Chairman does pies, not cakes or puddings. Hence the wife’s visit to Dangerously Delicious, a D.C. pie joint that has made area foodie nerds hyperventilate with delight. The below pie welcomed me into my kitchen on my birthday weekend several months ago. (Editor’s Note: Yes, I’m behind. Patience is a virtue, comrade.)
Half an apple pie + half a pecan pie = one glorious Chairman for the proletariat. They were delicious and didn’t last long. I enjoyed big chunks of apple and a fantastic, flaky crust with a hint of cinnamon. Meanwhile, the pecan filling was creamy and understated (obnoxiously sweet desserts that ruin my taste buds are blasphemous).
There’s one storefront in Atlas and another in D.C.’s fake Chinatown. I’m looking to stop by sometime to try the coffee. On behalf of the people, Chairman gives Dangerously Delicious four out of five Little Red Books.
That’s what she said.
Top half apple, bottom half pecan.
Mayor for Life pie! Filled with a white rock substance?
This is (a) my BBQ platter two nights ago, (b) something out of your mom’s dreams, or (c) both (a) and (b).
Eat me.
I hesitated. I licked my lips. My hands shook like a bad metaphor in the gentle breeze. I lined my lap with paper towels. It could get messy … very messy. I looked around and saw a wood carving of two pigs locking snouts, their stubby legs entwined. Was that even legal?
Eat me.
After three weeks of anticipation, the butterflies in my stomach felt more like bats. I was hypnotized by the hickory scent the minute I walked through the doors of Smoked From Above, a BBQ joint tucked between a fake Irish pub and a sandwich job at the nondescript Landstown Commons strip mall of Virginia Beach, a little east of Norfolk. A work acquaintance told me that Smoked from Above’s BBQ was “the best I’ve ever had.” It was just 15 minutes from my hotel and I had little choice but to surrender myself to pig heaven.
Eat me. Sh-h-h-h … You can wait.
Do what I say. Now.
I was on my knees (figuratively) when I ordered the three-meat platter, which comes with hush puppies and two sides (I got a bowl of potato salad and collared greens because I’m on a diet). If I had to do it over again, I would’ve asked for the kitchen to substitute my sides with a fourth meat.
First were the ribs, which looked so smooth and juicy that I mistook the quarter slab on my plate for a chicken breast. I bit into one.
Look at that mac and cheese. Look at it! Who does No. 2 work for?!
I’m not going to say “the meat fell off the bones,” since that has occurred when I’ve bitten into bad ribs. However, they were savory and buttery – with a smoky aftertaste that went well with either a sweeter “original” sauce or the more tart “dirty” mustard.
Next was the sausage, which complemented the ribs well – providing a tasty, briny contrast. I ate quickly so the full platter didn’t remind me of a Ron Jeremy retrospective.
Last was the shredded brisket, which was leathery no matter how much I slathered it with sauce.
The sides are barely worth mentioning. Both the potato salad and the collared greens tasted like something I could get out of a can. Nothing like Big Mama used to make back in the day.
The wait staff and cashier were friendly, giving us a 10% military discount and continually checking on us as we continued our protein binge. The ambience was what you would expect – the stuff is served on environmentally unfriendly styrofoam plates. I can almost guarantee none of the food was organic, locally grown, farm fresh or sustainable.
I’m not ashamed to say I’m in love. Is it possible to fall in love with meat?
As I wiped beads of sweat from my brow and admired the damaged I’d done to my digestive system, this John Legend ode to Chrissy Teigen started playing in the eatery … one that an equally enamored Truman would be happy to sing with me as we dug into another plate of ribs. You hurt me, but I love you, meat.
U.S. Marines raised the colors above Mount Suribachi – immortalized by AP photographer Joe Rosenthal – on the fifth day of the monthlong Battle for Iwo Jima. A total of 92,000 men – 70,000 Americans and 22,000 Japanese – fought on a hunk of land about one-third the size of Manhattan. Among 22,000 Japanese defenders, only 216 were captured. The U.S. needed the island’s three airfields to enable U.S. Army Air Force bombing runs against the Japanese home islands. It cost more than 6,800 U.S.KIA and more than 19,200 WIA (that’s more than 180 KIA per day, about the size of a rifle company). Twenty-seven Medals of Honor were awarded for actions during this fight, 14 of them posthumously.
So those were the awards that were on my mind today, not the meaningless Oscars.
Here’s Wednesday’s one-two hump day journalism punch:
– For some insight into President Obama’s favorite JV team, read “What ISIS Really Wants” by Graeme Wood in this month’s edition of The Atlantic. A little hint, Mr. President – it’s going to take more than jobs or money to satisfy these guys.
Welcome back, comrades. I got busy with work and real life, so this little hobby took a backseat over the past few months.
