Anthony Bourdain is a bad ass.  He knows it.  Everyone knows it.  But, one thing I appreciate after meeting him is his humility.  He didn’t seem like an arrogant prick.  Instead, he was humble and quiet.  During the show, there was a slight hint of uneasiness while he was up on the stage.  He was fidgety and a little restless, unlike the bold and confident guy on TV.  And during the meet and greet, he didn’t say much except, ‘Hello’ and ‘Thank you.’  Now, one could translate this into someone who doesn’t give a shit about meeting fans, but I am going to take it as someone who is talented and wants to make others think, speak, eat, and drink.  He doesn’t have to be flashy and ‘in your face’…that would be Guy Fieri.  Instead, he can be who he is, a pretty cool guy who took days to build up the courage to introduce himself to one of his icons, Iggy Pop.     

Eric Ripert is a delight.  This is a man who cares.  He cares about people, the Earth, and food.  During the show, he shared his feelings about the show Hell’s Kitchen and the importance of being a mentor rather than a tyrant in the kitchen.  As cheesy as it sounds, I loved his smile and sense of being.  And as I walked up to meet him and Tony, I was greeted by the warmth of his smile.  How awesome it that!  To have a smile that people can and will remember.  As I was walking away, I had the need to thank him for always smiling and his reaction was an even bigger smile.  Now, that is pretty bad ass.

Well, say what you will after reading this.  I might be a clueless, naive Mid-Western girl, but I was impressed.  I really don’t care to meet anyone else  at a ‘celebrity’ status in my life, but the two guys who I did meet and have adored for years are two great guys.  I can’t really say it is good vs. evil.  It is just good.  And they are good people. 

The Book Cadillac Hotel is simply beautiful-modern, elegant, and nostalgic.  You feel an uplifting spirit in the air as you walk through the corridors and lobby.  There really isn’t much to say except,  it is simply breathtaking…   

So, how was the food?  The most important part of the night, right?  Well, it is unbelievable!  I rolled my eyes to the back of my head about a dozen times with every bite.  It all started with a perfect Bloody Mary, followed by some delicious roasted bone marrow.  Then, the main dish came- an insanely amazing ribeye steak topped with bleu cheese and onions.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.  Did I say, yum?   The soft polenta side dish topped it all off.  A bowl full of goodness that gave me an ‘Oh’ face for about 20 seconds.  I think Bataille referred to it as le petit morte.  And last, but not least, my birthday dessert-apple pear crisp served with honey lemon yogurt and pecans.  Yes, Happy Birthday to ME! 

A big thank you to the Book Cadillac and Roast for making my thirty-third birthday a-m-a-z-i-n-g!  You not only made me feel like a swankster for the night, but you gave me some hope for a city I dearly love (At least, for now).

Click here to view the embedded video.

Tip 1- Don’t wear shorts!  Euros do not wear shorts unless they are at the beach, out in the field working in the hot hot sun, or playing soccer.  Therefore, there is NO REASON for you to wear shorts in Paris, Munich, London, or any other European metropolis!  Yes, even if it is hot!  NO ONE wants to see your hairy manly legs, Nike socks, and Nike shoes.  No one. 

Tip 2- Put the camera down!  Do you really need a picture of E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G?  Oh, Look!  A man painting a picture in Paris!  Oh, Look!  A woman carrying fruit in a basket!  Oh, Look!  A kid with flies all over his nose!  Aaww!  How cute!  Stop!  Just stop!  It is not nice!  Plus, would you really take a picture of a homeless man in Detroit or a picture of a street vendor in NYC?  No, they would probably beat the shit out of you!  So, please put the camera down!

Tip 3- Don’t get drunk!  Have you ever heard of ‘Belgian Girls Gone Wild’?  or ‘MTV’s Euro Spring Break’?  Well, that’s because they do not exist!  Yes, Europeans may make freaky-deaky porns and enjoy their beer and wine; however, they do not all of the sudden get crazy-ass drunk, start doing body shots off their best friend, and become bi-sexual for the night!  It just doesn’t happen.  

Tip 4- America IS NOT the world police!  Contrary to popular belief, we do not own the world!  We cannot do whatever we want, wherever we want, whenever we want!  Other countries have laws and we need to abide by them.  This is even in your passport- Yes, our beloved country even tells you to chill out with the arrogance.  So, once again, before you think you are Princess Di and try to smuggle 30 kids into the United States, remember this little tidbit of information!

Tip 5- US currency is not accepted everywhere!  In Japan, you pay with a yen- not a dollar.  A cup of coffee in London is about £1.30 not $1.30.  If you are traveling in Europe, exchange your dollars for Euros.  Please do not try to pay with a $50 bill after you enjoyed your dinner.  It’s embarrassing. 

Tip 6- Not everyone speaks American- I mean, English!  If someone tells you once that they do not speak English, they cannot miraculously start speaking English if you keep speaking in English to them.  They do not speak English!  Leave them alone, learn the native tongue, or STFU!

Tip 7- Not everyone drives an American car!  Frenchmen do not drive Ford F-150s.  The Brits do not roll in Dodge Rams.  And not every family around the world has an SUV with navigation and a DVD player.  Oh, and walk away before you say, ‘Oh, how cute!  That car is so small!’

Tip 8- Knee-length white socks are a no-no!  Oh, and white socks with black shoes are an even bigger no-no!  If you feel the need to wear socks with your sneakers or sandals, please wear pants!  Please.  

Tip 9- Try the national dish!  Yes, McDonald’s is E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E, but that doesn’t mean you have to eat it!  Try the pad thai in Thailand!  Eat lamb and eggplant moussaka in Greece!  And don’t roll your eyes when you’re told what ingredients are in falafel when you are in Middle East!

Tip 10- Play nice!  Once you get your passport, consider it permission to represent America.  Yes, some people may rude and unhelpful, but at least you won’t be labeled as a sterotypical American.

My first asshole encounter was with a tall, fedora hat-wearing hipster working at Primavera on Saturday at the Farmers Market (food is great, people suck).  Honestly, Asshole, you can crack a smile!  For someone who is in customer service, you should be more of a ‘people person’ and less of an asshole.  Yes, I am well aware that I am a tourist, but as a CUSTOMER SERVICE REPRESENTATIVE you should understand you are there for the CUSTOMER (including tourists) and not for your pompous image of an ‘individual.’  If you were such an individual, I wouldn’t be able to be a label on you as an ASSHOLE HIPSTER!

There were two other people I wanted to punch in the face while in San Fran (I read that the locals hate the term ‘San Fran’- Now, I love it!)-  A bartender and waiter at the Tadich Grill (again, food is great, people suck).  Honestly, do you really need to be sarcastic?  What is really pissing you off?  I understand I was there at 9:30 on a Saturday and you wanted to go home, but THIS IS YOUR JOB!  You are paid to be there for the CUSTOMER! 

Here are some classic lines from our two dashing Douchebags:

Act I:

My husband:  “What do you have on tap?”

Bartender:  “Beer.”

No shit, Dickhead!

Act II:

Bartender (to me, as he serves my husband a beer):  “Do you always come second in his life?”

Act III:

Waiter:  “What can I get you two to drink?”

My husband:  “There is a beer coming from the bar for me.”

Waiter:  “As your waiter, don’t you think I should know that?”

Dickhead, the bartender told us he would tell you, so settle down!

Act IV:

Me:  “How is your bread pudding?”

Waiter:  “It depends on where you are from?”

Me:  “Michigan.”

Waiter:  “Oh, then it will be good for you.”

Really, Asshole?  Really?  Some bald, HIPSTER asshole from San Francisco is suddenly the expert in bread pudding? 

While I could go on and on about the Assholeness in San Francisco, the last asshole encounter I would like to  mention is our douchebag tag wearin’ Concierge at the hotel.  The hotel was great, but easy with the ‘quirky’ and ‘witty’ concierge service.  You are here to help your guest, not make inappropriate comments and keep the ‘tourist’ in the ‘tourist spots’ of San Francisco.  I’ve never been in a city that was so segregated and pretentious in my life!  

If you are heading out to San Francisco, here is a helpful tip- it is only a day trip!  Spend your time outside the city- as long as you can!  We wanted to go Wine Country, but didn’t think we had time.  On Day 2, we were ready to go to the airport and return to Detroit Metro!  I must say, it is pretty sad that we would rather come back to Detroit, than stay in sunny California!

Honest Travel Tips about San Francisco:

Fisherman’s Wharf- Disgustingly commercialized!  It is NOTHING like Chicago’s Navy Pier!  The sea lions smell.  Bad. 

Ghirardelli Square-There are maybe 5 shops in the whole place.  It is such a joke!  Plus, you can buy Ghirardelli chocolates ANYWHERE!

Ferry Building Marketplace- Amazing!  Honestly, the best thing about San Francisco, but only when the Farmer’s Market is there (T, TH, and Sat).  

Cable Cars- The tourists are the only people that use these things and they are ‘stuffed’ in there like sardines.  It is so ridiculous. 

Homeless People- They are everywhere.  It makes you feel so bad, but never fear, they are assholes, too.  They make inappropriate comments to you that are either sexual or racist.

Golden Gate Bridge-  It’s a bridge.  End of story.

Union Square-  There is no cool square with street vendors or performers.  It is just a square with some little cafes and some landscaping.  Outside of ‘the square’ there are shops, shops, and more shops.     

Chinatown-  That’s about it.  Just like every other city.  However, R & G Lounge is AMAZING!

Haight Ashbury-It is San Fran’s Fisherman’s Wharf by land.  Too commercialized.  The hippies are now drinking Starbucks and listening to Grateful Dead on their iPods.

The Food-  YUM.  YUM.  YUM.  If it wasn’t for the food, I would really hate San Francisco.

Heaven can’t be too far away…

Click here to view the embedded video.

Designated as the unoffical starter drink of Aruba, rum, amaretto, and a splash of fruit juice mingle and tingle throughout your body.  And a little booby shake is required to warm up your internal organs.  Sip.  Sip.  Sip.  You’re officially buzzed. 

