The center cannot hold

I have been told that I am "funnier in writing than in person" and also "not funny at all." And this is on dates with women who at some point found me palatable enough to agree on at least two hours of close proximity, one-on-one interaction. But they are wrong; I am very funny, even in person. Like the time I tried to ply a stubborn date with the classic "c'mooooooon. I paid for dinner!" Most of my dates end with me apologizing profusely, but I never really mean it because in my head I am already thinking, "I can't wait to tell the guys about this bon mot!" (yes, I drop French phrases like a pretentious asshole even in my own head)

The problem, of course, is the audience. If only my bros were around, I could get the immediate positive reinforcement I crave rather than having to wait until after I drop off the unappreciative lady at her place.

I bring this up because I am right in the long run, but I don't get the credit I deserve until much later if ever. Example: ToucanSam calls me up while stuck in rush hour traffic. He complains about the lone freeway from north suburbs into the city. I remind him that he spent two years audibly sighing, rolling his eyes, and saying "not this again" when I would complain about Chicago's piss-poor driving infrastructure as he sat in the passenger seat of MY car. Yes, ToucanSam, the view is different from the passenger seat than the driver's seat. Now apologize and mean it.

Or most recently with my OC dawgz when they suggested we try that new burger joint that just opened that's drawing so much attention: Five Guys. I told them that I had tried Five Guys while in Chicago and that it was nowhere near as good as our local In-N-Out, both for taste and for value. Compare the mental notes from recent GCL outtings:



Uru-Swati (2629 W Devon Ave)
- pani puri (hollow balls filled with spicy liquid; complex aftertaste)
- bhel (salad made out of interesting Indian shit)
- papdi chaat (Indian nachos made with slightly different Indian shit, or possibly the same Indian shit prepared differently. I honestly can't tell)
- vada pav (complex potato dumpling in unassuming hamburger guise. The evening's winner)

Sabri Nehari (2502 W. Devon Ave)
- Goat stew (complex broth, good if sparse meat on bones)
- Beef stew (beef falls apart in your fork: good sign. table competes to get the last meat scraps. everyone of course except for Chlodnik, who's pescotarianism continues to be a source of buzzkill in otherwise pleasant dinners)
- some paneer dish in yellow/red curry sauce and chickpeas (this was bomb. ordered extra naan just to sop up last remnants of sauce)

Now here are my mental notes for Five Guys.
- mediocre burger (shrug)
- peanut oil-cooked fries (ehhhh, okay)
- costs twice as much as In-N-Out

OC Dawgz, apology accepted. Especially you, Sunny Hills Homecoming Queen 2000. I'm not like your one year old infant you and hubby so cavalierly leave at home ("uhhh, he's asleep or something.").

Now here's a pan-regional bros on ManDates photo gallery, pictures ordered in an escalating scale of bro-ness.


The Sabri proprietor claimed the wait was only 15 minutes. 20 minutes later we asked someone else and they said it was only going to be 20 minutes. The trio of GCL contributors decided to take our business to Uru.

My OC Dawgz are my consumate bros. I do a lot of things with them that later on with my more "sophisticated" friends I disparage ironically. Will this innate contradiction within Chittlins destroy him? Probably.

Special thanks to Ms. I Am the Law for taking this pic and to her gentleman suitor, Guy I Fell in Love With After He Posted Mid-90s Lakers Highlights on My Wall, for driving me to airport.

Will I continue posting from OC? Possibly. I've been meaning to try an Indian Chinese cuisine place a few blocks from me, and at the Orange International Street Fair I was blown away by my first experience with loukoumades, those Greek honey dipped puffs. Will I find an OC-based adventurous gastronome partner in the mold of ToucanSam or Sizzlenutz? Maybe though they're irreplaceable. Will I find love? Not while the gene that codes for "female" also codes for "no sense of humor."

Rajun Cajun – Curry and apology

A California-raised Mexican and an East Coast-raised Indian make strange bedfellows (note: not literally bedfellows), but I think the rapport between ToucanSam and I stems in part from our mutual estrangement to our respective cultures. A light-skinned surfer playing waterpolo in Orange County does not traditionally connote Latino. Similarly Vanderbilt undergrad, albeit in computer science, does not, to use the parlance of Hollywood, “read” Gujarati to me.

Of course, in the testosterone-driven environment of business school, neither of us can display unqualified vulnerability. Case in point: this email reply I received from ToucanSam regarding some editing suggestions I had sent to him earlier:

"I’m not going to read this shit.. Too many words. I love you. I hope it is published. Did I just say I love you? I’m not sure I meant it."

In any case, we settle into a friendship based on, from what I can tell, complaining about people and things - mostly people (sample conversation, “How did ____ land an offer from [prestigious, big name firm]? The guy’s a dumbass! I have lost all respect for [aforementioned prestigious firm]”).

In that spirit, the autumn drizzle set the subdued tone for Thursday evening’s ManDate to Rajun Cajun (1459 E 53rd St). The soft, yellow glow permeating the interior diffused a general sense of wellbeing that made me feel in a “safe space”. I could have curled up on the floor in the fetal position and imagined myself back in the womb. And I did.

I usually avoid food that’s been lying out under heat lamps, but a healthy turnover at Rajun Cajun prevents the unappetizing congealment of foods. ToucanSam opted for the vegetarian platter of dal, saag paneer, samosa and paratha (basically an Indian tortilla, because when all you have is a hammer everything starts to look like a nail). I opted for the butter chicken curry with a side of baigan aloo, samosa and paratha. Both of us got a free snicker bars because it was the eve of some Hindu holiday. The evening almost took an ugly turn when I tried ToucanSam’s saag paneer re-using the same spork from my butter chicken curry (now that’s what I call the omnivore’s dilemma). Fortunately ToucanSam let bygones be bygones in the sense that he still brings it up and will probably continue to do so for the rest of our natural lives.

All in all, as a genuine Indian, ToucanSam gave Rajun Cajun the thumbs up. Last March I traveled to India but since I studiously avoided eating what real Indians eat, I did not earn the requisite cultural cache to make definitive pronouncements.
The food was good given the healthy portions, relatively low price for Indian fare and especially the fact that this as a fusion Indian/American soul food establishment. I was more than satisfied with my meal though ToucanSam’s saag paneer (a spinach and mustard leaf based curry) won this reviewer’s award for the evening. The real saucy dishes at Rajun Cajun however are the proprietors – ah, the joys of interacting with small business owners that don’t bother to learn occidental notions of customer service. I want to emphasize that this is actually a plus on the Rajun Cajun column.

Friendship, like food, comes in different varieties for different tastes. If you are like me, you choose the spice over the bland and accept the risk of being singed.