Where the Boys Are

I've had a love/hate relationship with Miami since 1997 when I was employed there for one rocky year. I had an amazing time... some of the time. Day-to-day life was a trial. It took four hours to open a checking account. My cell phone worked at the intersections of Lincoln & Collins, and Alton & 63rd. There was no such thing as service. Wait, that's unfair. There was service alright: glacial. God help you if you intended a quick bite before a movie, or thought you could duck out at lunchtime and pick up the dry cleaning. But oh, the coral white beaches! The cerulean water of Biscayne Bay! The nightlife! To friends back home, I described the clubbing as "hot and cold running [heavily edited]." I was out six nights out of seven, stumbling into my bed around 4 or 5 in the morning and coaching masters rowing by 6:30AM. Oh, to be young again. By the time I left, exhausted, all I could say about Miami is that it's a great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. Still, returning - even now - is a homecoming of sorts.

Like always, I stayed with old friends Gregg & Jimmy, two perfect hosts and great chums from back in the day. Jimmy has retired since my last stay, so he kept me on the golf course and in pool halls as much as possible, but I did manage a couple of workouts at the gym with Gregg to maintain my girlish figure. Neither Gregg nor Jim are slouches in the kitchen, but they do like to show off their town, and so we ate out several times during my visit. Of course we hit Kingdom for their phenomenal burgers. It's a ritual I adhere to, and as always, I stumbled walked away fat & happy, and one night, drunk off my ass after the owner spied my university shirt. All the men in his family had attended my institution, and in a show of solidarity, there was never an empty beer bottle in front of me for very long. I should have paced myself.

Biscayne Boulevard had another new dining entry for review, Balans. It's a London-based chain with three restaurants now in the U.S., all in the greater Miami area. They serve a sort of World Café mix of dishes, not at all cohesive, but all competently prepared. The dining space is very open and very chic in that Miami sort of way. Think CB2 with an Indonesian bent and more expensive materials. The best thing about the restaurant was the staff. A warm greeting and lighting fast seating by the hostess, and a confident, personable waiter who remembered drink orders and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of sports, of all things. They could have served an old boot and I would have left impressed.

The food was tasty if not particularly memorable, the one stand out being the black bean soup. An interesting blend of mild and hot spices, smooth consistency with the liquid and beans cooked to perfection. I could have had that with a bit of melon on the side as a palate cleanser for a satisfying meal.

Balans, Biscayne 6789 Biscayne Boulevard Miami, FL  33138 (305) 534 9191

Not everything was merely adequate this time around. One rainy day, we headed up to Aventura to see Inception (hated it!!!). Beforehand, we did our best imitation of Ladies Who Lunch at Café Bistro in Nordstrom. I know, who knew?!?!? Personal pizzas with thin crust. A turkey club with fresh herbs and whole turkey breast meat, not sliced processed crap. We should have eaten afterward to get the bad taste of that horrible movie out of our mouths.

Cafe Bistro at Nordstrom Aventura Aventura Mall 19507 Biscayne Boulevard Aventura, FL 33180 (305) 937-7267

On my last weekend, I convinced Gregg and Jim to head to South Beach to one of my all time favorite out door stands, La Sandwicherie. I discovered LS during my time as director of one of the rowing clubs in Miami. When I became the freshmen coach at one of the NYC universities, I would treat a few kids to lunch there daily during our winter training camps on Indian Creek. It was a hit with everyone with whom I ever shared it. The joint is about as wide as a broom closet and just a little longer than your average hallway, but the friendly French staff churns out the most amazing and delicious treats you'll ever eat. Pâté-filled baguettes, a Salade Niçoise authentic right down to the tiny bitter green olives. Their cornichons rival those found in little Provençale market stalls, and you'll want to savor the espresso coffee all afternoon. Bits of Spanish, French, German, Italian and even English make perfect eavesdropping entertainment as everyone stands or sits on barstools munching away on these marvelous creations. For me, no trip to Miami is ever complete without at least one stop at La Sandwicherie.

