All I Want for Christmas is a Sleep-Eating Diary

I have found myself the last two nights awoken by the distinct sensation of something being lodged in my throat.  The first night, in a mild panic, it occurred to me that it was probably one in my yearly allotment of sleep-consumed spiders struggling for survival (after a few determined swallows, he was lost to the history of digestion).  Leave it to me to get fat by sleep-eating spiders.

On the second night, I was struck by the improbability of eating two of my own spiders on two consecutive nights, realizing quickly that the second one was YOUR spider - the one right by your bed, the one you went to massacre with a slipper, convincing yourself that you really smashed it but-good only to examine the bottom of said slipper to see no visible traces of guts or disembodied legs anywhere, leaving you sleepless for wondering if it now lurked among the bedclothes.

Yes, I just slept-ate your spider and that is why you'll see no "traditional present" from me under the tree this year.  In a world caught in the proverbial web of holiday consumerism, I offer you an alternative gift - the gift that keeps on giving, in fact.  Better than buying you a star or planting a tree in your name, I saved your life, your sanity, and your ability to sleep in peace.

I ate your spider.

Merry Christmas.

"The Web of Love" - Joi Lansing

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Four Clowns at a PANCAKE CIRCUS!

I finally understand the East Coast vs. West Coast rivalry rooted so deeply in the '90s hip hop community.  Fundamentally, I'm pretty sure that it's about breakfast food.

Obviously, the East Coast is the undefeated champion when it comes to streamlined chrome diners, all night joints where one can unashamedly order a kitchen-sink omelette just as easily at four in the afternoon as four in the morning.  Where the West wins is corny coffee shops - Googie-style affairs with kooky rooflines and even kookier theming.

Pancake Circus (1960) - Sacramento, CA

To visit Sacramento is to learn that Pancake Circus is the Tupac of themed coffee shops.  Seriously, when told that the kitchen would not make her pancakes in the form of Tupac's famous West Coast hand sign, Mary requested that they at least arrange her bacon in the shape of a "W."

The kitchen, the counter, and some of Pancake Circus' OGs.

Waiting for our meal to arrive, we engaged in all the usual coffee shop shenanigans - shooting the paper wrapping off our straws, loosening the lids on the pepper shakers, playing the rims of our water glasses etc.  It wasn't until we began balancing spoons on the ends of our noses, that I realized what was happening; at Pancake Circus, we were the circus.  The spoons were little more than large rubber balls and we were the seals.  Here, the two-dimensional animal cutouts watched as we, trapped in our naugahyde cages, wildly tore into the food delivered by our keepers/servers.

See what I mean?!

He's an animal!

Stalking her country potatoes like big cat! 

To distract myself from the startling realization that we could easily be mistaken for circus animals (and to rethink my questionable comparison of Pancake Circus to Tupac Shakur), I decided to take some pictures...

Under the lights of the BIG TOP!

If clowns (paintings, plushies, porcelain dolls, parachuters) are not your thing, then I still say go to Pancake Circus!  Think of it as phobia therapy.

Because these people are not clowning around!!!

Or are they?

Mind if we drop in?

"Uh...no, thanks!'

My favorite part of the Pancake Circus went unnoticed by nearly every other diner in the restaurant;
it's that accordion-style partition (above) that closes not in a straight line but in a swoosh!

I love my family.
I love this photo.
I also love the incredible walls, slightly obscured by the elephant
cutout; the matchstick mosaic is studded with tiger-eye glass tiles. 

Prior to running away with the Pancake Circus, we met an older couple in town who told us that going there would be a waste of time.  "Oh...there," said the wife, "It used to be cool."  I tried to maintain my composure but inside I was shouting, "No duh, lady."  I mean, it doesn't often happen that bastions of mid-century morning mealtime dramatically improve with age yet it remains our duty to support them!  Sure, the edges are worn, the finishes are dulled, and the clowns are many.  But as the old saying goes, "Circus breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

If not the animals, then we definitely left feeling like the
clowns; and that still makes Pancake Circus pretty cool...

Even after hours!

Pancake Circus
2101 Broadway
Sacramento, CA
(916)452-3322

pancakecircus.net


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Fresno's Chicken Pie Shop

This post comes at quite a difficult time, following the recent demise of our beloved, local institution, La Palma Chicken Pie Shop.  As it was the feature of our very first "Chow Time" post, we feel particularly saddened by the loss of owner, Otto Hasselbarth, and the relegation of his landmark restaurant to the wacky tacky history books.

