DAVID KOUVEK'S OWN ADVENTURES IN GOOD EATING

Unlike Duncan Hines, America’s well-known twentieth century gourmet, who used to roam about the country in search of exotic tastes, this writer is just a fellow who has traveled a fair bit, thus having had frequent opportunity to drop in for a bite after a hard day’s journeying and sight-gasping. Furthermore, we won’t be citing the most renowned hash houses throughout the globe, but only those where memories of a delightful repast or two has been immensely enjoyed. For example, we’ve never been to Maxim’s in Paris, Amsterdam’s Five Flies, or Antoine’s, down New Orleans way. Actually, a few of our chosen eating spots are small-sized, removed some distance from the fast-track tourist areas, and never prominently displayed in the brochures.

Unfortunately, this article can hardly be usable as a guide to would-be travelers/diners. Many of our choicer beaneries may well have either ceased to exist, declined in quality, or been converted to airline ticket offices, since long years have passed since we last visited the cities mentioned. It’s simply that the recollections refuse to fade from memory.

Unhappily, the identities of a certain select few have been irretrievably forgotten. Among others are the delightful spot in Vienna which served a marvelous black forest cake for dessert, and the Michigan ski area emporium where, if you ordered a steak, they’d throw away the horns and the tail before bringing you the rest.

Anyway, our list of the fifteen most memorable appears below, alphabetically by city.

BANGKOK, THAILAND – DUX
As pleasant a spot to visit for lunch as we've found anywhere in the entire world. Not only was the food excellent, but a person could hardly tire of the unusual decor -- miniature duck figures large, medium, and small by the dozens, viewable both within the dining area and the outdoor garden, visible to all patrons, hence the establishment's chosen name. We must sadly report, however, that for undetermined reasons, the owner closed this delightful eatery a few years ago. Having since moved away from Thailand, we can't be certain if he reopened elsewhere or not. In either case, the memory of our favorite noontime restaurant will remain with us always.

BRUSSELS, BELGIUM – LE BERLAIMONT
Located just opposite the Common Market Building, in our opinion, no better steak house exists worldwide. The smallish place used to be run by a gracious middle-aged lady, who served as maitresse d’, bartender, and lone waitress all by herself. The menu selection proved bountiful. The sole drawback was the cigarette smoke drifting over in cloudlike formation from the bar adjacent to the dining room. Perhaps that has since been rectified by law. This place caters chiefly to locals, so if the owner is still on hand doing her multiple chores, we recommend taking along a friend who speaks either French or German, unless you happen to be skilled at ordering in sign language.

CHIANG MAI, THAILAND - BRUNO'S
The native Swiss proprietor offers a most delightful atmosphere, coupled with superb food and an impressive wine list. As in other cases we cite here, a meal at Bruno's will be long remembered.

CHIANG MAI, THAILAND – THE WESTIN HOTEL DINING ROOM
The Westin offers the most prolifically-laid out buffet we’ve ever seen in the whole world. A meal there is an adventure unto itself. This particular city lies an hour north of Bangkok by air.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS – GEORGE DIAMOND’S STEAK HOUSE
This city has as vast an array of superb beaneries as one might find anywhere, including New York City. To us, however, George Diamond’s remains the most recallable. The management very wisely kept the dining area small enough to be well occupied throughout any mealtime period. As a result, most patrons would be required to first wait at the bar, but with tables becoming miraculously available just as the second cocktail had been poured. This surely helped boost a day’s profit. The steaks were excellent, and the house adamantly refused to bring catsup or any other condiment which would compromise the meat’s taste. You either ate it as broiled or went hungry.

CLEVELAND, OHIO - CAVOLI'S
Without a doubt, the best eating spot in all of the city's west side. Although the bill-of-fare selections are varied and plentiful, our personal suggestion is to go for one of the Italian specialties.

CLEVELAND, OHIO – MAX GRUBER’S
Max used to run the best restaurant in Cleveland, and hopefully his heirs still do so. Be sure to order sauer kraut balls as an appetizer. Beyond that, whatever you choose off the menu will be tops.