La Sandwicherie 229 14th Street Miami Beach, FL 33139 (305) 532-8934

As luck would have it (or not), Mac's Club Deuce is happily located right across the street from La Sandwicherie. The Deuce Bar has been featured on Anthony Bourdain's travelogue "No Reservations", and made the cut in Playboy Magazine's 2010 Best Bars list. This is a no-nonsense dive bar at one of the major poseur intersections in the world, and if you wait long enough, just about every South Florida denizen will pass through its doors. There are the earnest daytime drinkers, political wonks, the Gay Mafia, leather-clad bikers, toothless old salts, addled tweekers, A-list pop stars. Every sub-group in human culture is democratically represented at some point during operating hours. When I was a local, I could be found there dependably at least three nights a week, pre-gaming before heading to Twist, holding court on the pool table, or ordering "one for the road" after the foam party at Salvation. I've made so many overnight best friends there, I feel I should pay a membership fee. The interior is dark & dingy and the decor a rundown Art Deco Moderne. The jukebox is epic. Some of the best graffiti ever penned stares you down from over the urinals. Two-for-one Happy Hour runs from just after sunup to sundown. You'll walk in a boy and strut out a man at Club Deuce.

Mac's Club Deuce 222 14th Street Miami Beach, FL 33139 (305) 531-6200

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Living Large

There are no recipes in this blog post. Other than the shot above, you'll find no original photos here. I did no cooking over the Easter weekend, but I ate like a dying man. My 5-day break was a tour de force of New York City dining for me and two visiting friends, Gregg & Jimmy. Gregg's been teaching business journalism in China for the past two years, and poor Jimmy has kept the home fires burning in Miami, FLA.  The two converged here, and I played tour guide. What a time!

Barbuto 775 Washington Street @ W. 12th New York, NY (212) 924-9700

I stumbled upon Barbuto back in 2004 while bar hopping cat sitting for a writer friend who lives just around the corner. It was late spring, and I was drawn to the flung-open garage door "walls" and the sidewalk cafe feel to the place. The amazing food, wine list and service have kept me coming back ever since. So, after a couple of cocktails in Chelsea Thursday evening, I convinced G&J that the 10-minute walk to the Village would be amply rewarded.

Creamy Porcini mushroom Soup Baby Asparagus & Herbed Fava Bean Vermicelli Beef & Pork Ragu Penne Fire Roasted JW Chicken with Salsa Verde Hampshire Pork Chop with Red Cabbage & Golden Raisins Grilled Skirt Steak, Roasted Cipollini & Chilies

With several signature dishes on the menu, Barbuto still offers seasonal specialties as well. The vermicelli featured the first tender asparagus of the spring, julienned and perfectly blanched before being added to the delicate buttery sauce. We shared the other starters and every one got a forkful or two of each entree. The soup was deliciously complex but not overly rich at all. Barbuto is famous for it's wood-fired brick oven and the perfect roast chicken that comes out of it. Two write ups in the NY Times have made special note of the dish. It is wonderful. I absolutely loved the cabbage and raisins accompanying my pork chop. A brilliant twist on the apple side one usually associates with chops. Well, the oohs and ahhs made it pretty obvious that Barbuto had hit a home run with us. The hostess came by to remark that we ate like no one else in the restaurant (we swapped plates), and she just loved that. I'm sure the message got back to the chef that he had pleased at least one table.

Loeb Boathouse E 72nd Street @ Park Drive North New York, NY (212) 517-2233

The next night Gregg & Jimmy had theatre tickets for All About Me, the unfortunate Dame Edna/Michael Feinstein collaboration, so we met up early in the day at MOMA for the spectacular Monet's Water Lilies exhibit: massive, fluid canvasses whose water and plants seemed to move on ancient breezes. New surprises kept popping up as one inspected the masterful brushwork. I could have spent the entire day there, but our sweet Jimmy has a strict feeding schedule and the fine weather just begged for a midday glass of chilled white wine. And where better to take advantage of a mild spring afternoon and absorb New York City? Why, the Central Park Boathouse!

Cream of Eggplant Soup Chilled Watermelon Salad, mountain gorgonzola, celery and mint Twin Boathouse Burgers, house made tater tots, pickles & condiments Grilled Shrimp, roasted poblano grits, pancetta and celery hearts

When I moved to New York in 1999, the Boathouse was one of my first destinations. I was commanded to go there and view The Book by my old college rowing partner Whogus. The Book is a loose leaf binder of daily bird counts in the park. It is featured prominently in "Red-Tails in Love", Marie Winn's engrossing chronicle of a mating pair of Red-tail hawks in Central Park. There happens to be a very nice bar and restaurant in the boathouse overlooking the Lake. It's perfect for sipping wine and people watching. In the past few years, the kitchen and interiors have under gone a major overhaul. The dishes now befit this venerable New York institution. G&J's burgers (sliders, really) were expertly seasoned with just a hint of spice, and perfectly medium-rare. Shrimp and grits are a southern classic. Here they were jazzed up with poblano chilies, pancetta and celery hearts. Comforting. We hung around for an extra glass or two of Pinot Grigio before G&J headed down town to change for the theater. I walked through the park to the Time-Warner building and some conspicuous consumption at Williams-Sonoma and Runners World.

Freemans Freeman Alley off Rivington Street New York, NY (212) 420-0012

Freemans was one of those word of mouth discoveries. One of my rowers told me about it shortly after it opened in 2004 and we wandered around SOHO one night looking for Freeman Alley. It was worth the effort. I hadn't been back in years, but knew this was the kind of hearty meat-n-potatoes joint Jimmy was gonna love.

Grilled Sardines, fennel, treviso, citrus, crushed olives Hampshire Pork Shoulder Steak, grilled, honey-glazed asparagus Seared Filet Mignon, roasted onion, mashed potatoes, horseradish cream

When I was kid my dad would sometimes relax on Sundays watching black & white westerns on television and snacking on sardines and saltine crackers. I loved those afternoons. Freemans sardines were nothing like the canned fish we ate way back then. These were huge, and whole, and beautifully grilled. I should eat more fish. Hearty was served up in spades and our waiter paired the food expertly with an excellent Rhône wine. This is restaurant you take your dad or father-in-law to when you want to make a favorable impression. This what American cuisine ought to be all about (step aside Bobby Flay).

I love showing off my town, and Gregg and Jimmy are two of my favorite tourists. I was at their complete disposal through Sunday... And then I caught a bone-rattling cough and spent the next week in bed. Like I said, good times!

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Sorgenfri

Despite the city's being surrounded on all sides by water, all roads in Denmark lead to Copenhagen. Denmark's capital is still its hub and gateway. I arrived by night train from Paris on a Monday morning. Whogus and his greeting party put me right to work. A tour of Pusher Street in Christiana (no photos, please) and then a forced march to the top of the gold and copper spire at Vor Frelsers Kirke (the Church of Our Savior) all before breakfast.

There is an architectural flaw with the spire at Vor Frelsers Kirke, it winds its way up counterclockwise, fatal for right-handed soldiers defending it and the city. But confident there would be no marauding hordes in our immediate future, we paid our kroner, and started the climb, all 311 feet and 400 steps. If you click the photo on the left above, you can just make out figures at the very top of the spire. The view is breathtaking. But it was rainy and cold, and slippery when wet. I couldn't wait to get back to solid ground. And what should greet me upon my return to terra firma? A frosty cold Tuborg Classic. Ahhhh...

We had come to Copenhagen instead of meeting at the summer house not because Copenhagen is the heart of Denmark, but for the archetypal Danish lunch. On the weekend, Danes will sit down to a meal lasting most of the afternoon. It is not uncommon to remain seated at the table for three hours or more. Sorgenfri (roughly pronounced song-free) is famous for its traditional fare. Danes go to great pains to eat here.

Lunch always begins with a skål  before one even thinks of ordering. Everybody raises a shot glass filled with akvavit (snaps) and meets everyone else's gaze before drinking the contents. As a sign of respect, tradition demands that you again meet everyone's gaze before setting your glass back down. I just love that and am a strict adherent of the practice here at home. Aalborg makes a whole line of snaps distilled from either grains or potatoes. Sorgenfri serves their Nordguld (Northern Gold), distilled in amber. It hints of pine and resin, and will kick your butt.

Fish is always the first course in a formal lunch. Herring, pickled or marinated, shrimp salad and fried cod. Everything is eaten on buttered coarse rye bread. Danes wash down lunch with beer and more snaps. Every skål, or toast, follows the same strict ritual. Unless just released from prison, a Dane won't be seen wolfing down his food. Each morsel is savored with lots of conversation peppering the meal.

