There is No Escaping Consequence

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. It is a natural law. Not a suggestion but a law. A ball dropped from a tower will fall, and an object at rest will tend to stay at rest till acted upon by an outside force; laws.Holidays with family and friends are wonderful, but as is the case with most things wonderful, they do not happen without work and some sort of inevitable aftermath. The bigger the party, the more work there will be before, and surely, the more work there will be after. Many will eagerly give advice on how to deal with the work, I will not. It is enough for me to say it exists and is inevitable. No matter what you do, it will exist.You could pay to have someone else clean up, ignore the carnage and let it sit for a day, or maybe ask everyone to stick around and lend a hand. Fine solutions but they are all just methods of dealing with an existing fact. For every good party or meal, there is an equal and opposite mess.Now in all such things a person can choose to set  plan in motion but they cannot choose what will actually happen. You can send out invitations but you cannot force someone to show up. You can bring your kids to the party but you cannot guarantee that they won’t drop a plate on the carpet. But you should always take the chance.

You control the controllables the best you can then throw the dice. You enjoy yourself then deal with the aftermath come what may. Otherwise a holiday is just another day. Otherwise there are no great times spent with good company.

Just make sure you are prepared to scrub the carpet.

Forrest Gump says life is a box of chocolates. I say it is a party.

People at Penn: People Live here

Sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know till you learn you don’t know it. That is ignorance. Not knowing and not even knowing you don’t know.

College is about informing one out of a state of ignorance right? I recall last semester, about three weeks in, a friend of mine, one who had obtained his post graduate degree a long time ago, asked me the question, “So what have you learned in grad school that you didn’t already know?” I had to think about that one for a minute. All these months later, here is my answer:

“I now know what it is like to eat in a student dining commons.”

Hill House dining hall

That’s right, I attended two different schools during my undergrad, and to my knowledge I had never actually stood in a student dining hall. I recall USU had a student union, which had a Taco Bell, which had a 50 cent menu, which meant I ate there, but that wasn’t this. I recall the U of U had a union… really I’m lying, I have no idea what they had but I’m assuming they had such things, I just never went there. That brings us to Penn and grad school.

My guides to college culture

To sum the experience up, I would say it was not unlike eating in the food court of a shopping mall. It was rather unremarkable. Horrible food would have been remarkable, as would great food, it was neither Here is a tidbit that is remarkable.

In the history of American higher education, if we look back to the beginning, students on campuses have on more than rare occasion risen up in unrest and oftentimes violence. Why? For various reasons, Vietnam, civil rights, concert tickets, but one motive has caused protest more than any other. One cause has driven students to proactive protest and disobedience more than any other.

Bad food in the dining hall.

I have now tasted history.

Holidays with Family Part 1: Food

I see a gym membership in my future.

 

 

 

On Immigration

If this is the result of immigration…

Cinnamon, vanilla, rice, and almond... yes please. Trust me on this one.

 then LET THEM COME! The southern end of the Italian market is no longer Italian and I am 100% fine with this. Thanks to affordable horchata concentrate I am on my way to Texas to make a speech, “Mr. Obama, tear down this wall!”

Around Town, Continental

I once lived in a place with a population of somewhere near 30,000 people and 10,000 chain restaurants.  Eating was convenient, reliable, and plastic.

I do not miss those days and I do not miss Appleby’s.

What I do miss is disposable income. Upcoming opportunities have inspired us to put the clamps down on the budget, which would normally put the clamps down on adventurous eating, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

Lunch crowds, corporate reps talking shop over salads, fill booths around the windows.  I take my date upstairs to sit in the hanging baskets on the inside balcony, it’s too hot to sit outside.

As we scan the menu we skip the apps, ignore multiple entrees, and focus mostly on the column to the right.  Ordering in such a fashion will likely force us to miss whatever dish the house does best, but if you choose the right house, things will work out just fine.

Why go “nice” while spending less, which means eating less, when Chili’s exists?  Because any wise investor will tell you that it is not how much money you put in, but where you put it, that matters most. Perhaps these ventures are not investments in meals but something more important.

Creme brulee and steak are nice, but time with her in a place we like, is better.

Yerba Mate

When observed over time, little details become prevailing themes.