CLEVELAND, OHIO – THE THEATRICAL GRILL
Located in the heart of Cleveland’s business district, this delightful watering hole and eatery used to be owned by Morris “Mushy” Wexler, alleged to have a few underworld connections. However, who cared? In addition to excellent food, and bartenders you felt you’d known for twenty years, there was high-level musical entertainment every evening.

CINCINNATI, OHIO – TED KLUSZEWSKI’S
Although the writer had learned to shun eateries owned by former athletes, this turned out to be a definite exception (Jack Dempsey’s in New York being another, but not outstanding enough to make our list). Aside from the steaks offerable at Brussels’ Le Berliamont, Ted’s emporium served the best one we’ve ever demolished. The ex-home run hitting first baseman has since left us, but we hope the restaurant remains, with the output just as exemplary.

COLUMBUS, OHIO – THE JAI ALAI
Not the most highly publicized dining spot in town, but decidedly preferable to any other, the Jai Alai used to feature the old-fashioned free lunch table(well, everything cost a nickel then) from bygone days. Over and above that, the regular meals served were first rate.

GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN – SCOTTIE’S
This spot had delightful atmosphere, excellent service, and the best food ever recalled in the state of Michigan. Run by a gentleman, who tended the bar, and his wife, who seated you, it was limited in space, but great in all other respects.

JACKSON, MICHIGAN – BILL CONE’S
In an area known for its multiple buffet-style locations, Bill’s always seemed to stand about all the rest, including the more renowned Win Schuler establishments. Perhaps the marvelous service had much to do with it. In addition, nobody ever left after a meal there still feeling the slightest bit hungry.

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – LAWRY’S THE PRIME RIB
Run by the makers of Lawry’s Salt for meat-flavor enhancement, this restaurant rates among the most unique in our memory, the reason being that it offered a single entrée only. The waitress would hand you no menu, but merely ask how you would like your prime rib of beef cooked – from rare up to well done. You’d never regret having been there, unless you happened to be a sworn vegetarian. The place would also catch the interest of the movie-star gawking types, because they’d be apt to see a few at other tables.

NEW YORK CITY – KEEN’S ENGLISH CHOP HOUSE
Keen’s may be more famous for its key atmospheric feature than its bill-of-fare, but you’re still bound to find the English mutton chop specialty quite satisfying. The big extra is the ability to enjoy a relaxing smoke on your private old-fashioned clay pipe following the meal. We dare not go back, though, having licked the tobacco habit long ago.

NEW YORK CITY – MAMA LEONIE’S
True, Gotham has many more fantastically-arrayed bistros than Leonie’s, but what remains most vividly in memory is the wide range of tasty food served, usually as supplements to the meal as ordered. This spot merits patronization for the culinary variety alone.

PARIS, FRANCE – LE TOKIANA
Most likely, few readers have ever been to this location, or even heard the name mentioned. Strictly a family eating place, and tucked away in a remote city neighborhood, even the taxi driver may have trouble finding it. If you do succeed in getting there, you won’t forget the meal. Make certain to order crepes flambees at dessert time, even if you’re already stuffed to the gills. The restaurant’s limited publicity stresses that it offers Basque food, whatever message that conveys.

ROME, ITALY – HARRY’S BAR
This very fine restaurant mustn’t be confused with the famous Paris bar bearing the same name, and occupied liberally by ladies of the night at any time. Our Harry’s lies at the very end of Rome’s widely-known Via Veneto, just before the entrance to the Villa Borghese, a public park. Perhaps the memory of a wonderful dinner was amplified by our charming guest companion.

WHAT'S PLAYING AT THE MOVIES TONIGHT, DEAR?

(A Domestic Drama in One Act)

Dramatis Personae:
Sam Evening, a husband home after a hard day’s work
Janet Evening, his wife, who had a tiring afternoon of bridge with her friends

The Setting:
Their living room, just following dinner

(Curtain)
Sam: What’s playing at the movies tonight, Dear?
Janet: (Turning newspaper pages) Hmm, let’s see ….. well, the Detroit has Gilda.
Sam: Who’s in it?
Janet: Gwyllyn Samuel Newton Ford and Margarita Carmen Cansino.
Sam: Seen it. What else?
Janet: The Graduate is on at the Hilliard Square. That’s the one where Anna Maria Luisa
Italiano seduces that young fellow just out of …..
Sam: Naw, too much sex. How about the Granada?
Janet: Aha! That exciting chariot race film, Ben Hur, with John Charles Carter.
Sam: Don’t like movies about horses. What else?
Janet: The Lincoln has a double feature. The first is Gone with the Wind. Remember, Vivian
Mary Hartley won an Oscar as …..
Sam: About the Civil War? Fooey. What’s the second one?
Janet: A horror film, the Son of Frankenstein. It has Philip St. John Rathbone, with William
Henry Platt as the monster.
Sam: Who plays Igor?
Janet: Umm ….. Bela Ferenc Dezso Blasko.
Sam: Naah, no frightening shows for me tonight. Anything else?
Janet: At the Lucier it’s Pillow Talk, a husband-wife comedy, with Roy Harold Scherer Jr. and
Doris Mary Ann Von Kappelhoff. Sounds good. What do you say we …..
Sam: Not tonight. Is there anything with a lot of dancing?
Janet: You bet. We can go to the Beach Cliff and watch Frederick Austerlitz and Virginia
Katherine McMath in …..
Sam: Never mind that. Try some of the downtown theaters.
Janet: Aah ….. at the Palace they have a cowboy flick starring Marion Michael Morrison, and the
State is featuring West Side Story, with Natalia Nikolaerna Zakharenko as the girl who
tragically gets shot …..
Sam: Doesn’t sound so hot to me. Try the Stillman.
Janet: They have that film about the criminal running around the Casbah to avoid the cops, but
falling for his girl friend, and …..
Sam: Who plays the female role?
Janet: That Austrian beauty, Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler.
Sam: Aw, I was hoping you’d say Greta Lovita Gustafsson. I liked her. Do you see her name
anywhere?
Janet: No. Sorry, but we might try the Hippodrome.
Sam: What’s there?
Janet: Psycho, where Jeanette Helen Morrison is stabbed to death in the shower.
Sam: Too gruesome. How about the Allen?
Janet: Oh, this looks pretty good. Love Is a Many Splendored Thing, with William Franklin
Beedle Jr. and Phyllis Lee Isley.
Sam: Too slushy for me. Let’s stay home. Look at the TV schedule.
Janet: (Turning more pages) Well, for the old movies, there’s Bernard Schwartz in the Boston
Strangler.
Sam: Hey! Knock it off with the violence!
Janet: Well, a slightly more toned down one could be I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang.
Sam: Who played in that?
Janet: A very fine method actor, named Meshilem Meier Weisenfreud.
Sam: Maybe. Still, I don’t go for prison movies that much. Any variety shows on? Singers and
stuff?
Janet: We can see that comedy piano player, Borge Rosenbaum ….. or the girl who had such hits
as Tennessee Waltz and Mockingbird Hill.
Sam: What’s her name?
Janet: Clara Ann Fowler.
Sam: How about old Lucy Shows?
Janet: Yes, at ten o’clock, starring Dianne Belmont, as always. Then, at eleven is a rerun of
Maverick, with James Scott Baumgarner, or else the Aaron Chwatt Show. You
remember, don’t you, the comedian who used to sing Strange Things Are Happening and
the Ho-Ho Song?
Sam: No.
Janet: All right, then, if you want to stay up until three AM, we’ll be able to see the old movie
My Fair Lady.
Sam: Who’s in that? I forget.
Janet: Reginald Carey Henderson as Professor Higgins and Audrey Kathleen Ruston as Eliza
Doolittle.
Sam: That sounds too corny. (Yawn) Guess I’d better hit the sack early. Big day tomorrow.
(Janet folds paper and sits back in her chair as the curtain falls)

PUBLIC OPINION POLLS: WHO EVER INVENTED SUCH NONSENSE?

