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5 matchs for honda:
5 matchs for honda:
((village voice))
Counter Culture
Surfing Bay Ridge at Asmak Taama with Gibby Haynes
Matching fish with rock stars in Bay Ridge
By Robert Sietsema
Tuesday, January 13th 2009 at 3:32pm
Cook like an Egyptian
Asmak Taama
413 Bay Ridge Avenue, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, 718-921-3200
My guests, on a last visit to Asmak Taama, included Butthole Surfers frontman Gibson "Gibby" Haynes and legendary Rolling Stones scribe Reverend Charles M. Young. Six of us found ourselves wedged into Scooter's compact hybrid—Gibby's wife, Missy, sprawled across his lap—bombing down Third Avenue in the night shadow of the Gowanus Expressway. Anticipating seafood, I was flashing over the Surfers' "Pepper" video, in which a woman with a bouffant hairdo scales a fish with a ferocious cleaver, all the while smiling into the camera. You keep expecting a finger to fly in your direction.
Our destination was one of the new Egyptian fish-market cafés in Bay Ridge, where you can view the raw catch glistening in the window, then step inside and devour it. With difficulty, we extracted ourselves from the blue Honda and burst into the pink interior of the restaurant. On the monitor overhead, 100 violinists dressed in white tuxedos accompanied a gentleman tinkling on a white piano—hey, I want Egyptian TV in my apartment! In fact, the proprietors of Asmak Taama ("Tasty Fish" in Arabic) hail from Alexandria, a port on the Mediterranean famous for its seafood cafés.
After we'd settled down at one of the long tables, I rendezvoused with our proprietress at the fish display and mulled over the selection. Arranged cheek-by-jowl, the fresh fish ranked in the front window were beguiling: big striped bass, their bulging sides crazed with a delicate black herringbone; slender pink snappers; sardines larger and milder than you've ever encountered before; gleaming silver barbounia, sometimes called mullets; bulbous foreshortened porgies, their eyes gleaming; and plainspoken tilapia, a fish often farmed in a sustainable fashion. I selected a porgy, two barbounia, and a giant striped bass, then watched as the specimens were whisked away to the kitchen at the rear of the restaurant. Wisely, we left the method of preparation up to our hostess.
As the apps began to arrive, Gibby regaled us with rock-tour tales, including one about trying to cook a fish in a rented RV somewhere in Indiana as it jounced down the interstate. First to hit the table was the fried eggplant appetizer ($3.50), which swam in a dark tomato sauce with lots of hot green chilies. "Shit, this is good," intoned Gibby in his nasal north-Texas accent, as he contemplated a piece of eggplant planted on a pita. We could only nod our assent, as our mouths were stuffed. Also among the early arrivers was a basket of golden French fries sprinkled with ground cumin ($2.50); a rudimentary salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and parsley slicked with olive oil; and a plate of dirty rice strewn with toasted pine nuts. The starters were so good that we were emboldened to order more—though we were disappointed to discover that "potato salad" is the name bestowed on plain roasted new potatoes.
But whatever the apps, salads, and sides, the fish arrive with a drumroll at Asmak Taama. In the Egyptian fashion, our hulking striped bass ($15) had been coated with whole-wheat flour and spices, dampened with seawater, and flame-grilled to coal-mine blackness. The intention is that the skin be stripped off and discarded, revealing the acres of smoky pink flesh. But Scooter dissented: "This skin is even more delish than the fish," he exclaimed delightedly.
The porgy ($13) and barbounia ($7 each) appeared next. They'd been deep-fried with a crunchy coating. While the porgy was large-boned and coarse-fleshed, making it easy to extract the bland, snowy meat, the tastier mullets had fine bones and took more work to eat. In addition, we were frankly freaked out by the fierce faces of the barbounia, which had two rows of teeth like white sixpenny nails. After a discussion of rock sainthood, in which I mentioned seeing Kurt Cobain T-shirts for sale outside the Assisi Cathedral in Italy, Gibby sheepishly noted he'd been in rehab with Cobain right before his self-offing.
After pushing back from the table, we washed everything down with steaming cups of sage tea and an assortment of pastries that the hostess had excused herself to go down the street to get. But the biggest surprise was yet to come. After comparing nightmarish stories about going to high school in Texas, where both he and I remembered being beset by Bible-thumping Christians, the venerable rock surrealist mentioned he'd graduated from Dallas's Lake Highlands High School. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed. "I went to the same penal institution! You must be its most famous grad."
"No," he replied modestly. "That would be Morgan Fairchild."
Counter Culture
Surfing Bay Ridge at Asmak Taama with Gibby Haynes
Matching fish with rock stars in Bay Ridge
By Robert Sietsema
Tuesday, January 13th 2009 at 3:32pm
Cook like an Egyptian
Asmak Taama
413 Bay Ridge Avenue, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, 718-921-3200
My guests, on a last visit to Asmak Taama, included Butthole Surfers frontman Gibson "Gibby" Haynes and legendary Rolling Stones scribe Reverend Charles M. Young. Six of us found ourselves wedged into Scooter's compact hybrid—Gibby's wife, Missy, sprawled across his lap—bombing down Third Avenue in the night shadow of the Gowanus Expressway. Anticipating seafood, I was flashing over the Surfers' "Pepper" video, in which a woman with a bouffant hairdo scales a fish with a ferocious cleaver, all the while smiling into the camera. You keep expecting a finger to fly in your direction.