Rest in Pie

Luckily, our friends at the Museum of Neon Art have stepped up to preserve this legendary bit of Orange County history by preserving the iconic, chicken-shaped neon sign that otherwise would certainly have been so much fodder for the scrap heap.  In loving tribute to La Palma, we set our sights on Fresno, CA, home of another purveyor of pastry-bound poultry, Grandmarie's Chicken Pie Shop.

Grandmarie's Chicken Pie Shop (1956) - Fresno, CA

Of a similar vintage to La Palma, Grandmarie's shares the same unapologetically old-timey sensibility, serving homestyle comfort food with few frills but plenty of atmosphere.  A cavernous coop, Fresno's Chicken Pie Shop shelters three giant, reverse-painted plexiglass roosters (after all you can't make more chickens without roosters).

Officially unnamed, these guys definitely rule the roost.

We were told than one of these fellows was older than the others, finding his way here from a previous location.

We're sure it's this one.
Just look at him, cock of the walk!

Smack dab in the middle of The Tower District, Fresno's cultural center, the Chicken Pie Shop was an area institution long before this location opened its doors in 1956.  An ever-growing customer base demanded a dining room that could serve the masses; Grandmarie obliged by opening a huge venue that could support the crowds of farm-sized appetites in California's central valley.  Indeed, the seating options at Grandmarie's Chicken Pie Shop are endless.  Making like Goldilocks, we decided to try them all.

Starting with the two atomic-age horseshoe counters...

Too big.

And making our way through miles of multi-toned, tufted green booths.
Too small.

Finally choosing a booth (just right) beneath Cocky Locky, we placed our order with our charming and ever-so-patient waitress.

It's called the chicken pie shop, idiots.
Why are you taking so long to order?!?!!

She hardly even made fun of me when I ordered the "mini meatloaf" that wasn't on the menu.  I'm not sure how I made that up; maybe I was hallucinating or maybe I figured that ordering off-menu would make me seem like a super-hip regular.  Either way, it didn't work.  Honestly, there was a menu item that I must have scanned a little too quickly, projecting upon it my desire for an individually-portioned meatloaf.  As it turns out, Grandmarie's "Mini Loaf" is a miniature loaf of their delicious homemade bread.  

After recovering from my embarrassment and choosing a legitimate menu offering, we settled in to talking about how much we already loved this place.  Then the food came.

The chicken pie dinner - all this plus biscuits.

Our server beamed as she boasted about the purity of Grandmarie's chicken
pies, unspoiled by any pesky vegetables lurking beneath the flaky, gravy-soaked crust.

Erika was so overcome with gratitude that she couldn't continue her meal without saying grace.

I guess nothing connects people like food, faith, and freedom from vegetables...

Green-Chile Cheeseburger

Chicken Fried Steak Dinner

Tuna Salad Sandwich

Certainly, it might look a tad institutional but you'll hear no complaint from our party on that count - especially when the institution includes that beautiful, green-and-white scalloped dinner ware.

Even more than their main courses, my dinner companions oohed and aahed endlessly over the sweet corn, the succulent coleslaw, and the perfectly-prepared steak fries.  We decided that it's best that Grandmarie's Chicken Pie Shop is such a distance from us.  Otherwise we'd get so used to eating their deliciously-monochromatic meals that eventually our flesh would fuse with the 60-year-old vinyl seating.

Mary still thinks it might be worth it.

"The Wise Little Hen" (1934)

Not so wise.

Sure we'll help you plant your corn...and then 

we'll serve it a long side a pie, a chicken pie.

Grandmarie's Chicken Pie Shop

861 W Olive Ave

Fresno, CA

(559)237-5042

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Venice Room - STEAK Your Way!

At Monterey Park's Venice Room, it's strictly a case of "GYOS" (Grill Your Own Steak) - a novelty to which I would normally find myself entirely averse.  I mean, restaurant fondue is a definite fon-don't for me as I am morally opposed to paying for the privilege of preparing my own meal.  The charm also wears quite thin with things like shabu-shabu.  And the same holds true for pho; if I wanted to make soup, I would have simply stayed home and made soup!  While this has certainly prevented many a succulent encounter with Korean barbecue, I've learned that if you don't stand for something, then you'll fall for anything.  Principles.

Venice Room - Monterey Park, CA

Few things have the power to overcome my aversion to DIY dinners on the town like a mid-century steakhouse.  Opened in 1957, Venice Room is the true definition of a bar & grill.  In every sense, it is both a bar (about two-thirds of the facility is dedicated thusly) and a grill (literally, one communal grill in the corner that serves as the stage for steer-searing showmen of every variety).

Grill Masters enter here!!!

