tournaments. Seriously.

6. Their Shark Attack requires a minimum of three drinkers and very closely resembles Jungle Juice (refer to inaugural R.I.P post)

7. The place is crammed with the best our gene pool has to offer (see above and below) relentlessly and shamelessly propositioning each other:

7. They have breathalyzers in the bathroom.

8. The bartenders and wait staff wear sports jerseys.

9. Every item on the food menu was fried in the same vat.

10. Perfect strangers play grab-ass to and from the coed bathrooms and proceed to text each other about this very meaningful experience on their iPhones for the next 30 minutes.

(11. Because ours go to eleven.)

G'bye, Sharkeez. I'd like to say I'll miss you, but clearly I won't. Call me when you decide to host a Donkey Punch tournament, and you just might see me around.

TV On The Radio at the Wiltern 11/6/08: A Haiku Review

T.V.O.T.R.
I don't know your music well
But your set was cool.

I got free tickets!
Thanks, K.C.R.W.
Vivian came, too.

I love the Wiltern.
Art Deco and trendy kids--
Who could ask for more?

I could ask for less:
Vests, Plaid, Skinny Jeans on guys.
Maybe I'm just old.

Maybe you're just lame
If you're a guy, and were there
Wearing skinny jeans.

Sorry, I digress.
I didn't see the Dirtbombs,
Who opened the show.

I needed to eat,
So I hoovered some nachos
in the lobby first.

Then we were ready,
Nourished by chips and vodka,
To see the main act.

They were good, I guess.
Big hype's tough to live up to,
But they held their own.

Thank God for earplugs,
Or feedback and distortion
Is all I would have heard.

I'm apeshit for horns,
And they had four horn players
As guest musicians!

So that part was fun.
The energy started low,
But swelled quite nicely.

Songs were inventive,
The band was technically sound,
But overall? Meh.

Am I just un-hip?
You know who seemed to like it?
Jonas Brothers clones.

Maybe it would help
If I got more familiar
With some of their tunes.

I won't give up yet
On you, T.V.O.T.R.
We will meet again.

R.I.P: Jungle Juice

Jungle Juice? Hey, it's me.

How are you? Good, that's good. Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm cool. No, I was just-- no, were you gonna say something? Uh, no. *** sigh ***

*** awkward silence ***

I was just going to say it was really good to see you on Friday. It's-- yeah, it's been a while. What, God, my 21st birthday? Whoo! Yeah, I know, right? Man, we had some good times that night. And that one St. Patrick's Day party a couple years back, when we ran out of Bailey's for the Car Bombs? I know, God. Neither one of us were expecting what happened after that.

It's just, uhm. Like, Halloween on Friday was really awesome, but I don't want you to think that it's back on or anything. No! I'm sure you didn't think it was, it's just-- it's really painful to run into you like that, Jungle Juice. I mean, it's really painful. I've been in pain all weekend, and I just-- I don't think I can see you anymore.

Clearly I can't control myself when I'm around you, and you completely take advantage of me. At first I think I can play it cool with you, you know? Stay in control? Well you and I both know I'm never strong enough. By the time I realize you've crept back into my life, it's too late. The next thing I know I'm trying to find Dignity, who totally takes off with Morals and Moderation every time you're around, and then WHAM! I wake up five hours later on the freezing bathroom floor tile, curled up in the fetal position in my Blade Runner costume, shivering in my own sweat, wondering how I could have let you leave me cold and alone, like you always do.

Well, I'm calling to tell you I can't do it anymore, JJ. Listen, you're really sweet. You make me feel so good sometimes but I just can't trust myself to resist you. When you leave me, it hits me hard, and I just can't handle the pain anymore. I need you out of my life for good. So this is goodbye. Goodbye forever, JJ.