Our destination was one of the new Egyptian fish-market cafés in Bay Ridge, where you can view the raw catch glistening in the window, then step inside and devour it. With difficulty, we extracted ourselves from the blue Honda and burst into the pink interior of the restaurant. On the monitor overhead, 100 violinists dressed in white tuxedos accompanied a gentleman tinkling on a white piano—hey, I want Egyptian TV in my apartment! In fact, the proprietors of Asmak Taama ("Tasty Fish" in Arabic) hail from Alexandria, a port on the Mediterranean famous for its seafood cafés.
After we'd settled down at one of the long tables, I rendezvoused with our proprietress at the fish display and mulled over the selection. Arranged cheek-by-jowl, the fresh fish ranked in the front window were beguiling: big striped bass, their bulging sides crazed with a delicate black herringbone; slender pink snappers; sardines larger and milder than you've ever encountered before; gleaming silver barbounia, sometimes called mullets; bulbous foreshortened porgies, their eyes gleaming; and plainspoken tilapia, a fish often farmed in a sustainable fashion. I selected a porgy, two barbounia, and a giant striped bass, then watched as the specimens were whisked away to the kitchen at the rear of the restaurant. Wisely, we left the method of preparation up to our hostess.
As the apps began to arrive, Gibby regaled us with rock-tour tales, including one about trying to cook a fish in a rented RV somewhere in Indiana as it jounced down the interstate. First to hit the table was the fried eggplant appetizer ($3.50), which swam in a dark tomato sauce with lots of hot green chilies. "Shit, this is good," intoned Gibby in his nasal north-Texas accent, as he contemplated a piece of eggplant planted on a pita. We could only nod our assent, as our mouths were stuffed. Also among the early arrivers was a basket of golden French fries sprinkled with ground cumin ($2.50); a rudimentary salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and parsley slicked with olive oil; and a plate of dirty rice strewn with toasted pine nuts. The starters were so good that we were emboldened to order more—though we were disappointed to discover that "potato salad" is the name bestowed on plain roasted new potatoes.
But whatever the apps, salads, and sides, the fish arrive with a drumroll at Asmak Taama. In the Egyptian fashion, our hulking striped bass ($15) had been coated with whole-wheat flour and spices, dampened with seawater, and flame-grilled to coal-mine blackness. The intention is that the skin be stripped off and discarded, revealing the acres of smoky pink flesh. But Scooter dissented: "This skin is even more delish than the fish," he exclaimed delightedly.
The porgy ($13) and barbounia ($7 each) appeared next. They'd been deep-fried with a crunchy coating. While the porgy was large-boned and coarse-fleshed, making it easy to extract the bland, snowy meat, the tastier mullets had fine bones and took more work to eat. In addition, we were frankly freaked out by the fierce faces of the barbounia, which had two rows of teeth like white sixpenny nails. After a discussion of rock sainthood, in which I mentioned seeing Kurt Cobain T-shirts for sale outside the Assisi Cathedral in Italy, Gibby sheepishly noted he'd been in rehab with Cobain right before his self-offing.
After pushing back from the table, we washed everything down with steaming cups of sage tea and an assortment of pastries that the hostess had excused herself to go down the street to get. But the biggest surprise was yet to come. After comparing nightmarish stories about going to high school in Texas, where both he and I remembered being beset by Bible-thumping Christians, the venerable rock surrealist mentioned he'd graduated from Dallas's Lake Highlands High School. "Holy crap!" I exclaimed. "I went to the same penal institution! You must be its most famous grad."
"No," he replied modestly. "That would be Morgan Fairchild."
anybody notice some car ads on tv are suddenly touting gas mileage again?
Top 10 Gas Unguzzlers:
1. Honda Insight — 60/66
2. Toyota Prius — 60/51*
3. Honda Civic Hybrid — 49/51*
4. Volkswagen Golf TDI — 37/44
Volkswagen New Beetle TDI — 37/44
5. Volkswagen Jetta TDI — 36/41
6. Toyota Corolla — 32/41
7. Scion xA — 32/37
8. Hyundai Accent — 32/35
Kia Rio — 32/35
9. Honda Civic — 30/40*
10. Pontiac Vibe — 30/36
Toyota Matrix — 30/36
nice honda ad.
Stephen Jay Gould, the evolutionary theorist at Harvard University whose lectures, research and prolific output of essays helped to reinvigorate the field of paleontology, died today at his home in Manhattan. He was 60 years old. The cause was adenocarcinoma, his wife, Rhonda Roland Schearer, said.
Thomas Frank (the Baffler) has a funny op-ed on John Walker in the NYT today. In reply to all the conservative scolding about Walker being a product of "liberal values," Frank argues that "born in the 1980's, John Walker grew up in a time when American conformity was the lamentation not of pampered professors but of Madison Avenue and the cutting-edge management gurus."
Frank continues: "It is from TV commercials for sneakers and S.U.V.'s that we learn of the horror of American sameness, and the freedom and personal authenticity that await us when we fire up a Macintosh or zoom away in a Honda CR-V. Extremism in the pursuit of intensity, the ad men tell us, is no vice. John Walker's generation was encouraged to use 'extreme' cordless drills, buy its Dodges from an extreme used car dealer and catch its trout with an extreme fishing rod. Just for them did ecstatic TV hipsters steer their sedans up Himalayan peaks in search of the phattest possible brand experience. Maybe the boy Talib is simply an attentive consumer, his ill-fated affair with extreme Islam merely a twisted continuation of his search for the weapons-grade authenticity promised him so many times by manufacturers of bell-bottom jeans and lemon-lime soda."