The dinner menu is limited at Venice Room.  So limited, in fact, that there is no menu at all.  As soon as our group of three was seated in one of the tufted, black-leather demilune booths, the lone waitress approached the table and, extending three fingers on her right hand, queried, "So...three steaks?"

"Beef, it's what's for dinner."

Sensing my hesitation, she quickly explained, "That's all we have - steak, baked potato, salad, and a roll."  My request for a dinner service sans steak was met with equal parts incredulity and pity.

I'm not going to say that non-steak eaters are considered second-class citizens,
but I could detect the sense of wonder as to why one who so staunchly abstains
from steak would come to a restaurant that specializes in nothing but. 

Keeping things ever more simple, only one cut and one size of steak is served at Venice Room.  But don't ask me what cut that is; I can't tell my T-bone from my top sirloin.

But even I could discern that this was quality meat.
I can definitely see some marbling and whatnot...

The method of food delivery is initially startling but pleasantly old-timey.  Guests are invited to help themselves (do you detect a theme here?) to the salad bar, a cafeteria-style affair complete with sneeze guard.  Moments later a platter arrives tableside that contains a foil-wrapped baked potato, a french roll the size of a football, and great slab of raw beef in wax paper.

I tend to err on the side of extreme caution when it comes to food contamination;
this little still life made me glad that I opted out but every other diner was licking
their chops in anticipation.

The steaks may be the stars of the show at Venice Room but behind every great steak is an even greater grill master.  Standing before a massive indoor barbecue, beneath the gleaming scallop trim of the copper vent hood, Ben cooked every morsel of meat to perfection...at least according to Erika.  But it was Ben's first time.  His performance at the Venice Room grill was nothing compared to "Don Julio."

Ben vs. Don Julio

From grill marks to jackets there was one clear winner. 

Small but mighty, Don Julio escorted a beautiful bevy of local talent who swooned as he turned the seasoning station into a scene straight out of Cocktail.  Spinning sauce bottles and twirling tongs at the end of his nimble fingers, Don Julio skillfully choreographed the flames in a dramatic fire dance.  An obvious expert, DJ's system even included adding a bit of char to the rolls.

We might have been outclassed when it came to showy preparation but
nobody could beat us for sheer enthusiasm where eating was concerned.

All was well before the meat sweats set in...

The room was so dim that Mr. Tiny had no idea that the
house dressing could easily stand in for nacho cheese. 

We did such a thorough job in cleaning our plates that the owner (son of original owner, Joe Lombardo) came over to our table to congratulate us.  Peppered throughout our polite small talk, we were sure to include compliments on maintaining this landmark restaurant and its many fine furnishings. 

Walls not covered by murals of Venetian canals, are given the full
glamour treatment in the form of multi-color, paisley, foil wallpaper. 

The show-stopping highlight of  Venice Room's thematic decor is its black-lit backbar.
Peeking through the portico, Venetian ships rendered in neon sail serenely down the canals.

As lovely as the murals are and as much truth as there is in the adage, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," I am always looking at even the finest venues with a critical eye.  For simmering just beneath the jolly surface of this wacky tacky diner is a frustrated restaurateur and production designer wanting to create atmospheric and gastronomic perfection.  I just so happen to have a few ideas handy:

1. This one seems like a gimme but, in a Venetian-themed restaurant clad in canal scenes, it seems to me that the staff should be dressed as gondoliers (singing gondoliers would be a bonus).
2.  The "salad bar" - a term I use as lightly as a downy feather - could use some revamping.  It's a system that would certainly not suffer from the addition of tomatoes or a few shoestring beets.  My feelings would certainly not be hurt if somehow the "bar" took the form of a gondola...or maybe I'm just taking the theme one step too far.
3. This will make me sound gluttonous but nobody ever said, "That's too much butter!" Mathematically speaking, a pre-portioned teaspoon of butter simply isn't enough for a large baked potato and a roll as big as my head (a head that falls in the 99th percentile).

A few quibbles notwithstanding, Venice Room is practical wacky tacky perfection - particularly if you are the type who wants to grill your own steak in front of a live studio audience (I'm looking at you Don Julio).  On this point, I am certainly willing to concede to a landmark with a record of nearly 60 years of successful service.  So make your way for steak your way!



Venice Room Bar & Grill
2428 S Garfield Ave
Monterey Park
(323)722-3075

theveniceroom.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Superdawg Drive-In

"Hiya!  Thanks for stopping."

