So there I was in a checkout line at Walmart (which I know many of you have an objection to that reaches an almost religious fervor, but let’s leave the discussion of that for some other time, OK?) when I noticed something intriguing about the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. You know all about the brouhaha over the magazines, right, how many stores hide most of the covers, leaving only the logo visible, so cleavage doesn’t offend the unwary?

One example—my local supermarket, which only let me see Zooey Deschanel from the lips up this afternoon.

Walmart, on the other hand, was OK with letting me glimpse Deschanel’s cleavage, as you can see from the U-shaped shield below— (more…)

I’ve been to Bryan Voltaggio’s Volt, his high-end restaurant where Irene and I experienced a seven-course anniversary dinner tasting menu. I’ve also been to Voltaggio’s Family Meal, for which the chef created a menu devoted to comfort food like chicken and biscuits and fried green tomatoes. So I figured it was time I tried out Lunchbox, his attempt at a gourmet sandwich shop.

And since I’d planned to head over to Maryland today to meet with a master tailor who could perfect the fit of those two jackets I first showed off at Chicon7, this seemed like the day for it.

I arrived at exactly 11:30 a.m., right when Lunchbox opened, so I was the first customer of the day. When I entered, I was welcomed enthusiastically, with one of the women behind the counter offering to explain the various sandwiches, since they weren’t your usual Subway grinders. I probably should have let her go ahead, just to see her shtick, but I’d studied the menu at home, and so already had an idea of the sandwiches which most called to me.

The two that seemed the most tempting were “mom’s meatloaf: tamarind ketchup, gruyere, onion marmalade, ciabatta” and the “pork shoulder: ham, pickle, gruyere, pickled cabbage, egg yolk, cilantro-lime, baguette,” though I must admit the “tcb: nutella, bananas, potato bread” looked tempting as well. (See what I mean about Voltaggio trying to put the “gourmet” in sandwich shop?) (more…)

As I told you a couple of weeks ago, I fell so in love with Next restaurant while in Chicago last month that I was unable to resist booking a Kitchen Table for its current Kyoto menu, which only runs until the end of the year.

One reason I wanted the Kitchen Table, which seats six, rather than the other tables for two or four, is that it’s the only table per seating that gets a few extras unavailable to the other diners. (And you know how much I love my amuse bouche.) And while searching on @NextRestaurant over at Twitter—because I’m hungry not just for food, but for learning more about the food which will be satiating that hunger—I discovered that a fellow foodie by the name of MaryMary had tweeted the following photo.

The pic seemed amazing to me, and not just because the duck made me think, “Get in my belly!” No, it was the caption:

“Duck, served out of a 200 year old duck”

I knew that even the settings on which Chefs Achatz and Beran served their food was mind-blowing, but a 200-year-old bowl? Astounding.

Why am I bringing this up to you, especially since most of you will likely never get to enjoy this meal? Because I’d like to hear from you—is it possible for a meal to be spoiled? (And no, I don’t mean that way. I mean the other way.) (more…)

One of my favorite parts of a newspaper is the obituaries page. I love seeing how lives are summed up by friends and family (and sometimes, the deceased themselves), how a lifetime can be condensed into paragraphs. And often, I’m reminded that science fiction is everywhere.

Take this obituary that appeared in yesterday’s Washington Post for Evelyn Offutt, who died on September 2 at age 94. It states that, “Her parents divorced when she was young. Fred, a professional athlete, moved to California and made a new life as an actor.” Note the phrasing, how he didn’t just try to make a new life as an actor, but he actually did make a new life as an actor.

As you can see below, Evelyn Somers led a fascinating life, but the question I was left with after reading that sentence in her obituary was …

… who was this Fred Somers? (For Somers was Evelyn’s maiden name.) Should I have heard of him? Have you? (more…)

On Sunday, September 2, 2012, Adam-Troy Castro, lover of spicy food and author of the Gustav Gloom novels, slipped away from the Chicago Worldcon and traveled to Bricks, where he attempted to eat a painful pizza, which consists of spicy pepperoni, purple onion, fresh jalapeno, garlic, tomato sauce, mozzarella, and lots and !LOTS! of hot sauce.

I was one of his sadistic friends who journeyed to witness (but not to partake in) this act of masochism. But just because you weren’t there, doesn’t mean you have to miss the madness.

Check out Adam’s agony below.

If the poor guy’s pain proves to be too much for you to watch, just skip ahead to 15:50 to learn how it all turns out and see him sum up his ordeal.

When I woke this morning, I found 185 new spam comments intended to go live on my blog which had instead thankfully been caught by my spam folder. That was an unusually large amount of spam to appear over one night.

And what was even more unusual was this—these weren’t just any spam comments, the standard random nonsense filled with embedded links to purveyors of payday loans, male enhancement drugs, and UGG boots. No, these were spam comments that could almost pass a Turing Test … filled with embedded links to purveyors of payday loans, male enhancement drugs and UGG boots.

