The Hills are Alive with a Mound of Boar Ribs

Let's go all the wayFrom the comments to yesterday’s posting, I see I am not alone in my idle-hands thoughts about putting things in Keira Knightley‘s mouth. And here I thought I was the only one. Next you’ll be telling me I’m not the only one who gets all exercised about Rosanna Arquette. Oh yeah? Well, I saw her first.

After yesterday’s wade in the bad dregs of content-writing, today let me point you, mutatis mutandis, to an upside: via Caren Lissner, here’s Lobstergirl‘s terrific Y2K review of The Sound of Music. It’s a great piece, notable not only for the phrase “fulsome dirndls” but also for this spectacular sentence summing up her affection for the film:

It reinforces everything I hold dear: large singing families, marionnettes, Austrian nationalism, and Christopher Plummer in that snug-fitting suit.

Yes, yes. And more. Read it, at leisure (it’s short) and for pleasure. Fulsome dirndls. Wish I’d said that. Sooner or later, I probably will.

I realize that Captain Von Trapp is just a little man inside my TV and he won’t be stepping out into my living room so I can eat strudel off his stomach, but I swallow my sobs on that one and try to face reality.

Speaking of things that might go into Keira Knightley’s mouth, I swarmed in for dinner at the Waterfront Ale House last night. The Waterfront is a nexus of goodness and a frequent hang, conveniently located about 90 seconds at a slow crawl from Pepper Central. If you were to illustrate my life in some sort of graph, The Waterfront would fall pretty much opposite The Gym. On one side, life’s finest joys. On the other, the cross-trainer. Crime and Punishment. Sunrise and sunset. The grasshopper and the ant. Captain Kirk and General Chang. Mel Gibson, and a real director. The eternal dualities.

Sam Barbieri, Brooklyn’s finest publican, was there warming the season and keeping the custom happy, which is always great fun. Last month, in a blur of Thanksgiving welcome, Sam conjured bottles of 1997 Hürlimann Samichlaus and a 1994 Sierra Nevada Bigfoot to ensure that Pierre and I didn’t survive dinner intact. Last night the specials menu heartily featured BBQ Wild Boar Ribs. Let me say that again: Barbecue. Wild. Boar. Ribs.

Keira, sweetie, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Midway through the meal I’m slathered in sauce up to my elbows and I’ve got a special-effect slasher-pic mottle gobbed on my cheeks and beard. Like William Hurt in Altered States, I’m happily regressed to a state of natural anarchy: got my ribs, got my sauce, got my fermented grains, it’s all good. Sam leans over, beaming. “Wild enough for you?”

Things you should try at the Waterfront:

  • Anything that says “Wild Boar”
  • Anything that says “Barbecue”
  • A splash of Sam’s Serious Egg Nog
  • A shot of Sam’s Grandma’s Apple Pie vodka concoction
  • The various specialty Game Burgers – ostrich, buffalo, sometimes you’ll find a Kobe Beef burger in there as well
  • Sam’s homemade Hot Sauce, made from Upstate New York peppers — and especially the small-batch single-barrel hot sauce, conditioned in whisky casks

Vintage beers in Brooklyn:

About Linus

The man behind the curtain. But couldn't we get a nicer curtain?
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