Several years ago, I was sent on a work trip to Chicago.  As a diehard fan of Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I could have spent my first time in the "Windy City" recreating his infamous ditch day - the Willis (née Sears) Tower, the German-American Steuben Parade, the Cubs game - but eating pancreas at a snooty (snotty?) French restaurant was simply not in the cards.  Instead, I dragged my coworkers along on an epic journey (a train and two busses) to consume organ meats of a more mysterious variety in an atmosphere more peculiarly American.

Superdawg Drive-In (est. 1948) - Chicago, IL
(Source)

Luckily, my pals were good natured and up for a bit of old-timey adventure.  Nevertheless, I did get the feeling that they were stunned by the fervor with which I made the pilgrimage to my hot dog holy land, Superdawg Drive-In.  I couldn't help but notice their stares as I consumed the titular foodstuffs with unprecedented gusto.  And there was no denying the borderline contempt I felt from them when I spent upwards of $80 on Superdawg souvenirs.

Imagine this times ten!

I think I was so busy scarfing hot dogs and stocking up on t-shirts, keychains, and plush hot dogs that I managed to capture but a single photo from the trip.

Mr. Tiny and Lindsay posing with/as Maurie & Flaurie, the anthropomorphized-
sausage representations of Superdawg's founders, Maurie and Flaurie Berman.

The gun show had obviously gone to Winnetka that day...

Typically, one photograph does not a blog post make.  So, when my brother and sister-in-law announced a summer trip to the Midwest, including a stop at the original Superdawg location, I told them that they had to dedicate a dawg to me (and take a lot of pictures).

We were first made aware of Superdawg Drive-In by one of the most brilliant documentaries ever made, A Hot Dog Program.  Raised on PBS, my younger brother and I would watch and watch and watch again Rick Sebak's magnum opus; every time it appeared on one of the local stations, we vowed to visit each one of the historic hot-dog emporiums before we died (likely of hot dog overdose/coronary disease).

I think he ordered a Whoopercheesie
(cheeseburger) just to be on the safe side.

Initially, Superdawg's rather severe facade can be slightly off-putting.  When I think of a friendly, '40s-era, neighborhood hot dog stand, rarely do I picture a stark, black box.  While Superdawg has always been family-owned, it has definitely endured its fair share of "updates" over the decades (dining room addition, awnings for the drive-in, etc.).  One need only look to the rooftop statues, however, to recognize Superdawg's enduring legacy of wacky tacky.

Images of the rooftop statues are recreated everywhere, even
on the restroom doors.  Having worked with many a Chicagoan
at a Chicago-based company, I am tickled to see it referred to as
the washroom.

Undeterred, even after getting grief from locals about it being a corny place for tourists only, my brother and sister-in-law made the trek to Superdawg Drive-In.  True to their word, they not only took a lot of photos, they also ordered a lot of food.  I'm pretty sure they got one of everything on the menu.

I think this is the Whoopskidawg.
"Whoopski...did I order that?"

I am much more of a purist; if you can call a hot dog in a poppy-seed bun, dressed with mustard, onions, neon-green relish, a dill pickle spear, pickled green tomatoes, and sport peppers, all "contentedly cushioned in Superfries" pure.

Make no mistake, the proprietary hot dog recipe makes the dawgs at Superdawg incredible!  Although, what keeps me wanting more is the packaging.  Every cup, every box, every bag is adorned with charming sayings alongside amazing illustrations of Maurie & Flaurie.

I mean, look at Maurie on that lounge chair surrounded by the words, "Your Superdawg
lounges inside, contentedly cushioned in Superfries and comfortably attired in..."
AND
"Hiya! From the bottom of my pure beef heart...thanks for giving me this chance to serve you!"

Who could resist?!?!!

She was so taken by the packaging, she forgot her usual
order does not include  a hot dog with "the works."

But I say, "When at Superdawg, order the Superdawg!!!"

Sometimes, the best thing to do as a tourist is to visit the touristy places; I couldn't forgive myself if I went all the way to Barcelona without visiting La Sagrada Familia.  And touristy or not, hunger be not proud.  If the nearly-seventy-year-old Superdawg Drive-In was the city's only representation of the way Chicagoland does hot dogs, then I am ready to declare Superdawg as the real "Sausage King of Chicago!"  They get every "dawggone" detail right, right down to the style in which they serve their legions of loyal patrons.

"I'm doing my darnd'est to serve every item, every time, to every customer, in a manner to make you want to return...and bring your friends with you."  If that is Superdawg's mission statement, then it is working.  As if I wasn't already in a constant state of desperation for a Superdawg myself, I am always thrilled to bring my friends with me by ringing the "Chow Time" bell for the best hot dogs in town!

Superdawg Drive-In
6363 N Milwaukee Ave
Chicago, IL
(773)763-0660

superdawg.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny