I finally got to sit in the Lexus Club seats at PNC Park last night thanks to Meadows’ auction victory a few months back. We’ve been discussing getting tickets in that section for a long time, but considering how poor the Pirates have been for the most part, and the fact that tickets in the Lexus Club are $160-210/ticket (for individual game prices), it just never made sense.

Regardless, the Lexus Club experience was fun. The indoor club section is really nice, with a delicious complimentary buffet, comfortable furniture, a nice bar, etc…you know…all the things you would expect for a ticket going for nearly $200 at PNC Park. While the food was pretty good, it wasn’t anything that I’m going to be craving in the future, and I didn’t eat nearly enough at the buffet to justify the cost.

Above: Pork tenderloin on top of sausage gumbo, with caesar salad, red & yellow tomato caprese salad, and a scalloped potato casserole…

After crushing a few plates of grub, we walked down the long hallway, past the low-lit jerseys hanging on the walls, through the glass door and took our seats. I feel like I’ve sat in nearly every section of PNC Park for a game, except for right behind home plate. While the proximity to the action was definitely pretty cool, I don’t think it’s worth the money. Especially when there are seats right next to the Lexus Club – same distance from the field – for $35/ticket. Plus, those seats don’t have a net in their way. Of course, I tried to make up some more of the ticket price by eating and drinking complimentary ballpark favorites – hot dogs, water, soda, pretzels, etc. delivered to your seat – but I still didn’t do the damage I would’ve liked. At least the free hot dogs are all beef and delicious, which is a drastic departure from the $1 dog night version that Meadows and I housed during our hot dog eating contest.

In the end, we decided that it’s a better deal to go to Atria’s for dinner and get tickets in nearly any other lower section. You would still be full of comparable food, and since there really isn’t a bad seat in PNC Park, you won’t really care that you’re not right behind home plate…and it would be more affordable.

Of course, that doesn’t mean we didn’t have a great time in our first experience. Meadows and I snapped a ton of photos, the weather was great, and the Pirates – in all of their new prospect-laden glory – beat the lowly Nationals to make it a great night for our little crew. The only thing I was left wondering was who won the pierogi race…we all placed our bets, but I think we got distracted a) by the fact that the Nationals’ Presidents were also in the race, and b) by Potato Pete coming out of nowhere to tackle the President who was in the lead – allowing Sauerkraut Saul to win. I picked Oliver Onion, so I probably own someone a dollar.

As tends to be the norm for me – whether intentional or not – I ended eating at mostly chain restaurants during my trip. It’s one of the most frustrating realities of my travels, but oh well. We had some Chicago-style pizza delivered to the hotel which was good, I had a wicked-good burger at the hotel, and downed a quick meal at The Berghoff, but none of that stuff truly kicked my taste buds into complete happiness. My favorite nighttime meal was probably at Maggiano’s, but I found out later that it, too, was a chain. Oh well. All in all, my trip gave me nothing exciting food-wise to write home about, except for that one place that truly insists on making me feel like an obese man in a skinny body nearly every time I go there – The Bongo Room!

All of my friends have heard me rave about this damn place for the last couple of years, but I just couldn’t get enough of it this time when I was staying a few blocks away. Whenever I thought to myself that it was time to try somewhere new, I decided that there was definitely something more delicious to consume for breakfast. I literally ate at The Bongo Room every single morning that I was in Chicago. Which reminds me…I forgot to give Aaron money for the last day. Damn. Mental note for the next time I’m around.

Regardless of the realization of yet another debt that I need to pay in this fabulous economy that’s supposedly only in my mental space, The Bongo Room is my ultra anti-depressant. Maybe it’s the sugary goodness…or maybe it’s the high sodium, but it’s so delicious that you can’t walk away without saying, “damn, I need to come back again!”. It’s such an American restaurant – over-the-top, highly-caloric, and destined to leave its trendy restaurant goers addicted to all things that cause button popping on their designer jeans.

I only ate three meals in all of my trips to The Bongo Room during my latest trip, and all three were awesome. While the basil and feta omelet was pretty ordinary and delicious, my other two meals were quality selections. I ate the breakfast burrito twice. It’s really a simple burrito with egg and guacamole, but it’s great. If they don’t make their own guac, they sure as hell have an amazing guac supplier. The thought of eggs and guac together on a plate sort made me nauseous, but it was surprisingly excellent in every way. I wasn’t into the sour creamy stuff on top, or whatever it was, but once I removed that, it was super. Most people will probably like that topping, though. Oh, and naturally, it had to be covered in cheese!

