Mast Brothers Chocolate.

Tasted our first Mast Brothers Chocolate last night… incroyable. My notes:

Sweet battles savory. Dark and gamey, nutty and bitter. It chips like slate and lets off the most satisfying crack between your teeth—think the exact opposite of a Hersey’s bar. I hate Halloween, and I hate Halloween candy, but, if this was handed out, I would gladly wear a costume and work the neighborhood. This includes the hand-made dirty tampon costume that a girl wore to my high school, resulting in her suspension.

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Brunch at The Publican in Chicago.

If you’re someone with a bucket list, put this on it.

Publican

837 W. Fulton Market
Chicago, IL 60607
312-733-9555

[Publican’s dining area, with bar seating. You can sit at one of the gorgeous, communal farm tables, or in booths that line the perimeter of the restaurant, complete with shutter doors. Your very own hog stall.]

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2011 Manchester Chili Challenge.

So I went to my first chili cook-off last week.

I ate 25 little cups with varying degrees of spice and meat assemblage including beef, turkey, duck (I think), wild boar, venison, and lamb (I also think). The evening was genius and concluded with a very restless night’s sleep and bubble guts that spilled over into the next day. Was it worth it? Yes! But in retrospect, there was no need for seconds—that was just foolish.

[Many of the finest dining establishments in Manchester brought chili to the contest, held at the Equinox Resort. Local schools, clubs, and organizations made a damn good showing too—especially the kids at the Long Trail School.]

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More on that soup shack.

This may seem like a little photo overkill for a post about a soup place (without any photos of the soup, to boot), but for someone who has a tremor, I’m super proud of these:

Smokin’ Bowls: the lazy wife’s savior during a blizzard.

Shoot the moose if I’m not tired of telling you about the weather, but on this particular night, after hitting Rob with a “no food in the fridge, dude,” just when he’d managed to pull into the driveway after 7, tire-spinning attempts, our options were indeed limited by the drama of the snow.

Pfff—of course. Our favorite hashish-humored soup shack.

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Rules to live by in an arctic territory.

Rule #1. Sustenance is key.

[Tea from clever avian tea set.]

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Happy weekend, dudes.

A few things:

Tell me you see the -17 dealio right there. Oh, and Monday looks like a good day to try out my new assless pants.

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Phila Fusion in Saratoga Springs, NY

It was cold, so we ate phở and drank hot Sake. The end.

Phở (foe). Such a simple word—a word Carey spoke so confidently while we discussed the menu. “Remember when we had phở in Richmond?” “Fishballs, meatballs, or chicken for your phở?” I was so impressed by her confident Asian-ness. I even requested she place the order. But when our 90 pound, kimono clad server touched tip of pencil to tongue, the proud assurance slipped away. All was not lost though, and with a quakey finger and a flick of submissive eyes, Carey pointed to her formidable phở. Yum.

[Editor’s note. I am crying laughing right now reading this, Rob.]

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