Just as well, it was a blessing in disguise. The break gave me a chance to collect my thoughts, freshen my approach and reboot this little conduit to America’s proletariat. The time “off” allowed me to develop a few thoughts I want to share. If Comrade Lin were still alive, he’d advise you to listen closely, lest you wind up like him. Oy-y-y…
The true nature of ISIL: After hearing the bitter voices in those ransom videos, I can only come to this conclusion: The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) primarily consists of hipsters irate over barista jobs that only pay minimum wage. Strip off those ski masks and black pajamas and you’ll find more skinny jeans, mohawks, nipple rings and tattoos than in your local grade school’s teachers’ lounge. When they signed up to help establish a caliphate, they probably thought they were taking a study-abroad trip. In any case, I’m sure their parents are elated that they’re out of the house and found a purpose in life. I’m happy they’re no longer at my local coffee bar, soaking up free Wi-Fi bandwidth by binge watching Serial and sending SnapChats.
Bobby dances: I used to think Bobby Jindal was a breath of fresh air in American politics. Then a few days ago, I saw video footage of the Louisiana governor on stage with a headset microphone, pacing back and forth in front of a groovy band, looking like a shorter, skinnier version of Tony Robbins. This aligned with his call for a “spiritual revival” in America and – let me guess – he’s just the guy to lead it? Where did the daring ideas and semi-honesty go? It’d be nice to see a presidential candidate who refuses to pander. Maybe his name is Chris Christie.
‘Unbreakable’ Gaps: The wife and I go to the movies about twice a year. We’re too busy, parking almost always sucks, and watching the latest on DVR or Netflix is so much easier. This year, those two will likely be “Unbreakable” and “American Sniper.” For the former, the epic story of World War II survivor Lou Zamperini long deserved to be told on the big screen. However, I was disappointed that the movie (produced and directed by Angelina Jolie) omitted two big factors in Zamperini’s life – (1) his difficult transition to “regular” life after coming home from WWII (his bouts with alcoholism, fights with his wife, nightmares of captivity and thoughts of suicide could easily be taken from this generation’s war veterans) and (2) his born-again Christian conversion, which he credited with paving the way for him to forgive and meet his brutal Japanese captors decades later. The film did a nice job of depicting his survival at sea and terrible imprisonment, but could have lived up to its title by serving as a canvas for his struggles after the war.
From Pretty Boy to ‘Sniper’: While we haven’t gotten a chance to see “American Sniper” yet, I’ve been impressed with star Bradley Cooper’s evolution from the douchey pretty-boy fiance in “Wedding Crashers” to his star turn as the manic Pat in “Silver Linings Playbook.” I’m also amazed at how polarizing the movie has become. If the value of a film is the amount of dialogue it generates about the topic, maybe Clint Eastwood got it right – as he did with “Flags of Our Fathers” and the companion “Letters from Iwo Jima.”
‘Super’ Boring: There are a couple of sports dead zones during the year, when a big event (including the Super Bowl and Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game) is preceded by a day or a week of irrelevant games that fail to quicken my pulse beyond a state of rest. A few days ago, I watched a 20-minute press conference about Tom Brady’s deflated balls in between a couple of lopsided college basketball games. Last night, I witnessed Michael Irvin twerk on the sideline of the Pro Bowl, which looks more like a flag football game. The NFL needs to get rid of the two-week period between the conference championships and the Super Bowl – let the drama build to a natural crescendo instead of manufacturing hype with marginal, coma-inducing results on the field.
No News is Good News: I check this website every couple of weeks. Scroll down to find the casualty releases for U.S. service members killed in theater, whether in combat or by accident. The last posting was made on 14 December 2014, when two soldiers were killed by an IED in Parwan, Afghanistan. Their names are Sergeant First Class Ramon Morris and Specialist Wyatt Martin.
Since that day, there has not been another in Iraq, Afghanistan or any of the other active theaters of operation (that we know about, anyway). Wins strung together make a streak – one that most of us can get behind.
I’m not naive. Current events suggest we’re closer to winter than spring. But that’s 43 days and counting. I hope to keep counting for a while.
The centerpiece of “Chairman’s 2012 Spring Workout Playlist” is “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC, followed by “Back in Black,” “She Shook Me All Night Long” and “Hells Bells.” I would’ve simply named the playlist “AC/DC Faves” or something like that, but intrusions by Judas Priest, Sir Mix-A-Lot and (yes) Britney Spears rendered that moot. Although I’ve never been to an AC/DC concert, you can consider me a fan … much in the same way that you could also consider me a Dave Matthews Band nerd for a while. That abruptly ended when I discovered the bass on my speakers were set on negative since 1999.
I was deeply saddened when I learned that AC/DC founding guitarist Malcolm Young is battling severe dementia and will not be returning to the rock band as it embarks on a tour this fall to promote its latest album, “Rock or Bust.” I didn’t think it was possible for this Aussie – 61 years young – to get old.
One positive thing out of all this – Malcolm’s nephew, Stevie, who played rhythm guitar on the “Rock or Bust” recording, will step in for his uncle for the 2015 tour.
This Hump Day, Truman salutes Malcolm with one of our mutual faves. Along with songs like Metallica’s “Enter Sandman,” this offering resides on Pandora’s “Classic Rock Workout” playlist – powering me through my sizzling, 9-minute mile pace in the neighborhood.
Chairman Does D.C. 