Of course, the meal that real champions would eat isn’t Wheaties, it’s the white chocolate & caramel covered pretzel pancakes from The Bongo Room. Yeah. They exist, and yes, they are disgustingly good as their descriptive name would lead you to believe. Salty, sugary, and guaranteed to give you a sugar rush that you actually won’t regret. I mean, if you’re on the Atkins Diet, you’re not going to be thrilled with yourself, but I can’t imagine too many people not enjoying them. Surprisingly, I couldn’t finish a full order, but the half order was perfect.

My only complaints are the same ones that come with any hip, trendy place, that actually has good food – waiting for a table, and the cramped feeling. Of course, the waiting thing wasn’t much of a problem for us most of the week. We usually went closer to 11am, and we only had to wait about 30 minutes the one Saturday morning for a table for 6. Not bad, and the grub was definitely worth it. See you there next time I’m in Chicago!

If someone had come up to me about a month ago and asked me for a good place to grab food in South Side, the odds would’ve been fairly high that The Library would be my recommendation. I mean, I’ve touted The Library’s food as supreme ever since it opened (about 2 years ago, I think), and I can’t really count the amount of times that my friends and I would default to hitting up this known, yet never overly-crowded, bar/restaurant on Carson St.

The atmosphere was relaxed and the library theme was well thought out, even boasting a real card catalog as part of the décor. The food and drink menus are printed on the inside of random books (nice touch), and the beer selection is solid, with a nice array of microbrews and domestics rotating on the taps – with even more interesting selections in bottles. Granted, this is no Sharp Edge for beer choices, but it’s quite good.

Unfortunately, my most recent trip to one of my (formerly) favorite spots, was probably my last. One undeniable highlight of The Library was its delicious appetizers. The Edgar Allen Sweet Potato Fries were the best sweet potato fries in Pittsburgh, and their chicken strips (the clever name escapes me, unfortunately) with Guinness dipping sauce were unreal. Well, I can’t emphasize the word “were” enough. Steve, the original Chef when The Library opened had created a beautiful menu full of house-created, made-from-scratch recipes, and he took a certain pride in making sure you enjoyed your meal, constantly coming out to talk to you about the food and how you like it…or disliked it.

Well, Steve left The Library, and although his personable self was no longer roaming the dining room and bar, Steve’s excellent tastes in food still reigned…until sometime in the past few weeks. The sweet potato fries? Now over-sweetened, dry, and typical. The jalapeno dipping sauce? No bite. The chicken strips, although still breaded perfectly, lack the one thing that really made them better than the rest of the chicken strip options scattering the food and brew-saturated South Side – the Guinness dipping sauce. At first, I figured it was just an oversight by the plate prep guys, but no…

According to the most boring, and useless bartender I’ve encountered in Pittsburgh (even the bartenders are a step down in quality), the cost of making the Guinness sauce was too much, so they replaced it with some raspberry crap that was just like any other sauce made by a place trying to be “unique” and “gourmet”. Note to these places; fruity sauces are over-used. You’re not unique or fancy.

Sorry, Jeff, but your establishment must’ve hit its plateau when it first opened. While I’m sure there are still some great options on the menu, the fact that two of my beer-drinker munchies fallbacks have drifted into the category of shite, has simply ruined my desire to test your new menu. The slow, beer-IQ-lacking, bartenders you employ have only enhanced the reality that The Library – like its brick and mortar relative – is a mere shell of it’s once great self. While I’ll still keep you in mind, I imagine you’ll fall by the wayside while picking a favorite dining destination. The Library once shined and rose above the disgusting-food littered selections of Carson St.. You could really tell they cared, and the quality of the food made you crave it. Nevermore.

Oh, and thanks for finally opening for lunch…now that your quality has been on the floor for longer than the 10-second rule allows. Here’s to the optimism that hopes The Library improves. Until then…

If you’re looking for a swanky little sushi place near the Arena District, I would definitely hit up Tyfoon. The setting is much nicer than Haiku, with a dark, intimate vibe that invokes the feeling that you’re going to break the bank to eat there, despite it being no more expensive than your typical trendy sushi joint.

Did the classiness of the atmosphere equal the sushi? I’m not sure. If I hadn’t gone to Haiku the night before, I might’ve been really impressed with the food, but the edge still goes to Haiku for me.

While the large portions pleased the competitive eater mentality in me, the excessive amounts of spicy sauce garnishing about half of the rolls left me wondering if if there was actually any fish involved. While I do enjoy sauces, I prefer them in moderation. I’m not into paying twelve dollars for a spicy mayonnaise roll. The rolls that didn’t have the spicy sauce drizzled over top were really good, though, and definitely saved the meal.

So, just as I would recommend staying away from rolls at Haiku that include cream cheese, I would suggest avoiding any sushi from Tyfoon that mentioned spicy sauce on top.

In the end, Tyfoon is where you take a date, with it’s tight vibe, cool décor, smooth lighting, and good food. Haiku is where you go for better sushi. Granted, these are probably two of the most trendy sushi places in Columbus – hence the reason they were both mentioned first when asking for recommendations – so I’m willing to wager that there are much better places in the Columbus area. I plan on finding more on my next trip to see the Crew in late April.

After the uneventful Predators/Blue Jackets game, the goal was to find a sushi joint nearby. Someone had recommended a place called Haiku, so while exiting the arena, we asked someone, who told us it was pretty close by, and went on our way. About a mile later, in brisk temperatures, we arrived at Haiku. Please note that in Columbus, when someone says, “it’s only a few blocks over”, it actually means it’s about a mile.

Fortunately the payoff for the walk was pretty good. Haiku had a laid back, intimate vibe, but it wasn’t anything special. The dim lighting and tile floor definitely cheapened the mood. Maybe if the candles on the table had been lit, the setting would’ve been nicer. You could tell that this was one of those trendy places to go, but it didn’t affect my experience at all.

The sushi was delicious for the most part, but it was pretty expensive. While the rolls were large, the size was a bit deceiving, as rice accounted for much of the portion. I also would advise against getting any rolls with cream cheese. I’ve never been much of a fan of cream cheese with my sushi (Raw’s mahalo and philly rolls as the exceptions), so I guess I was a little sensitive to the massive amounts used in a couple of the rolls. It simply overpowered the actual sushi flavors. My recommendations – the kamikaze roll and the employee roll.

All in all, Haiku sated my craving for sushi on Friday. The service was good, the setting was decent, and the sushi was as good as I would expect for Columbus. I would put it on-par with Sushi Tomo here in Pittsburgh, which is pretty darn good…for sushi in Pittsburgh.

To offset my rant about Subway, I’d like to offer up support for another franchise that I frequent in my workout season: Rita’s Italian Ice.

I actually really like Rita’s, and when they’re open, I can’t seem to stay away from the mango gelati…with vanilla custard! Unfortunately, my favorite part of the gelati is the custard, which also doubles as the reason why one regular gelati reaches nearly 400 calories and packs 13 grams of fat. Ouch.

Now, that’s not exactly the worst treat when you’re eating a healthy diet the rest of the day, but Rita’s is now offering up a fat-free option that is actually more delicious than the original. Everyone say hello to the Slenderita! Although it has slightly more sodium and sugar, as all “fat-free” product tend to, it has literally no fat, taking my mango gelati down to just over 300 calories and 2 grams of fat. Of course, now I don’t even order the gelati. I just get regular Slenderita custards.

The breakdown of a regular Slenderita custard (in a bowl) based on the information that I had Rita’s send me:

Calories: 277
Fat: 0
Saturated Fat: 0
Cholesterol: 0
Protein: 9g
Sodium: 321mg
Carbs: 59g
Fiber: 1.7g
Sugar: 40g

Compared to a regular custard:

Calories: 385
Fat: 21g
Saturated Fat: 14g
Cholesterol: 125mg
Protein: 7g
Sodium: 210mg
Carbs: 43g
Fiber: 1g
Sugar: 37g

Not bad. If you’re going to eat the stuff anyway, why not eat something that ditches a lot of the bad stuff? The only problem is that you can only find this option at Rita’s locations that are willing to buy the machine to make it…a machine that, according to one of the managers of a Rita’s I frequent, costs $15,000. She’s not going to be getting one for quite some time, so now I’m stuck going to the location in the South Side. Oh well, it’s closer to work.

With soccer starting up soon, I figured I’d put down the delicious, but less-than-healthy foods I prefer, and get back to the low fat, calorie-counting lifestyle that I deal with every year around this time. Part of that traditional shift in diet consists of regular trips to Subway – a tradition that I think I’m completely over.

I went there today for lunch, and of course, 4 hours later, I still reek of “that smell”. The smell has been discussed endlessly by my friends and I, and the hatred for the Subway stench is easily found with a simple Google search of “subway smell”. Fittingly, the results that come up refer to the disgusting smell of the NYC subway system and Subway sandwich shops. I’m getting more and more annoyed as I sit here unable to escape the feeling that I’m stinking up the entire office. I’m truly at a loss if the franchise believes that this signature used toilet paper stench is a positive branding strategy.

I also wonder if Subways even screen applicants before hiring them. I’ve never been met with such blatant annoyance and disregard as I’ve been experiencing lately. Just today, three people were working at the store in Waterfront (I know, I know, it’s Waterfront). As I’m standing there waiting to order my sub, the guy who just finished making a sub, takes his gloves off, walks into the back, gets a soda cup, and proceeds to get himself a drink. Not only that, but he decided to drink it before getting back to work. Granted this is the lunchtime rush…you know…the ideal time for a break. Note…when I was leaving, he decided he had worked hard enough to earn himself a smoke break. Ah, the age of entitlement is upon us more than ever.

One girl was working the register (the only friendly one, too), leaving the other girl to make all of the subs while Mr. Whitebread finished his drink. She was just so chipper to do her job, as you can imagine. “Whatchou won?”, she asked with an attitude that hinted toward me interrupted something more important. Um, I’m sorry…were you more comfortable standing there ignoring me, and the ten people behind me? I’m sorry. Maybe we should all leave so you can get back to nothing.

“What do I want?”, I thought to myself. I want you to make my sandwich that way I used to when I worked at Subway years ago. I want it to look like it does on television. I used to do it. Unless it takes a superior talent, which I don’t believe I have in the sandwich-making department, there’s no excuse for the effort that these people put forth. You know what? No one told you to make whatever decisions you made to end up working at Subway during the workday. Don’t take your depression out on me and my sandwich. If you can’t work in the service industry, get out. Go work the suicide hotline or something. Pittsburgh is depressing enough. I don’t need every person I run into at an eating establishment to remind me. You’re supposed to be friendly and eager to help please me as the customer. Thanks for the attitude and the less-than-appealing sub you so kindly shoved into that bag!
I’d give you a tip, but you obviously don’t understand where that concept came from.

On the topic of presentation…When I worked at Subway, we didn’t work behind a large, clear window, revealing all of the toppings and meats. But, I can tell you right now – without any exaggeration – that our sandwich prep area was waaaaaay cleaner than I see nowadays. The cheap, processed meats are disgusting to look at, so I’m not really sure why they would show them at all. The vegetables are often scattered everywhere; tomatoes in the lettuces, olives in the onions, pepper sprinkled on the banana peppers, etc. It’s disgusting. Then, the lazy, angry sandwich employees refuse to put anything less than half of the bottle of condiments on my sub. My sweet onion sauce today practically covered an entire half of my sandwich. Yum.

We also had uniforms…and they had to match. We had to wear visors, and aprons. Now, if you just show up in clothes, you’re allowed to work. You can wear your hat sideways, not wash your hair, shave, or cover your prison tattoos. You don’t have to understand the English language or speak it, and you definitely don’t have to an IQ high enough to count 3 pickles per 6-inch sub.

The food quality at Subway has always been bad, but what’s happening there has completely turned me away from it. Like Starbucks, no two Subways make a consistent sandwich. It’s a shame that Subway has lost its way. It’s almost like the franchise is resting on the laurels of a man name Jared, and the diet sensation to carry their rapid cannibalization and sub-par, questionable food quality, to new lows…and high profits.

1 year of the best sushi I’ll ever eat and too much alcohol: $2334.18
1 year of tips for our favorite wait staff and bartenders: $872.00
Finding an oasis to escape the misery of Johnstown: Priceless…

I really miss Raw and the Baggy Knee. For those who don’t know, on November 10, 2005, Evans and Davis took me to this little known hole-in-the-wall sushi restaurant named Raw. For them, it was a new discovery (even though Evans had spent years living less than a mile away from it). For me, it would become my first real experience with the Japanese classic. More importantly, for all of us, it would become an oasis in the desert of depression that Johnstown had become for almost all of us – especially Davis, Wesler, and myself.

Here, in this tiny little addition to the bar/restaurant above – The Baggy Knee – is where you would find us two to four days a week in the evening. At first, we went because it was all-you-can-eat for $28, and it was quite a feast. The meal would start out with the most incredible tempura vegetables you’ll ever eat…ever. No, seriously…ever. You would simultaneously get a bowl of either miso soup, or Chef Petrillo’s own version of a hot & sour soup, which was also top-notch.

After that, we’d find ourselves sitting there, staring at three gigantic trays of nigiri sushi, sashimi, and maki-zushi (more like futomaki) wondering what we’d gotten ourselves into. I think the first night that I decided to give it a go at eating raw fish, Davis, Evans, and I consumed the equivalent of 15 rolls of sushi…and we’re talking the largest portions of sushi I may ever encounter. It quickly became my favorite place to go. Not only did it satisfy my seemingly endless hunger, but it was actually great food. This wasn’t some Old Country Buffet crap. This was high-quality grub in seemingly endless supply.

Of course, a restaurant doesn’t become the focus of one’s blog entries by just having good food. Nah, it needs a story. It needs a life.

On probably our 5th trip to Raw, we saw that the bar seats were open, so we opted to sit there. That was the night that everything changed. We were instantly recognized by the owner/chef, Mike Petrillo, from our previous trips. Yes, it’s true. My favorite sushi chef was indeed Italian. Anyway, we sat down and hit it off with the chef. I couldn’t even tell you what we discussed, but I’m sure it involved crazy stories from Chef’s worldly travels, alcohol, and his insane, yet endearing, staff. At the end of the night, a mini wasabi snorting competition started up between one of Chef’s employees, The Kid, and our very own Evans. What ensued was only the type of hilarity that you would have had to have been there for, but I had never laughed so hard in my life, as Evans destroyed the kid. On a single plate sat two large lines of wasabi powder. The Kid went first and snorted a half of a line. Evans, in typical Evans fashion, snorted the first line of wasabi in the blink of an idea…then went and finished The Kid’s line without hesitation. Of course, both of them were hurting and making classic faces of pain, but it was awesome for the rest of us to witness. After that night, there was some weird, newfound respect and friendship between everyone. As we continued to go, Chef would introduce us to the locals that frequented Raw and The Baggy Knee. We met so many people. Some of them were the shadiest people I’ve ever met, but almost everyone we met was real. They were cool with us, we were cool with them, and out of the coexistence came some great stories. Here’s a Cliffs Notes version of the Raw character synopsis:

