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Close to home

It’s not the most exotic travel piece I’ve ever written, but my feature on eating in Williamsburg, Brooklyn

, is in this month’s Bon Appetit. It includes a host of newish joints, along with a certain, older steakhouse I’ve covered before.
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Yer Sign! I Can Eats It?

The interior at Murray’s, in downtown Minneapolis, matches this awesome facade perfectly—all mirrors and fabric and crowded tables. It looks like photos of where your parents got married, right down to the blurred lighting, though maybe that was the old-fashioneds talking. The steak isn’t half bad either—carved tableside, natch.

La Jolla

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Down in New Orleans

Some random pics from JazzFest 2009. Now off to the other LA. nasty side effects of clomid

medication assistance program for accutane

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Seriously, Portland?

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Enormous amounts of good food and drink in Portland, OR, this past week. Seriously, though, way to go out there and dispel stereotypes. The motto of this chain, in case you can’t read it, is: Clogs: The Comfortable Alternative to Shoes.

Tomorrow will be fat

In honor of Mardi Gras tomorrow, here is my recent GQ story on eating and killing time between meals in New Orleans.

As Tom Waits said, I wish I was there. Or, more particularly, here:

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effects of lopid side

The Biggest BM

I bow to the mighty Bernarr and I insist you buy this book.

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On An Island Far, Far Away

In the February issue of Gourmet, I write about Dominique Auroy and his quest to make wine in French Polynesia—good wine, at that.

Digital copy to come. In the meantime I thought I’d provide illustration of what I describe in the piece as “a wooden, thronelike toilet, emblazoned with poetry and equipped with a bell that rings throughout the house whenever an unsuspecting guest flushes.” I believe the photos speak for themselves and trust that the bad lighting will be forgiven, given the circumstances.

Happy, merry & c.

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Siena, Italy

I think if I were a pig, I’d side with the Jews.

Some Dogs I Have Lately Known

I like hot dogs. And I like places that like hot dogs—like Chicago, or Reykjavik, where Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur, pictured below, is pretty much the only affordable restaurant in town. (At least it was until Iceland’s monetary system ceased to exist.) The lamb, pork and beef dogs are slathered with mustard, remoulade and a sweet tomato sauce and sprinkled with crunchy onions. They go down awfully quick and easy and they speak well of a people that isn’t afraid to stand in the street at all hours, dripping sauces down its chin.

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By that standard, the Panamanians are pretty cool, too. Below is the insane hot dog section at a local supermarket. Yes, there’s some bologna thrown in, but isn’t bologna just a hot dog either unfurled or pre-rolled, depending on your perspective?

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Signs of Panama III: Grab bag

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