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After we hit the mall in DC we invariably stop at Matchbox for some outstanding food. We always try to get there a little after the normal rush times of lunch and dinner. Even so, expect some wait time. We LOVE the 3-6-9 mini burgers . . . brioche buns, angus beef and unreal onion strings, whoa. (3-6-9 is how they come, you can get any multiple of 3) The girls love the mini’s. Pizza is superb, we “create our own” with zesty tomato sauce, mozzarella and basil. Don’t miss the apple/pear salad, it’s fresh and delicious every time. Read more »

Oh God.

Just about every morning I go to Einstein Bros Bagels to get a bagel and the elixir of the Gods commonly known as Diet Coke. I then stroll into Starbucks next door, sit down, eat and read.

Also just about every day I pass 1, sometimes 4 people asking me for money. I try to discern whether these people really need my help or are just attempting to get money for another purpose. I have no way of being sure. Admittedly I use a flawed system of simply looking at said person, euphemistically called “hobos” by my young daughters.

Again, this is a flawed method, but one of the hobos has a cell phone, thus she don’t rate in my mind. The others wear different clothes every day, are super clean and have shoes, good decent shoes. I know, I know, describing people that way is lazy and uninformed. I’m describing the regulars to contrast with the guy I call “The Einstein Man.” I call him that because he has wild grey hair reminiscent of Albert.

I see The Einstein Man every once in a while. He is completely and utterly filthy. He has no shoes, only rags tied around his feet. He talks to himself. He never asks for anything. The few times I’ve see him he’s invariably digging through trash cans looking for food. Man. That does rate in my book.

So, a few weeks ago I buy him a bagel, take it outside to where he was laying down and give it to him. He said, “Thanks.” I felt pretty decent. Read more »

We’re talking about real ice cream here kids. No Slenderita in sight at the University of Maryland Dairy. This is one of our favorite places to get ice cream. We like our ice cream here at The Dad Report. The trouble is the hours of operation make it tough to frequent. Open only Monday through Friday from 10am to 4pm. That’s a tough pull for most working adults.

If you can make it, its definitely worth the effort. Washington Times writer Karen Goff just wrote a nice article on “The Dairy”. I’m really pleased she did because the place is so unknown outside the school. I hope more people will make the effort to go. My favorite flavor is Fear the Turtle. Oooohhhh, white chocolate with caramel and pecan goodness. It is hard to explain how good it is so I won’t try except to say this is creamy ice cream with tons of flavor. Erin always goes for the super flavorful lime sorbet. (I know, sorbet in a great ice cream place) Austen usually tries a different ice cream flavor each time. ALL of it is great.

The Dairy is located right off of Route 1, next to the UMD Visitors Center. There is a small parking lot right there, but pay attention to those 30 minute meters or that $3 ice cream will quickly become extremely expensive.

I have discovered what may be the best flavored pistachios on the planet.

They were sent to me by my pal Uncle Flakey. He buys them at the Berkeley Farmer’s Market in that hotbed of communism, but there is an interesting story behind them.

Ahmad Dalvi is owner of Happy Nuts Farm of Sacramento, and according to my pal he always has the freshest, best tasting almonds and pistachios. While he provides raw and unsalted versions of each, his most popular offerings are flavored pistachios: jalapeno, garlic and onion, mesquite roast, lime-chile, and salsa. Dalvi doesn’t use any pesticides and all his nuts are certified organic. (Berkeley? . . . certified organic nuts? . . . oh nevermind.)

The absolute killer flavor is curry roast. It’s the most difficult to concoct according to Dalvi. For instance, he has to import fermented tofu powder from China. (Miso is a fermented tofu substitute; the real thing is made from tofu buried in the ground in big clay pots until it ferments and is then dried to make the powder.)

But this being Berzerkeley they weren’t always called curry roast; Dalvi, being the international man that he is, originally called them “Oriental Roast.” However, he received so many complaints—never mind that it’s not considered a ethnic slur anywhere but the U.S.—that he changed the name. Oy.  Read more »

Our Sunday mornings in the summer usually start with Einstein Bagels and Starbucks Coffee. Well, actually for me it’s a blueberry muffin and a grande Diet Coke. What? Diet Coke with sweets, uh yeah. In fact, there is nothing better than a stack of pancakes and a DC, more commonly known as the Elixir of The Gods.