Around Town, Bobby’s Burger Palace

I refused to watch Mr. Flay’s new reality show, but I cannot refuse his food.  I would normally say the last thing America needs is another chain burger joint, yet I have been converted.

In n’ Out, Checkers, Crown Burger… naw, I still like Crown Burger, will not only be forever relegated to the backseat in my book, but they are no longer even on my map.

Chopped sirloin, arugula, and goat cheese equal bliss.  Add to it a side of sweet potato fries, a dark chocolate shake, and I am falling off my stool in a happy stupor.  Mock my burger for trying to be too froo-froo or shee-shee, or pinkies out, say anything you want, just make sure to take small enough bites to leave room for some crow and your foot.

Surprisingly affordable, very convenient, and worth having to buy larger pants.

Around Town, the weekend

After ten years of marriage and two kids, my wife still likes me.

I’m not quite sure how this initial like was achieved, I vacillate between blaming it on blind luck or superior sales skills, but despite how I got it, I intend to keep it.  Doing this requires a combination of changing diapers, running errands, and taking her on dates.  In our home all three are necessities.

We once belonged to a babysitting co-op with a bunch of associates in a more “uh-hm… safe”, part of town.  It worked out great as when it was our turn to watch a rabid pack of 2 year olds on a Friday night, no one would show up.  This inequity would normally be to our advantage but the arrangement soured due to the lack of dining options in this so called safe haven.  Since this period of our life I have successfully avoided Applebee’s and hope to extend this streak for years to come.

We now pay for a babysitter.

Having abandoned the suburbs, we now brave the notorious crime infested streets of Philadelphia on our Friday nights. 

A distinguishing feature of the notorious inner-city is the candy store… or wait… how bout what looks like a candy store but is really a soap store.  Yes friends, all these treats are really body washes and bubble baths.

Not only are our weekly ventures tainted by falsely advertised treats, but the mean streets become even scarier when we realize they are lined by restaurants we cannot afford.

Mrs.Hammas is street savvy and can find the safe spots.

Max Brenner is one of these.  They have food, but we came for the dessert.  I went for chilli spiced hot chocolate and she went for chocolate pecan egg rolls.

The food was food, the company even better, and because we are ten years older than when we started this nonsense, the evening was over before ten.

For the younger set, the morning after can oft mean regret.  For me it means ballet practice.

Littlehammas 1.0 has a deep-seated desire to be a princess ballerina scientist.  Never one to hinder ones climb to greatness, we have obliged her in these pursuits.  These endeavours have brought me in touch with another type of inner city street hoodlum; the ballet mom.

Now in the past I have been around the relaxed parent who chuckles at their kid’s mistakes and smiles as they stumble through pretend lessons… not at this place.  Intimidated by their thuggery I nod faux agreement as they complain that the teachers feet are not properly visible due to her pant length, squabble over how skill levels are measured, and then shrug off how the Nutcracker after party comes with a $10 “chaperone” fee.  Littlehamas 1.0 is six years old.  It’s amazing how the streets target our youth.

Having rescued Littlehamas 1.0 from these treacherous mobs, we stumbled upon a bike gang.  Not biker, but bicycler.

These bikers weren’t the new harmless youth, they were old school.  Old school like tweed and argyle socks.

Another staple of the ghetto, er… city, is graffiti.  This unauthorized painting of other people’s property is done to claim a territory and serve as warning to those who are out of their own turf to beware.

In Philadelphia this problem has gotten so bad that it has spread to the inside of people’s homes.  Not only is it on interior walls, but hooligan graff-heads are taking credit for other’s artwork.  Pictured is proof, as I caught the Mrs. signing her name to  one of my pictures.  Is nothing sacred?

Its rough here in this town.  I’m not sure how much longer we can last.

Around Town, Di Bruno Bros.

 If one is in Philadelphia and finds oneself imitating Rocky Balboa by jogging through the 9th St. Italian Market, one should stop in at Di Bruno Bros.  

Di Bruno Bros. in the 9th St. Italian Market.

I have done so on many occasion, finding myself fascinated by the stacks of cheese, walls of curvy bottles, and lots of labels with words I can’t pronounce.  Now I have occasionally found myself at a function where a fine cheese platter is presented and after first looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, sampled it ignorant of the proper form in doing so, and been delighted by the treat, but then disappointed by not knowing what I had just ingested and therefore unable to repeat the pleasure.   