Perhaps the most fitting quote we’ve ever heard regarding public opinion polls was offered years ago by comedy writer Goodman Ace, when he remarked that “Everybody pays attention to them, from the lowest ranked office boy in any business firm all the way up to Thomas E. Dewey, President of the United States”.

The astute Mr. Ace seemed to capture the very gist of the pollster universe in a nutshell with that simple observation.

For those too young to expressly remember the reason underlying such comment, the Gallup, Roper, and whatever other poll services did their thing back during the 1948 presidential campaigns, kept pumping out periodic findings, with barely a variation from start to finish. The consistent prediction was that mudslinging champion Dewey would thump Harry Truman by a significant margin.

It goes without saying that we were all extremely surprised when election day evening rolled around, and we could see a victorious Truman beaming before the camera, as he held up an anticipatorily optimistic Chicago Tribune issue proclaiming DEWEY ELECTED. The paper’s editors had obviously considered the poll results equivalent to the Gospel of St. What’s-his-name. What’s more, bookies across the country were quick to admit they had not only lost their shirts, but their undershirts as well.

The ill-fated 1948 polls, however, were not the most climactically erroneous in history. During the early 1930s, a well-respected magazine called the Literary Digest, which had existed since 1890, rolled off the presses at Funk & Wagnalls every week. Current opinion articles and news analysis formed the heart of its coverage.

Then came 1936, a presidential election year. Five candidates had reached the final showdown, but the only possible winners were Republican Governor Alfred M. Landon of Kansas and the incumbent Oval Office occupant Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt. No doubt as a means for attracting greater reader interest, the Literary Digest conducted an ongoing poll to predict the November winner.

Being nowhere nearly as sophisticated or objective as our 21st century canvassing wizards, the magazine solicited its prospective voter preferences from the following sources only:
1. Their own readers, which consisted of the better-off incomewise, since the country was
enveloped in a deep depression, making erudite publications less than affordable to the
majority.
2. Automobile owners, at the time another group whose membership was limited to the higher
earners.
3. Telephone service subscribers, whose capability of having their homes adorned with such
gadgetry amounted to nothing less than a virtual luxury.

This naively-administered poll assured an overwhelming landslide victory for Governor Landon. The magazine folk had completely ignored the countless downtrodden citizens, whose sympathies consequently lay with FDR.

When the votes had all been counted, the tally came out Roosevelt 46 states, Landon 2. Never again has a supposedly well-conceived poll been so far off the mark. Needless to say, the Literary Digest ceased to be published shortly thereafter. Who in blazes would want to read a magazine that had exhibited such utter stupidity?

With that long since under our belts, we now jump to the present day. To express our current feelings in a couple sentences, we find ourselves up to our so-called arsses with one poll after another being waged on this subject or that. Frankly, we object to being inundated day after day with pronouncements over almost every politically-related or nearly so issue under the sun.

In fact, this writer’s former steady habit of watching CNN on the boob tube has been abruptly stopped, as if its airwaves emitted bubonic plague. We don’t wish to hear the results of polls, polls, and more polls ad nauseam any further.

The majority of today’s public opinion surveyors have likely attained optimum sophistication in their methods. Still, we believe some may be dishing out questionnaires rather slanted at times. Straightforward or otherwise, though, we’re mighty fed up with the whole lot.

Our longstanding and ever continuing preference is to deal solely with established facts, not shady suppositions.

THE GOP

Based on the Republican Party’s traditional behavior patterns, we’ve finally been able to figure out what those three code letters stand for: GREED, OBSTRUCTIONISM, PROCRASTINATION.

HOLLYWOOD'S WAY: TELL IT LIKE IT WASN'T

Although a confessed movie buff from way back, this writer has found ample reason for shying away from any contemporary or future films of a biographical or historical nature. When the facts surrounding a particular event or an individual’s characterization often become flagrantly twisted merely for added audience enjoyment purposes, our rebellious outlook springs to life. Over the years, we’ve watched a good many Hollywood productions which have contained either major or less significant distortions, usually sufficient to convince us we should have better stayed at home and read a book.