Next stop is the Takoma Park Farmers Market. What a fantastic place to take the kids. First of all it is pedestrian friendly. Traffic is closed on the street where the market sets up. Secondly, there are generally lots of samples set out to taste. Apples, peaches, peppers and cheeses are but a few. The farmers who sell at this market can only sell items they produce. You won’t see bananas here. What you will see are many, many diverse types of people. Lastly, it’s just a great place for a lazy stroll to get your Sunday off to a very pleasant start.

We have a favorite farm, Twin Springs Fruit Farm. Twin Springs brings their produce down from Orrtanna, Pa. Right next to them is the guy that we buy our basil plants from in the spring. My girls love to hang out at his stand and smell all the herb plants. Directly across from TSFF is a father-son team that sell the best white corn and later in the year delicious Lima beans. What? Lima beans are good.

In addition to the tastings and sights there are also sounds. The Banjo Man is usually there playing songs for the kids. While they listen, they can also draw on the sidewalk with a rainbow of chalk. Get down there this Sunday and check it out. Here are a few pics from the market, I hope to add some new ones soon. I keep forgetting my camera, ‘doh!

Yeah, that Intervention. That’s where I’m headed if I can’t stop my addiction. I guess I’m halfway to being cured cuz I recognize I have a problem. Big time problem. Damn it though, it feels so good when I do it. It puts me on another plane, I just can’t explain it. I can score just about whenever or wherever. Got my latest fix today in Burtonsville, yesterday, College Park. I find myself justifying reasons to be in certain parts of town.

To look at me you’d have zilch-point-shit idea anything was going on. I look and act normal, for the most part. Forget about the money I’m blowing, I just don’t care. Wasting gas at plus $4 a gallon, who gives a shit. I’ll drive anywhere to get what I need.

It goes something like this:

Me, “Hey baby whassup?”
Connection, “Whassup with you playa?”
Me, “You know, it’s your world I’m just living in it.”
Connection, “Whadya need? . . . got a new ship in, limes are killa yo. Get some reds on, they da bomb . . . blues are . . .”
Me, “Stop it. You know exactly what I want.”
Connection, “Damn, you do need this, you all jumpy an shit.”
Me, “Yeah, yeah whatever, I got a problem, blah, blah, blah, hurry up.”
Connection, “That’ll be . . .”
Me, “I know how much, damn.”

Rinse and repeat. That’s me now. That’s my life 24/7*. It’ll stay like that until the end of the summer when things seem to change. I get a little more rational through fall and winter. Come spring, it starts all over again. That’s when Rita’s opens and I can get my mango ice on once again.

*OK, maybe that was channeling The Wire a bit too much. OK, a lot too much. But, every time I get my mango ice on I do channel Clay Davis, “Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttt.”

Driving down Rockville Pike.

Erin, “Oh, there’s an IHOD.”
Me, “What’s IHOD?”
Erin, “You know, International House Of Diarrhea.”
Me, no reply, still choking.
Erin, “Cuz that’s what I get every time I eat there.”

The First Year of Pre-School: from Yoptown to Diarrheaville

I was so freaked out taking my son to his first day of pre-school this past fall. The only thing keeping me going was the idea that I only had to look after one child for four hours, three days a week. A small fight over what to wear or what to eat seemed a small price to pay for a little freedom. It took us both a few weeks to adjust. I found it just as scary to leave him at school as it was for him to be left. But after a while, we fell into a routine. He had his sand letters and I had peaceful playgroups and watching Teletubbies with my little girl. Read more »

Uh . . . who the ‘eff messed with the beef at Fuddruckers? Or Ruddfuckers as my daughter used to call them. Used to be great hand-formed burgers, but now . . . er . . . looking awfully machined. Went into the Silver Spring branch a few weeks ago, took one bite, threw the whole mess in the trash and walked out. Figured it was just this place, not the whole chain . . . surely. Read more »

Another Holy Grail has been secured, perfect roast chicken. This recipe comes from none other than Ina Garten. We’ve made this gem about a dozen times and it is flawless every single time. The chicken comes out so moist and flavorful it is incredible. Lisa, who has taken over the mantle of “gravy queen” from my dear departed mother, makes gravy from the pan drippings . . . ooohhhh channeling Homer Simpson . . . Within seconds of the platter hitting the table, it’s all over. We generally make it with mashed potatoes and green beans. BTW, if you’re making green beans from a can, throw in one strip of bacon (per can) and then stand back. The recipe calls for four lemons, we use two. We also substitute chicken stock for the white wine. Ina’s roast chicken recipe will become a favorite, guaranteed.