• There was crazy-ass Spider, who had been bitten by a brown recluse and almost died well before we met him. He had a habit of sleeping with every girl that you might meet in either establishment, and getting the worst tattoos I’ve ever seen. We watched Chef toss an entire bloodline from a yellowfin tuna at Spider’s head. Davis and I even tricked Spider into thinking he had AIDS, and forgot to tell him that it was a joke. The guy was seriously scared. Fortunately, we got to him before he did anything drastic, so he could continue about his merry sexual exploits with little interruption. If there’s a hell, and I end up there, this may very well be the reason. Sorry Spider. Ha ha.
• There was Velore, who lived in the most intriguingly disgusting apartment I’ve ever seen. He introduced Davis and I to a little game called “plate baseball”. I know it’s a popular sport, but for those of you who may not be familiar with it, it involves finding any glass or porcelain object that you can in your house, throwing that object in the air, and hitting the object with a hand axe. He also enjoyed stabbing window screens with broad swords, juggling survival knives, playing NES, throwing shurikens at his bedroom door, and serving us our food at Raw. Oh, and he particularly prided himself on always keeping my tea filled (a nearly impossible task for the common server).
• There was Tommy. This guy was the type of guy you just didn’t want on your bad side. He was incredibly nice to us, but he had a penchant for illegal bladed weapons. Of course, he had a falling out with Chef, and that was the last we saw of him. Greensburg sometimes has a mob-like feel to it.
• There was Gaia. The red-headed hip-hop connoisseur who we would see constantly. We used to fill the jukebox till we were all out of cash to play enough hip-hop to piss off everyone in the bar…especially that lawyer guy, Terry, who would get into jukebox battles with us. He hated our music, so he would pay twice as much for each of his songs to leapfrog our songs with his cheesy, I’m-a-swinger-from-the-70s, music.
• Willis. The only guy I ever met who seriously craved the worm at the bottom of the Mezcal. The self-proclaimed, whitest black guy you’d ever meet, and sadly, the “token” of the bunches of people that we met. Davis and Willis would race to get to the worm way too often for my liver to consider. He was always so bummed to see us because he knew that a long night of drinking was ahead of him. His fist pump when any Wu-Tang Clan song came on the jukebox was also quite classic. “Yeah! That’s my sooong”. He also introduced us to his ultimate craving…the udon noodle bowl.
• Dave Gall. 10-foot giant, bartender, and drummer extraordinaire for Channel Scorpion News. Good guy, all around. Thanks for handing us beers up to the second floor and bypassing the lines during the crazy bar events.
• Coach Mike. He coached lacrosse at some high school in Greensburg, but I think it’s safe to say we’ll always remember the day he made us drink a whole bottle of sweet potato sake. I hope to never, ever, cross another bottle of that. I’m cringing just typing about it.
• Jackie. Jackie was the other bartender at The Baggy Knee. She’s actually the person who got us started drinking at The Baggy Knee. Before the night that she kept making us order Kirin Ichibans, we had never even had a beer at Raw. We started drinking early with her…and we continued for another year. Thanks, Jackie.
• Kim. The first night we hung out with Kim, Scotty G, and Lisa, we all went back to Kim’s for after hours drinking. Davis ended up puking in the most amazing fashion, breaking two bar stools, and passing out. Meanwhile, Wesler, Kim, and I sat around talking all night while waiting for Davis to wake up. We’ll forever wonder why she continued to let us come over and chill there while we sobered up for the long drive back to Johnstown, but whatever. She helped us out a lot. Imagine the DUI’s we avoided by having a place to stay.
• Finally, there was Chef Mike Petrillo. This guy was the best cook I’ve ever known. The food that he served in The Baggy Knee, which was American cuisine, was incredible. The sushi he prepared at Raw was unmatched. On top of his chef skills, his insanity was immeasurable. For example, one night we got dragged out to Clear Waters for jello wrestling. The event was stupid, but Chef decided that he wanted to get into a fight with some guy. As I’m looking at Chef in confusion as he justifies his plan, he attempts to get me pumped up by head-butting me. I was sort of in shock and had to laugh. If that wasn’t crazy enough, he ended up leaving Davis and I stranded at the bar. The next day, he barely remembered doing it, but he hooked me up with grub, so whatever. He also put Spider’s head through the wall once, during one of their nightly battles. It was hilarious watching the two of them attempt to get the better of one another like a Spy vs. Spy cartoon. In the end, though, he was a good guy…at least to us.

We befriended a lot more than that, too. I’m sure I’m forgetting people (Anthony, aka, the Kid, Alan, John Miller, Mike Reese), but the real point was that going to Raw provided us with a ton of great stories and great people. I had never had so much fun, met so many people, and walked away with so many great memories in such a short amount of time. To this day, I’ve never had better sushi. I know a lot of people claimed that they had better sushi here and there, but frankly, I don’t care, nor can I believe it. The food was the best I’ve ever eaten, but even better, was the crowd, the memories, and the friends that we all made. Playing Shimmy Shimmy Ya on the jukebox, listening to the “Greensburg Rap Mix” on the drive down to Greensburg, braving the snow each week to be the only people at Raw during the winter, going to Denny’s at 3 am every night on the way home even though we weren’t hungry, then giving our mozzarella sticks to the old guy who was always there reading the paper. All of it was so much fun, and seriously provided us with a place to distract ourselves from the misery that living in Johnstown had filled us with.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. After I moved to Pittsburgh, the trips back to Greensburg slowed down as I attempted to get acquainted with my new surroundings. Chef also went to Europe with his wife (from Prague) for about a month which also limited my chances to go. My last trip to Raw was November 25th, 2006 – just over a year after our first visit. Raw would end up closing due to a lease disagreement, ending a “chapter” in a bunch of lives. Even though Chef has since moved to Charleston, South Carolina it’s funny how often Raw still comes up in conversation. I imagine I’ll be talking about that place, the characters we met, and the food for the rest of my life. One thing I do know, though…I haven’t eaten sushi once and not thought about that place. It was a unique setup, in a unique town…with unique characters. It was most likely a once in a lifetime scenario.