What to do?   

Stilton, and Roquefort, and Blue, Oh my!

Upon entering DiBruno Bros., and any other purveyor of fine cheeses, I have found myself met with enough choices in enough languages to paralyze an experienced socialite let alone a teetotaling bleu collar man like myself.   

On one such occasion I brought my ever wise wife along, and she spotted a sign.  It may have been a simple piece of computer paper but for me it was a sign from on high, and it read, “Ask about private cheese tasting”.  Now normally such a thing would strike me as to bourgeoisie for me but in the presence of the Mrs. I felt bolstered and actually asked.  The answer to my query was a pleasant surprise.  

Hunter Fike, my guide through the finer world of fermented dairy.

I was given the card of Hunter Fike, along with the tale that a flat $100 would get myself and 7 others, the shop all to ourselves for 2 hours, in which time we could sample everything in the place and be guided along the way by two professional cheese mongers.  

 I almost died.

But I didn’t.  In stead I called Mr. Fike, called the guys, and salivated for a week in anticipation.

Only two hours to sample it all? Where does one begin?

Our cast congregated at 6pm on a Thursday evening, not quite sure what to expect.  Now I must add that not only was our bunch completely inexperienced in the world we were about to step into, but there was not a drinker among us, which I’m sure made us completely foreign to our tour guides as well.  The tastings are a BYOB event so we came prepared with our own bottles of Sparkling cider, Grape juice, and of course some Kala Ginger Ale. 

I would say our Craft Brew looks quite at home.

With our class assembled, Mr. Fike began our tour of the age old arts indigenous to Austria, France, Holland… and Vermont.  

An attentive group of neophites.

Without boring you with all the details of our culinary extravaganza, be it assured, this was a night to remember.  The Staff was not only knowledgable, but amiable.  They took us through goat milk Moulis Chevre, to sheep’s milk Manchego Dehesa, and on past Fleur D’ Aunis to Colston Bassett Stilton. 

The author eating the stinkiest cheese of the night.

I will not pretend I know anything about the names I just listed; but I don’t have to.  The helpful folks at Di Bruno Bros. sent me home with a list and description of everything we tasted, in the order we tasted them, as well as a small “doggy bag” to take home to the Mrs. for inspiring our outing. 

While I could never have memorized all that we learned that night, we will never forget a couple items that merit a mention. 

While we were unable to taste it, we were none-the-less awed by a $300 bottle of balsamic.

There is on the shelves a bottle of balsamic that bears a $300 price tag.  You will not find it on their website, but you will find it as the subject of legends.  The vinegar is so precious that the bottle itself was designed by Ferrari.  It comes with a small, measured cup, to ensure that one who is bold enough to purchase it, is not so bold as to imbibe it too quickly. 

Jamon Iberico de Bellota, the black hooved ham.

In Spain there lives a hog descended from the wild boar.  This beast, distinguished by its black hooves, feeds on the lush grass while young, and while it ages, so do the oak trees, and in its twilight, the animal eats solely the fallen acorn. 

Then we eat the pig.

Taste the pig, feel the pig, be the pig.

I now know how to enjoy cheese as a dessert, a new concept for me.  I now have a cheat sheet that will allow me to replicate this edible escapade.  I also now know I am a sucker for a peppercorn and not really a fan of Strathdon Blue.

A balsamic over alpine cheese for dessert.

I was pleased to take home a fine little bottle of a drinking cherry vinegar, thanks in part to the 10% discount one enjoys on any purchase that evening.

Thank you to the guys at Di Bruno Bros., thanks to a great group of lactose tolerant men, and thank heavens my wife read that sign!

The guys hanging around outside.

Dr. Chadwick looks to be enjoying himself.

Our native Sicilian even said something along the lines of this being the most fun he ever had in Philly.

Cheers with the EVOO

Blue... or is it Bleu?

The Ham-Cam.

the menu

How one works off ten pounds of cheese.