As the ice melts and cherry pickles, it feels good to be alive.  You are numb to reality.  What war in Iraq?  Kids starving where?  Aruba is the only place in the world you know and love.  Hey, this moment is the moment of your life.  Not your wedding.  Not the birth of your first born.  But this moment.  And you owe it all to a half litre of alcohol and a millilitre of juice.  Aaahhh heaven…   

Now, doesn’t it feel good knowing all of this only cost $9.00?

 If you are interested in Rusty Beach Therapy, please visit Iguana Joe’s in Aruba.  The food  and service is great!  You will not be disappointed!  It has been a tradition in family for the past 14 years!  (Please note that prices may have changed, so don’t be cheap!)

Hey Rustybeachers!  By now you have seen some of the amazingly well written posts and I begged to contribute.  I mean, who else do I know that drinks as much as I do?  I have cut back the last few years, but it kinda hurt my pride when I decided to take a slow swig into the weekend known for gluttony, booze and birds-Thanksgiving!  It is 10:30 pm on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.  Back in Detroit, the day is over-celebrated and quite possibly a close second or third in Drinking Holidays.  You know, New Year’s, Saint Patrick’s Day, 4th of July, Halloween, and my favorite Ground Hogs Day.  Hey, when I can make an excuse to throw a party and celebrate that rodent emerging from that hole with a keg of Woodchuck Cider, why not?  

But tonight is different.  I feel older and those two glasses of wine I had last night gave me a little fight this morning.  The 12 beers watching the Michigan State/Penn State football game translated into a two day recovery.  What is happening?  Am I losing my tolerance that I worked so hard for?  I feel like Lance Armstrong getting fat.  Speaking of fat what is that asshole, Jerod the Subway guy, going to eat tomorrow?  A turkey sub?  Wouldn’t you like to punch that douchebag?  I hope he gains 100 lbs.   

Maybe my five day booze-a-thon is better started slow.  I mean the tortoise beat the hare, right?  Why rush things? I picked up a six pack of Negra Modelo on my Schwinn after work and am already three down.  I have a game of beer pong tomorrow at a Thanksgiving get together.  And I defiantly plan on bringing out the Stoli Elit Vodka sometime this weekend.  You got to try that stuff!  Smooth like strawberry ice cream… 

I also plan on kicking it up around Friday at the LA Critical Mass Bike Ride.  Yes, it is perfectly acceptable for 500 people to assemble in Los Angeles on bicycles, ride throughout the city, and turn parks and 7-Elevens into mobile Bars-on- Wheels.  A 12 pack- in- a- backpack is a cheap night.  Plus, it is fun as hell!   

A bit about me.  It all started years ago when I thought Molson Ice was the best beer ever made.  Then Labatts.  I love the way the youth drink- kinda like evolving from Kool-Aid to coffee.  A slow transition from sweet to bitter.   Boones Farm becomes your new friend.  We have all been there, right?  Then you take a turn down the microbrew road.  Not a bad road but there seems to be a speed limit on that two lane highway so you hit the nitrous button and start into the hard stuff.  Mixed Drinks.  Rum and Coke to start off, then maybe Jack and Coke.  Yummy.  Vodka Tonics and Gin and Tonics.  You get a few of those nights that are so tough you get a jersey retired to the rafters after an amazing performance. Mine is Hot Damn.  Never, ever, again.  

Booze is always there for you.  Never let anybody tell you that you have a problem.  My friend, you have a solution.  

Cheers!
Jason

It’s hard to believe that I can honestly say I have seven years of professional work experience (professional, sometimes). I still remember my freshman year in high school wearing flannel and listening to Pearl Jam.  I remember idolizing the school’s heartthrob, Mike M, and waiting for him to walk by my fifth hour class.  I would never say anything to him.  Of course not.  I would just stare.

Now, I am a part of America’s cubicle farm.  Where millions of us sit in front of a computer waiting for the little yellow envelope to appear for some excitement.  Sometimes, we get a little silly and go on Facebook during work hours for a quick peek.  So rebellious.  It’s funny how in 15 years, I went from stalking a guy in the hallway to stalking status updates on the Internet.  And occasionally, while committing my scandalous visits to Facebook, I dream a little dream to ease the pain of policies and procedures.  

I daydream about beer and how my mouth waters with anticipation when I pour it into a frosted glass mug. 

I daydream about Aruba and how relaxing it is to sit on the sandy beach drinking beer and eating peanuts.  

I daydream about Margaritas served on the rocks with salt. 

I daydream about all the different types of shots.  Red headed sluts.  Kamikazes.  Lemon drops.  Just to name a few.     

I daydream about late night snacks and drinking beer.  Yum.  Cheesy spinach artichoke dip and chips.  Hot buffalo wings.  Potato Chips.  Yum.  Yum.  Yum.

I daydream about going to local bars while on vacation and hanging out with the friendly happy locals.

I daydream about rooting for the home team with a hot dog in one hand and a 32 oz. beer in the other. 

Oh, the list goes on and on and on and on…