We’ve picked out a dozen examples where Hollywood’s penchant for deviating from realism or reality remains indelibly in mind as deplorable misstatements and misrepresentations, where people or situations are involved. There are obviously many more, but it’s the principle involved, not the overwhelming volume of script falsifications, that we’ve chosen to focus upon.

MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY (1935 and 1962)
Captain William Bligh was not a downright schmuck who inflicted harsh and unjust punishments to crew members, apparently for sadistic personal satisfaction. His true character lay on the reserved side, with fairness often guiding his judgment. Although the causes leading to the legendary mutiny still aren’t fully clear, they certainly didn’t arise from his abject cruelty.

KNUTE ROCKNE, ALL-AMERICAN (1940)
This case may be relatively minor, but it stands as an unmitigated insult to one of America’s most revered football coaches, to portray how he decided to alter his team’s backfield coordination strategy after watching chorus girls dance in unison at a night club floor show.

PRIDE OF THE YANKEES (1942)
The immortal Lou Gehrig decidedly did not precede his first ever trip to the plate by clumsily falling over a row of baseball bats lying outside the dugout, nor did the crowd’s uproarious laughter then quickly subside, allowing his eventual missus to loudly cry “Tanglefoot!” from the front row. Yish!

TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY (1946)
This film gives the viewer the distinct impression that Jerome Kern handled the full composition effort, i.e. both words and music, for his countless songs. Credit due to Oscar Hammerstein II and other affiliated lyricists received the absolutely scantest mention. We deem this grossly unfair, especially considering the marvelous talents of those people summarily overlooked.

WORDS AND MUSIC (1948)
As a homosexual, Lorenz Hart could have hardly spent his entire career mooning over a girl who spurned him from the outset. Additionally, the scene with Mickey Rooney (as Hart) and Judy Garland (as herself) singing a number together at a party is completely anachronistic, she having been only a little girl in real life at the time of the film’s setting.

THE STRATTON STORY (1949)
Monty Stratton pitched effectively for a few seasons with the Chicago White Sox, but gained only limited status, not the league-shattering prominence the film depicted, up until his tragic leg loss in a hunting mishap. He tried returning to play with an artificial limb in sandlot games, but never one so important as an all-star event, according to the fabricated script.

THE WINNING TEAM (1952)
Ronald Reagan portrayed National League pitcher Grover Cleveland Alexander as a man who received his inspiration for striking out opposing batters just by seeing his wife’s face in the stands. This has to be the most ridiculous giggle in any sport movie ever turned out. As a moundsman of the highest caliber, but encumbered with a personal problem, his hang-up had nothing to do with the need for affectionate looks. He was a lush of the first order, said on occasions to head straight to the ball park following an extended drunken binge.

THE BENNY GOODMAN STORY (1956)
Perhaps the real Benny did possess an innate shyness which delayed proposing marriage to his first wife, as the plot went. However, the scene where he finally pops the question by playing his clarinet and looking out at his lady friend seated in the Carnegie Hall audience wins the all-time preposterousness prize. How silly can those Hollywood folk get?

SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME (1956)
Rocky Graziano was a lowdown street-brawling hoodlum, who could barely control himself, often resorting to his fists when slightly disgruntled, thus leading to continuous trouble. The affable and readily likable Paul Newman should never have been cast in the lead role.

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI (1957)
Beyond question, this ranks among the finest movies ever produced. The misleading aspect is that British commandos never did sneak up and blow the bridge to smithereens. Factually speaking, it remains standing and in use today, far more sturdily constructed than the film showed.

FUNNY GIRL (1968)
Fanny Brice’s husband (the second of three in real life, not the first of two) Nicky Arnstein may not have had an honest or decent bone in his entire body, being an out-and-out swindler. The boys certainly cleaned up the character for Omar Sharif’s impressive nice upstanding chap performance.

GABLE AND LOMBARD (1976)
This production has to stand high among filmdom’s stinkeroos from the distortion angle. For openers, Carole Lombard did play several successful comedic lead roles in the 1930s, but never once reigned as undisputed queen of the cinema, as they would have us believe. Moreover, the supposed paternity suit filed against Clark Gable was totally fictitious, having been lifted instead from actual cases involving Errol Flynn and Charlie Chaplin during that era.