Buffalo, Searching for Thurman Thomas

One of the groundbreaking features of Super Techmo Bowl, other than Bo Jackson’s ability to outrun everybody, was the capability of playing a complete season.  You could pick a team and the Nintendo would remember your last game, keep track of your stats, and you could fight your way to a Superbowl. 

I didn’t have a Nintendo, but Jake did.  One day Jake was taking too long to get ready and to alleviate my boredom, I grabbed the controller.  A game was already in progress; I hit “continue”. 

After 15 consecutive hand-offs to Thurman Thomas I was up four touchdowns and the clock was winding down.  This was the first round of the playoffs and victory was fast approaching.  On hand-off number 16, Thomas was collectively hit by everyone on the defense, the ball was fumbled, and Thomas was hauled off the field on a stretcher. 

I looked around the room, it was still empty, quietly turned off the TV, and sat back trying to look like I had been comfortable and bored for quite some time.  Jake came downstairs smelling like a bottle of Drakkar, and we took off for the night. 

About noon the next day I got a phone call full of words I won’t repeat and it took about three years for me to be trusted alone in his room again. 

This, and a missed field goal, were about the extent of my knowledge of Buffalo when I drove my big white van into town. 

Downtown is surprisingly small. There is no wealth of skyscrapers, nor dramatic geography, but backed right up against the lake, is a gem. 

Buffalo City Hall

 

Completed in 1931, it was one of the most extravagant public buildings of the time.  Most think of the 30′s in light of the great depression, there is a flip side to that, and that flip side is called art deco.  If you are unaware of what art deco is, it is the Buffalo City Hall. 

the front columns of an art deco masterpiece.

 

YOu can walk right into the hall, get inside the polished brass elevator, and go up to the observation deck above.  There you will have a great view of grey skies, a grey lake, and grey buildings.  After doing this, I suggest going back inside and seeing inlaid walls, painted ceilings, and carved relief mouldings. 

What the town may lack in visual stimulation outside, it provides in abundance on the inside.

 

Within walking distance from city hall is a sweet surprise, Choco-Logo. 

Choco-Logo, 141 Broadway, Buff, NY 14203

 

Inside I met Liz Donner.  Liz gave lots of helpful history, explanations about how everything was made on site, but most importantly, Liz gave samples.  I have now tried sponge candy, I like sponge candy, I still have no idea what sponge candy is.  I have a better idea what the Salty Turtles are and according to my wife, one of my biggest mistakes in life is not having bought her more than one box. 

Liz Donner behind the counter at Choco-Logo.

 

Mrs. Brohammas once attended a presidential inauguration… sort of.  (ask about the purple tunnel of doom).  Buffalo once hosted a presidential inauguration… sort of. 

Wilcox Mansion, site of Teddy's innaguration.

In 1901 the President of the United States was assassinated.  No, not Abraham Lincoln, no, not JFK, the correct answer is McKinley, yes there was a president named McKinley.  My favorite Vice President ever was in Buffalo at the time of the unfortunate event, and he thought it would be in bad taste to have the usual festivities associated with swearing in a new president, so he opted to take the oath of office in the library of a friend’s mansion. 

Just so you know, the name sake of the Teddy Bear, was cool. 

Back to Buffalo: 

Perhaps the greatest gift this city, or any rust belt city, has ever given the world, came from Buffalo.  The Earl of Sandwich did no better, the town of Hamburg was affectively topped, France’s fries pale in comparison to Buffalo’s wings! 

Anchor Bar, undisputed birthplace of the Buffalo wing.

I am going to speak home town trash talking blasphemy; the Buffalo wing is a way bigger deal than the Philly Cheese Steak.  A visit to Buffalo requires a stop at the Anchor Bar, the birthplace of the Buffalo wing. 

Let me simply say that while not the best wing ever tasted, they do rival J.R. Cricket’s in Atlanta, and they do merit the stop.  Meaty, saucy, and face scorching hot. 

This is the sweaty face of happiness.

As if my point needed proving, while I was enjoying my meal made of an appetizer, a film crew from CNN came into the bar to talk to Buffalo locals about Wolf Blitzer’s tenure on the news channel.   Even CNN knows the Anchor Bar is the place to be. 

As I drove off, fingers smelling spicy, I decided that any town that produced someone with the name Wolf, was O.K. with me.