Foodie Booty

If it is in fact true that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then I am hopelessly in love with Memphis. My belly will vouch for that statement.

Last summer, there was a large gathering of Faris people (I'm not a fan of the plural form, NT Christians start thinking they are more funny than they are) in Colorado for a reunion of sorts. The first thing my grandfather said when he saw me was, "You've gotten fatter."

Thanks, man. My brain almost exploded thinking of the possible responses I could give - covering the spectrum from petulant crying fit to over-the-top crass - but perhaps I would have done well just to say, "I live in Memphis, what do you expect?"

In pirate terms, Memphis is teeming with culinary booty. Jokes about Memphis topping the "America's Fattest City" list aside, I am going to get a lot of miles out of this pun, don't worry. In fact, Memphis has so much booty (see?), I'm inclined to keep a record of it.

My most recent inspiration for blogging about food comes from a few sources. The first is cable TV. Or, more specifically, two shows: Iron Chef America and Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. If you've watched either, then I need not type anything else. If you haven't seen those shows, then I need not talk to you anymore.

The second source was a recent meal I shared with my wife of three years on our anniversary. We had several requirements for our special meal. We wanted to have some money after it was over (but not too much). So CiCi's was out, as was Pasta Italia (those are the outliers). We want a unique experience in a romantic setting - down goes Applebee's! That pretty much left Paulette's.

Now, I've never met Paulette. If I did, I think I'd shake her hand and say, "Thanks for the good food," but, we probably wouldn't be best friends. Paulette probably lives in Germantown, drives 35 on Poplar, and has three grandkids with multiple 3-syllable names each. On the other hand, she could invite me over for dinner anytime. Paulette's has the setting down pretty nice. Overton Square is the place, after all, for good food with a dash of local charm. Being Memphis, sometimes that charm has a little less... sophisticated luxury than other more established joints in cities that have older money than Memphis (I'm looking at you Nashville). In other words, if you're wearing black pants, they'll give you a black napkin at Paulette's, but it won't be silk, which is great by me. Like Memphis, this place might be somehwat pretentious, but in the end, it's not going to try that hard.

In fact, I'd say it's just pretentious enough to offer really good food without having to pronounce words you've never seen before. The Faris rule of thumb these days is "always split," which can put more pressure on the meal. Let's just say Paulette handled the pressure to the tune of a medium-cooked filet mignon topped with a gorgonzola cheese and red wine demi-glace. That meal sings. Add to that the roasted garlic whipped potatoes (because the French aren't the mashing type) and the popovers with strawberry butter that came before the meal, and you have yourself a symphony of flavors that does not dissappoint.

In short, a meal that good gives Paulette's a place in the discussion of local Memphis culinary treasure. For me, it's not where everyone knows your name and it probably shouldn't be, but for the occassional special event, Paulette's will not disappoint. In short, it's foodie booty.

So from now on, you can look forward to the occasional post about foodie booty. Also, I'm neither fat nor fatTER. But you, Gramps, look great.

The Napkin Loaf

What do you call the package of napkins? Besides the package of napkins, because who wants to say that? Put me on the record as voting for the napkin loaf. It's important to keep it singular. No one says, "loaf of breads" and I don't think I need anything else besides that to support my argument. In fact, I think this is something even Obama and Rush can agree on.

When you think about it, the napkin loaf and the bread loaf have a lot in common. Both are packaged in such a way so that once you open the package, irreparable damage has been done. You can't reseal the bread the way it was when you bought it, and you basically have to tear the napkin package to get them out.

Both are at the bedrock of a good meal. What is a meal without bread or napkin? How else can you eat the thin layer of chili left in the bowl except with bread? How else can you wipe up the thick layer of chili on your pants except with your napkin? I can't tell you how many times I've sat down to a meal and thought, "Man, we need some rolls" and then stuck some in the oven to complete a plated filet mignon sprinkled with Gorgonzola cheese and a red wine demi glaze with whipped garlic potatoes. I can't tell you because I don't keep track of these things, but it's happened a lot. I also can't tell you how many times I've sat down after putting some nice Sister Schubes on the plate with said filet and thought, "Man, where's my napkin slice?"

Likewise, both are unappreciated on the ends. Is there a more hated part of a piece of good food than the heels on a loaf of bread? I'd rather eat the bottom half of a muffin than the butt of the bread loaf. I'd rather eat a half sandwich or a piece of toast for lunch than make a whole sandwich with one of the slices be the heel. If bread heels were money and I worked in or at a trash dump, I'd be rich because I'm pretty sure the proper etiquette for throwing away the packaging after finishing a loaf of bread is to make sure the heels are still in the bag and then putting the bag in the trash can.

At the same time, what's going on with the heel of the napkin loaf? Who decided that in order to wrap the napkin loaf properly it is necessary to glue the napkins on either end of the loaf to the packaging? And who are we to decide that those napkins are a lost cause? "No," we decide" this napkin, whose very purpose is to clean up my mess, is not even worth wiping the dirty chili stain from my mouth." That doesn't make sense to me. Somehow, this napkin is too wrinkled for me to get it dirty... wiping up this dog vomit from the floor (note to self: do not start by taking the dog on a one-mile run in 80-degree weather - we build up to that).

I wish I could say the connection is that I wrote this blog post on the back of the heel of a napkin loaf, but I can't - mostly because how do you determine which is the front and which is the back when both sides look the same? No, instead, I think the connection is that lately, I've used this blog kind of like how most of us use the heel of a loaf of napkin/bread. That is, not at all. Sorry about that. On the bright side, you get this post rather than me writing about how I took Moses for a run lately and he threw up on the floor twice after that and then posting pictures of it. (read: I'm back. You're welcome.)