CLOSING COMMENT
What else can we say except oh, boy?

A FEW THOUGHTS ON POUNDAGE AND ROTUNDITY

Not long ago, one of our blog entries suggested that it might be an excellent idea if obesity were considered a misdemeanor, punishable by fine or imprisonment. We have to admit that’s stretching the issue a bit far. Nevertheless, what more revolting sight is there than a woman out in public carrying enough bulk to qualify her as a potential defensive tackle for the Green Bay Packers?

In fact, “her” isn’t the correct pronoun. Based on observations whenever we go out seemingly anywhere, it’s a case of “them” instead. Lardbutt types keep showing up in droves these days.

Still, we mustn’t just point the finger at overly fleshed-out females. A man sporting a prominent lower gut is almost equally regurgitating to view. We honestly fail to understand how an obese member of either sex can stand before a mirror without feeling utterly disgusted at the image.

Speaking of sex, now that we’ve used it in context, that leads to another element. Becoming so aroused is clearly a natural inclination, especially upon seeing a slim, trim lass, or else a gentleman whose build somewhat resembles that of a Greek god. On the other hand, we’d believe it extremely difficult for one’s libido to register any charge at all over an opposite gender’s figure which amounts to a mass of sheer fat, clothed or otherwise. Maybe our present-day prevalence of extra-marital activity has been furthered to a certain extent for this reason.

On the numerous occasions when we are so unfortunate as to spot a gentleman with an obvious ultra-protuberance in the abdominal area, our standard private comment is “I hope it’s a boy”. Maybe we’d accomplish something by walking up to the fellow and thus advising him, but that could be deemed too much of a direct insult, albeit deserved.

During our schooldays long ago, a certain male classmate is recalled as having stated almost passionately that he could never resist peanut butter. Upon recently seeing an up-to-date photo of the fellow, hence at a much more advanced age, we realized in an instant that his uncontrollable taste for such edible commodity had obviously never abated, as determinable by how his lower t-shirt area bulged outward.

Having let it all hang out, so to speak, we now feel obliged to recommend what punitive steps might be desirable regarding that abundant array of folk who are so thoroughly frightful to observe, and for which the fault rests almost exclusively with themselves.

We would strongly urge, at the very least, that such overly-padded members of either sex be required to remain at home and inside for, let’s say, 144 hours each week, with exit permission only during the other 24. In addition, we’d love to see legislation subjecting them to fines of up to perhaps $2,000 for ever appearing at public beaches or pools in swimming attire.

WINCHELL WAS AHEAD OF HIS TIME

In those late 1940s and early 1950s days, with postwar inflation beginning to take its firm hold, a person soon came to realize that a single dollar could no longer buy a candy bar, a pack of chewing gum, a pay telephone call, a cup of coffee, a couple donuts, a trolley car or bus ride, admission for two to a movie theater, and a hot fudge sundae for your girl friend after the show. On a particular evening, we heard the famed, yet not exactly lovable columnist and radio commentator Walter Winchell voice a contemporary era joke over the airways.

The semi-grim witticism featured the proverbial fellow asking his friend “Hey, did you hear the government is going to stop making one dollar bills?”, to which his compatriot typically answered “Why?”
Then came the first speaker with “What good are they?”

Although Walter’s point wasn’t quite that true at the time, more than a half-century has since gone by, and the joke’s underlying principle has not only remained, but expanded considerably.

Today, we fail to understand why the U.S. Mint continues producing coins below a quarter. By updating Winchell’s punch line, we sincerely ask why waste time, effort, and needed government expenditure churning out pennies, nickels, and dimes? What on earth can a person buy today with any such chunk of metal? The price of smaller value items could easily be rounded up a mite to arrive at the nearest twenty-five cent piece multiple as appropriate, and the consumer would barely notice or probably not even care.

In these days of world economic crisis brought on by our Republican masterminds when they were calling the shots, we believe our idea has merit.