After the fish plates are cleared and more toasts offered up, the main courses come out. Liver pâté, frikadeller (Danish meatballs), roast pork and aged cheese. The pork is always roasted with crackling - crispy, crunchy and sweet. The cheese is strong enough to get up and walk away of its own accord. Being Danish is not for the faint of heart. Finally, forks and knives slow their pace, there is a distinct silly turn to the conversation, and grins break out everywhere. You've just spent a good part of the afternoon in one attitude sampling Denmark's greatest joys: sharing her spoils.

Americans nap after stuffing themselves. Danes walk. We ended up at Tivoli, people-watching and playing arcade games. Somewhere along the way a beer garden was spied and the remainder of the day became a blur. Welcome to Denmark. Please check your liver at the door.

Sorgenfri Brolæggerstræde 8, 1211 Copenhagen, Denmark Tel. 33 11 58 80 Hours: Monday - Saturday: 11.00 - 23.00 Sunday: 12:00 to 18:00

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

The Nut Tree

But hush - Earth's valleys sweet in leisure lie; And I among them wandering up and down Will taste their berries, like the bird or fly, And of their gleanings make both feast and crown. Harvest - Edmund Blunden With a mix of unintended but welcome British artists and eclectic groups from the States, the drive to Oxfordshire can only be described as restful. Sensitive to J-Mac's mellower predilections, I selected tunes aimed to soothe but not lull him to sleep behind the wheel. Once clear of Heathrow, one enters a landscape of rolling fields bordered by woods, and trim little hamlets. Elbow, Adele, Morrissey, Billy Bragg, and Bob Mould serenaded us along our scenic way.

Arriving at Charlton-on-Otmoor, I was introduced to our hostess, Jude. She was a pure delight. She is one of those classically British women who must have nobility somewhere in the family tree. There was a casual elegance about her accompanied by that tireless wit which only a Brit possesses in any great measure. She could not have been a more welcoming host. I have a hard time of it around new people. I am petrified of doing something completely inappropriate and thus sealing my fate as the unwelcome intruder. It took all of eleven seconds (I clocked it) for Jude to make me feel completely at ease.

Over a glass of wine, Jude and J-Mac caught up. She directed questions my way and seemed genuinely interested in hearing the answers. She wanted to know all about my trip, and when the conversation got around to You Gonna Finish That?, she began to talk excitedly about our dinner plans. Up to that point, I had been expecting a quaint meal of roast beast and pudding accompanied by cool ales or a claret at the local pub. I was laughably uninformed.

From all outward appearances, The Nut Tree is simply a traditional village pub in the English countryside. And to be sure, the denizens do frequent the bar for a pint or two after a hard day in the fields. Once one enters the dining area, however, all similarities to your local watering hole end.

Along with partner Imogen Young, Chef Mike North - already a darling of Britain's hospitality industry - opened the Nut Tree in January of 2007. Raised in the area, North had always dreamed of owning the Nut Tree. In 2005, at age 25, North made headlines as one of the youngest Michelin starred chefs at the Goose in nearby Britwell Salome. Lightning struck again when, this past January, Mike and Imogen were awarded another Michelin star at the Nut Tree.

The Nut Tree Degustation Menu Ballottine of foie gras with cherries and fresh almond Grilled diver-caught scallop with lemon curd and fennel salad Pavé of Nut Tree smoked Orkney salmon with whipped horseradish cream, Avruga caviar Risotto of wild mushrooms with Parmigiano-Reggiano and summer truffle Grilled fillet of aged Oxfordshire beef with triple cooked chips, baked tomato, onion rings Roast breast of Barbary duck with sautéed Jersey Royals Pan-fried fillet of seabream with crushed Jersey Royals and confit tomatoes Raspberry soufflé with raspberry sorbet Sticky toffee pudding with caramelised apple tart and praline ice cream Bitter chocolate tart with almond milk ice cream Vanilla crème brûlée

I will dispense with all my usual histrionics when excited. Without exaggeration, the tasting we experienced at the Nut Tree was, unreservedly, the best meal I have ever had. Ever. Meats were perfectly grilled, the sauces flawless, seasonings were expertly balanced throughout. Chef North and his staff executed presentation exceptionally well. Between courses, Imogen or one of her young hostesses came to the table to make sure everything was going well. They were all effortlessly charming. At one point Imogen hefted out the Catey Award the Nut Tree had just won for Best Newcomer. The Catey is Britain's culinary equivalent to our Oscar. It's a tremendous achievement.