By the way, those figures at the beginning and the dates mentioned are real. My insane collection of receipts – every last one from every purchase I’ve made since I’ve had a bank card – finally found a use. That doesn’t even come close to factoring all of the money that we, as a group, spent in that short year. I’ll/We’ll never get that money or time back, but no one can ever take all the fun we had away, either. Fair trade-off if you ask me…

Ooh baby, I like it Raw…

When your favorite late night snack place happens to sit in the first floor of one of Pittsburgh’s finest hotels, you occasionally run into random people…sometimes you may encounter furries (worth a post if I see them again this year). Other times, you encounter former World Series winning, should-be Hall of Fame baseball players like Dave Parker. There was a bunch of other ex/current Pirates there as well, but the only one that I recognized was Xavier Nady, and I didn’t interact with any of them.

I didn’t realize that this weekend was Pirates Fest, so it never dawned on me that there was a decent chance of seeing “famous” ball players at The Original Fish Market downtown. I know that the Westin downtown is the preferred hotel for visiting teams and other big time visitors, but I go to the OFM so often that I’m oblivious to who comes and goes.

Tonight, I happened to just sit down in an available seat at the bar for some sushi. Younes, our preferred waiter/bartender/friend, was tending the bar, and he told me that the guy I was sitting next to was some “big time Pirate”, but he didn’t know his name. I sat and listened to some guy who worked for ESPN talking to the man next to me, and with a quick wiki search on my phone and some listening, I realized who I was sitting next to. That’s right, ex-Pirate, Dave Parker.

The guy was totally cool. He actually initiated conversation with me asking why I was drinking iced tea and then we started discussing sushi. He asked me where I was from, if I played football (why, I don’t know), and some other small talk stuff. I didn’t want to bother him, so I just sat there and listened to all of the stories about the cities he’d played in, stories about some awesome players, and how he should be in Cooperstown. I just kept to myself unless he talked to me. I didn’t want to be one of those awestruck dorks, like the numerous guys coming up to him.

We did talk about the Furry convention that took place in Pittsburgh last year (and the next 2 upcoming, oh my), and he had never heard of the whole thing, so it was funny trying to explain something so goofy to him. We had some good laughs, but that was about it. He was just a really nice guy with a good sense of humor. Oh, and he’s frickin’ huge.

The other funny thing was that I had my D50 with me because I didn’t want to leave it in the car in the cold, so I was able to get a picture with the man to lessen the blow of not having anything cool for him to autograph.

On Saturday, I met up with Alan, Hoover, and some of Alan’s friends to celebrate Alan’s birthday. We hit up Sushi Tomo, which is always delicious, but I will say that I’ve now met two types of fish that I really don’t enjoy as sashimi – mackerel, and albacore. The mackerel was simply nasty and fishy, and the albacore was, well, blah in every way. It was Hoover’s first time at Tomo, and I think he was pretty pleased. Of course, eating sushi brought up conversation of Raw, and the typical overwhelming sense of sadness took over…but it was short-lived, as the night was very young.

We rolled over to Fox & Hound for some brews and shuffleboard, and while it was fun hanging out with the guys, I was totally annoyed with the Fox & Hound. First of all, the playoff game between the Jags & Patriots was getting no love. It was relegated to the crappy TVs, while the mid-season Pens game was on all of the main screens. Now, I really like the Penguins, but this is the NFL playoffs we’re talking about.

On top of the that, Fox & Hound just comes off as a pretentious hangout for those guys who have never left the area and sit around reliving their high school glory days while hitting on women that are far too young to star in their own version of a Viva Viagra commercial.

I won’t even get started on Allegheny County’s new 10% drink tax…at least not in this post. Ugh. That adds up when you’re downing Magic Hats for a few hours.

After we left the North Hills high school reunion bar, all of us rolled over to Alan’s place to keep drinking and play some Xbox. Yep, we haven’t grown up as much as we’d like to think. If I hadn’t been drinking, it would’ve felt like I was in high school or college again, sitting around playing Gran Turismo, Stuntman, or Tony Hawk all night at Mundis’ place.

We started with some Guitar Hero III, then moved on to Halo 3 (which I still hate), and finished with a marathon of Rock Band…with yours truly rocking the drum kit. Ha. Only one of Alan’s friends had played Rock Band before, but the whole group quickly took a liking to it. I’m pretty sure we played for about 5 hours, and at the end of the night/early morning, my theory that Rock Band would be the ultimate get together game was affirmed. Alan was planning on picking it up that day, so I guess we’ll be teaming up on Xbox Live soon enough.

It was awesome to hang out with old friends and finally meet some new ones. Hopefully it doesn’t take another year to see some of those guys.