To see just how close this spam appeared to real comments, check out these two computer-generated comments that were caught before they could appear on separate posts of mine which mentioned Connie Willis:

I’m confused. I bhougt doomsday book’ a few yrs ago; discovered it was part of an unfinished trilogy so decided to wait and not read it. i then bhougt To say nothing of the dog’ and again waited. the inside back cover strongly implied the final part was all clear’. now it seems all clear’ is the second part to blackout’. could someone please explain what belongs to what and if there is then still a third book to come or ???much appreciatedJeff

I’ve been a big Connie Willis fan for years, but there were several asepcts of Blackout/All Clear that I found confusing and dissatisfying. First, why does Mike think he has to fake his death to help Polly and Merope get out? It was not explained, and I can’t think of a good reason. (Maybe I’m just thick.) Second, where and when did Stephen Lang meet Polly prior to 1944? He’s about to tell her when he’s interrupted, and the topic is never revisited, even though enough time is spent on it to make it seem important. Third, who is the unnamed character who appears in the tube station at the end of Blackout? Colin? But I thought he couldn’t get through to that time. Any help clearing up these points would be most welcome.

And look how on target this one seemed that never made it through to litter a post I’d made about the Stoker Awards: (more…)

Those of you who’ve been paying attention know that when I travel to conventions, I hate to eat in hotel restaurants and do my best to track down memorable eating experiences. And since it looks like all of the places I plan to hit during November’s World Fantasy Convention are a distance from the hotel, which is in Richmond Hill, about half an hour outside of downtown Toronto, I’ll be renting a car—the first time I’ve ever done that internationally.

But as you’ll see below, it should be worth it.

The Black Hoof

The #1 restaurant I want to hit during the con is The Black Hoof, which is a cash only, no reservations establishment. But with a menu featuring such delicacies as roasted bone marrow, beef tendon & grits, foie & nutella, and spicy horse tartare, how can you pass it up? Adventurous eaters, please raise your hands if you want to tag along. (more…)

I come before you tonight to admit … I’m letting you down.

While I used to snap hundreds of photos at each science fiction convention I’d attend, now I rarely crack two dozen. Case in point, the recent Chicon7. Though I did have Charlie Jane Anders snap this pic of me and Eileen Gunn aboard the Random House cruise of Lake Michigan. (After which I had Eileen snap a pic of me and Charlie Jane as well.)

Why have I slacked off? Why am I no longer as intent on capturing my friends with pixels?

I can’t be certain, but I’m thinking I may have Twitter to blame, since that’s now the main way I seem to be reporting on cons these days.

It’s far too ephemeral, though, so I’m going to try to remember to do both next time around. Check back during and after the World Fantasy Convention in Toronto and find out if I stayed true to my word.

In any case, head over to Flickr if you want to see what few pics I did manage to snap.

When I’m at home, I tend to eat rather spartanly, but when I travel the convention circuit, I like to make each meal matter. I do my best to avoid remaining in a hotel for a meal, or getting anywhere near a chain, unless my dining companions demand it, and aim for unique eating experiences representative of the particular city I happen to be in. Which is why I’m so often relying on the advice of people like Man v. Food‘s Adam Richman (who led me to my favorite hamburger ever—The Thurman Burger at the Thurman Cafe in Columbus) or on Yelp reviews (such as the ones that got me to Sugar Ray’s Bakery in St Petersburg).

Chicago, which hosted the 70th World Science Fiction two weeks ago, was going to be a bit more challenging than my usual gastronomic adventures, because the two restaurants I most wanted to visit—Next and Alinea, co-owned by three-star Michelin chef Grant Achatz (though of course co-owner Nick Kokonas and chef Dave Beran also deserve kudos)—don’t take reservations.

And by not taking reservations, I don’t mean they’re the kinds of places you walk up to and stand in a long line to get seated. I mean that in order to get in, you need to buy a ticket, the same way you would to the theater or a rock concert.

Why would a restaurant do such a thing? Because apparently, demand was so great that when Alinea would announce a particular month’s block of tables was available for reservations, the calls would crash their Chicago area code, the tables would fill within the hour, and they needed a full-time staff whose only job was to say, “No, sorry, we’re booked.” And at one point Next had 19,000 diners on its waiting list.

To quote Alinea:

Alinea has 3 people answering phones six days per week answering hundreds more phone calls than we have reservations available. It is a disappointing and frustrating process for our customers and staff alike.

And as for what Next has to say:

Unlike an a la carte restaurant with many walk-in customers and dozens of menu items, Next is creating a truly unique dining experience and doing so at an amazing price. By eliminating no-shows, requiring pre-payment, and varying the price by time and day we are able to create a predictable and steady flow of patrons allowing us to offer a great deal more than would otherwise be possible at these prices.

So—tickets, a concept which frees up the staff to do what it does best, create mind-blowing meals.

If you’ve never heard of either of these restaurants, you’re probably wondering why there’d be such a demand. There are two very different reasons. (more…)

As those of you who’ve been following me on Twitter and Facebook already know, I was diagnosed with Shingles on Friday, after having had sore muscles since Monday and a rash since Wednesday. I’ve been taking the antiviral medication Famciclovir since Friday afternoon, but that hasn’t stopped me from feeling … like this.

Well, absent the blood and the alien creature eating its way out through my stomach.

Still, what I have been feeling is a strange abdominal pain unlike any I’ve ever felt before, as if a fist is opening and closing inside me, with muscles cramping and spasming and uncramping and warring against each other in ways they never have before. So much so that I occasionally peer down and wonder what the heck is going on in there.

Several female friends have reported to me that their Shingles pain was so great it exceeded the pain of childbirth, and I am so not looking forward to my case developing in that direction. From what I’ve read, the fact I started on meds within three days of the first appearance of the rash means I’ve got a good shot at it not progressing that far, though my doctor’s anecdote that the only time he ever saw his grandfather cry was from Shingles doesn’t give me that warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Only a feeling of something trying to chew itself out.

Wish me luck!