Finally, lingering over our port and dessert wines, Chef Mike came out to receive his well-deserved praises. We talked over top of one another like starlings, trying to out do each other in our adoration. I must admit, he took it most graciously. Imogen and Mike are Hospitality's Ideal. Mike is unassuming and wants only to find the best ingredients, and prepare them the best he can. Imogen runs the front of the house like your favorite luxury hotel. Her enthusiasm as hostess is genuine and infectious. They've both worked very hard to get where they are today. They deserve every success.

The Nut Tree Main Street, Murcott, Oxon, OX5 2RE United Kingdom 01865 331253

Dining Room Monday - Saturday Lunch 12noon - 2.30pm Dinner 7pm - 9pm Sunday Lunch 12noon - 3pm Reservations recommended

There was a trip to the city of Oxford the next day with a soggy tour of some of the colleges and lots of photos of Tudor and Edwardian architecture. There was a rather underwhelming lunch at Jamie Oliver's restaurant, Jamie's Italian (although the mushrooms and scamorza cheese appetizer was outstanding). I couldn't have ended my visit to Britain on a higher note than the Nut Tree though. It would not be possible. I too now sing the praises of England's cookery. The entire encounter was a revelation, one I'll treasure always. As they say, if you're ever in the neighborhood...

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

All photos generously provided by Judith Ghilks, with my gratitude.

This Other Eden. This Sceptred Isle. This England!

“Bread, milk and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world.” - Leigh Hunt, The Seer On Friday, J-Mac took a day off from being a Master of the Universe (I think he called in well). He had planned an itinerary visiting the English countryside in Oxfordshire, where he wanted to introduce me to an associate of his, and there was some vague talk of a pub meal of some sort. I hear pub, and I think ale, so whatever we ate was gonna be fine by me. Provisions would be needed for the drive and a care package delivered to his friend. That meant a trip to Borough Market.

Non-foodies and people who read this blog merely as a courtesy to me can easily skip this post, because you're just not gonna get it. I suppose you think that if you've seen one farmers market, you've seen them all. Well, I've got another think for you. Borough Market is not just some local farmers market. It is an orgy of organic produce, baked goods, meats, artisan cheeses, flowers, food stalls, wines, beers-of-many-nations, sweets, hawkers, chefs, wives, and sightseers. It is a Macy's Day Parade of food crammed into a beautifully arched space under a railway viaduct on the south side of London Bridge. A market has stood on that side of the bridge since Roman times.

This was a market that registers on the Richter scale. It was sensory overload. I was a kid amped up on sugary cereal running around a toy store. The yeasty smell of fresh bread. The riot of colors in the produce stalls. The perfume of flowers. The buzz of merchants and shoppers. I was intoxicated. If my hyperbole smacks of excess, I hope you'll indulge me. Food excites me. The prospect of what one could do with all that bounty turned me giddy. Some folks follow NASCAR. I want to feed people.

After a solid hour longing to buy lots of everything, we settled on fruit, cheese, some good bread and rice paper-thin slices of prosciutto as an offering for our Oxford host. J-Mac had arranged for a rental car close to his flat. Just up the street from the pick up point was a very respectable tavern, the Dukes Head. (Looking at food tends to make one hungry.) It had a pretty little terrace, which was packed on this fine day, overlooking the Thames. We took a table inside with a great view of the river. I was ready for a pint and was surprised by the menu while waiting for the ale to arrive. I was expecting fish & chips and kidney pie, but should have known J-Mac wouldn't stand for such banality. Here was another establishment dusting off its carte du jour.

There was a brie and asparagus salad with pea shoots and toasted almonds, steak with wild mushroom and spinach fricassee. Was this still the UK? I suspect Pete's toxic cocktails from the previous night were not sitting well with J-Mac, as he ordered a chicken club sandwich. I wasn't in top shape either, so stuck with vegetables - a confit of aubergine with spiced chickpeas, tomato and fennel. Surprisingly good. I was slowly learning that all preconceived notions about Britain's food trough could go out the window.

Bellies full, car packed, GPS programmed, we set off northward. It was a two-hour drive to Oxfordshire. The rental car came with an mp3 connection. I played DJ with my iPod the entire way. I think J-Mac envisioned another career for me in nightclubs and lounges should things go south at home. I do what I can to entertain.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

"One cannot trust people whose cuisine is so bad." - Jacques Chirac

"I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal." - Martha Harrison. "Before the Sunday roast is placed in the oven the vegetables are put on to boil." - Anonymous How long have British food jokes been around? Since the first World War? That's nearly a 100 years. It's no wonder the fallacy is so hard to dispel. But I'm happy to report that the State of Food in the United Kingdom is healthy, strong and tasty. For the past decade or so there's been a resurgence in demand for quality products. The appetite is growing for local produce. Britain produces more regional cheeses than France. It has 600 varieties of apples. One hundred twenty-five species of fish and shellfish live in its waters. Statistics like that can make for a seriously impressive menu. With the help of a good friend, a map, and a London Travelcard, I set out to discover what all the fuss was about.

My buddy J-Mac had been talking about my upcoming visit for months. I think he was more excited about my trip than I was. He'd been extolling the virtues of the new British cookery and couldn't wait to show off some his finds. After a walk around the financial district and a proper pint of ale (maybe it was two), I met him at Liverpool Station for the short walk to Hawksmoor.

J-Mac is something of a fixture at Hawksmoor. Pete, the fiendish bartender not only knows him by name, but by his preferred cocktail. Pete did his level best to get us shit-faced throughout dinner. Like me, J-Mac is a firm believer of sitting at the bar, so Pete had every opportunity to ply us with his newest concoctions. Manager, Will Beckett, was one of the coolest guys. He's the kind of restaurateur who gets it. His credo is: keep things simple, send the customer on his way fat & happy, and to serve the public is a noble calling. From my understanding, he's also quite the beer connoisseur. Once he figured out I wrote a food blog back in the States, he couldn't have been more accommodating or forthcoming. I liked him a lot.

Hawksmoor - 157 Commercial Street, London E1 6BJ, is first and foremost a steakhouse in the oldest sense of the word. Yorkshire Longhorn beef is simply cooked on a charcoal grill. The meat is some of the best you'll ever have. The service is flawless. Brits understand hospitality in a way most of their American counterparts find demeaning. They are attentive, uncomplaining and ever ready to oblige. They have unfairly (or wholly the opposite, really) raised the bar for restaurants here at home.

Next morning, and on my own again, I rode a double-decker bus into the heart of London getting off at Piccadilly Circus, not as cliché as it sounds. Five major roads converge at Piccadilly. In 1819 King George IV commissioned John Nash to create a junction that would connect Carlton House with Regent's Park. Nash envisioned a circus (derived from the Latin word meaning circle, and having nothing whatsoever to do with lion taming or bearded ladies) roundabout for the flow of carriage traffic. You can walk just about anywhere from Piccadilly.

There is one place I go without fail on any trip to London, the National Portrait Gallery. It is home to Henry VIII, Elizabeth I and just about every other British monarch and noble since the Norman invasion. There is also some lovely portraiture of modern day notables. Alessandro Raho has a massive painting of Dame Judith Dench hanging in one of the lower galleries. He has, I think, brilliantly captured Ms. Dench.  Gay Icons was currently showing when I arrived at the gallery. Ten prominent gay figures were asked to select six historic and modern icons in their own lives. The submissions were inspired and moving. I caught myself misty-eyed on several occasions.

Revived culturally and fueled with another proper ale, it was time to continue my investigative gastronomic reporting. Next stop, Neal's Yard Dairy for all things cheese.

Neal's Yard is a company after my own heart. These folks are excited by cheese. From humble beginnings in the 1980s, they've grown conscientiously, never losing the heart of their business model, matching the tastes of consumers with cheeses made regionally and by traditional methods. They buy cheeses from farms all over the British Isles. They have two shops in London and also ship to restaurants and stores all over the world.

There are no poems written about cheese. No flowery prose, nor devoted sonnets. My closest friend, surfing & golf partner and fellow foodie Matty O'Food and I came up with some lines of our own one summer. We put them to the melody of "Girls" by the Beastie Boys:

Cheese! And all I really want is Cheese! And in the morning it's Cheese! Two at a time it's just Cheese! I love the way that it melts... It goes on in that vein for several verses. Calculated silliness; the best kind.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food