left brain

Playing in Vegas

Saturday night my friend Matt took me out for a night of birthday debauchery.  After a great sushi dinner with two cans of Sapporo, we headed back to my apartment to watch two episodes of SATC while well drinking two funky cran-tangerine martinis and enjoying a moment of mary, lol.  The plan was to have a night of rowdy drinking and dancing at Dbar but it turned out that after our $20-something cab ride there, it was a tad disappointing on all fronts (boys, dancing, music, boys, festivities) so we headed back into the city and to Buzz only because this club moved into a new smaller space.  I think we both thought that it was going to be uber packed but it turned out to get crowded but not insanely so.  A Corona, a shot of god knows what, a Blueberry Vodka and tonic later and well I was a mess.  As I write this, my stomach still feels disgusting.  I think the mary fucked me up.  It turns out that I ended up being drooled over by some boy from Nebraska (haha!) who I ended up making out with, a boy from the UES who was a tad bit of a prissy bitch though a cute preppy one, and some boy from a few years back that I don’t even remember if we hooked up or not, which turned into a hysterical fit of laughter between Mattie and I since I super felt 1. slutty and 2. getting old.  Though, the boy was super hot in his pseudo SoCal punk clothing, his Aryan blond hair, and his bright blue eyes…so I felt good either way, but he now has a boyfriend, which well… just sucks.

These next two sentences coincide with each other perfectly.  I had a great time in Las Vegas.  And Las Vegas is the end of humanity.  It is the demise of America.  It is the reason why al Qaeda hates us. It is the dumbed down version of funky hotels, entertainment, music, art, alcohol, and celebrity chefs.  Yah, I know it sounds like I am being overly critical or like I didn’t have a great time, which is entirely untrue, but Vegas is the end of the earth.  Humans are not meant to inhabit this city, this city growing faster than any other in the United States.  We should start testing our nukes again, I think.  I really don’t know what we would lose if we started doing so.  Hundreds of Americans wasting their money away as they believe they are going to win millions?  Hundreds of Americans walking up and down a 100-degree piece of land drinking alcohol by the gallons? 

After our flight landed, we headed to the pool, which is sorta like a beach.  We hung out for a little while until we felt like we were in a bad spring break movie.  Late thirty year olds (possibly even 40’s and straight) drunk out of their minds making out with girls in their early twenties was not what I was wanting to watch, lol.  Drunk so out of their minds that I myself almost quit drinking because of watching their embarrassing and pathetic actions.  Beer bottles in Vegas have a Coca Cola-like twist off cap, lol, does that say enough?  There were some incredibly hot boys, all of which were straight, but I definitely had some eye candy to keep my thoroughly entertained especially by the ones who were wearing square cuts (I think they were Brazilian) and as they got increasingly drunker, got increasingly hornier, haha.  But up until this pseudo spring break moment on the beach, I always believed that straight boys and girls were somewhat unlike homo’s, lol.  I believed that they didn’t act like total fools when drunk, that they didn’t make out with twenty year olds when they are forty five, that they didn’t think they were god’s gift, that they didn’t get totally trashed when they are in their thirties, that they didn’t talk about other woman when they had one on their lap, that they were somehow, I don’t know, less ridiculous.  It turns out we are all the same, haha.  I also decided that I would have killed myself if I moved to Los Angeles (sorry boys reading this from LA).  Vegas was packed with people from LA, you could just tell.  The whole vapid materialistic body obsessed wasteland would have killed me.

I saw Xmen III in Vegas and sorta fell into all of the gay metaphors.  The biggest question I left with was, “If there was something out there t to make you straight, would you?”  And after about 45 seconds of debate, I fully believe I would never choose to be straight anymore.  That I am totally cool and comfortable with who I am and would never choose anything else if given an opportunity. 

My 25th birthday came on Monday and I celebrated more than I was sad.   Which rocked.  Laying by the “upper middle class” pool as we called it because the whole hassle and disgust of seeing way drunken straight men attempting to pick up woman was just too much to handle.  This “special” pool made men pay $40 while woman paid $10, which greatly goes against my views towards the world (woman should be in birkahs, or at least I should be able to pay $40 to throw 4 woman out of the private pool area, lol) but we did it anyways because it was much lovelier with its cushioned benches, greater attention, and less annoyance.  The only hitch to this whole little moment of betterness was the whole topless woman thing, but I just pretended I was in … I dunno, Nice.    So we layed by the pool roasting until margarita’s and some Mexican and then a walk up to some other hotels to keep drinking.  After drinks at the Vegas version of Tao, I went to Bouchon in the Venetian for my birthday dinner.  It was the best meal of the trip and one of the cheapest.  The night before was NobHill, which was 3x more and 3x shittier.  I won’t even write about it.  I hate restaurants that sit you at the bar so you spend more money with them when the entire restaurant is empty.  THIS is NobHill.   I had their known to be fantastic quiche (it was like dessert, the best quiche I have ever had) and the steak frites (not sliced like most American French bistro’s) along with chocolate profiteroles for dessert.  Their understated one blue candle for the “birthday celebration” was nearly perfect.  Their presentation of the wine which came in rural French country glass bottles, the rustic bread which looked like a wooden log just layed on the tablecloth, and the menu wrapped around your napkin awaiting you.  Check out their main website here.

The following night for dinner I went to Okada in the Wynn Hotel.  Picture in this paragraph is from there. The Wynn is the newest and most expensive hotel on the strip and totally not worth the hype and excitement.  I left the entire hotel experience until the last night, thankfully since it was an incredible walk from our hotel.  It is pretty much the Bellagio with a Picasso behind the check in and stone people wandering into a water fountain.  To me, a Picasso behind the check in was insulting.  Okada was great sushi and a great experience since the restaurant has a massive open “window?” that looks into a very lush, very exotic looking, series of waterfalls.

And now I am 25.

Birthday in Vegas

I am flying to Vegas right now for my birthday celebrations, lol.  I am turning 25 kill me on May 29th (Memorial Day in the US) I and wanted to warm up since it has been a pretty chilly Spring in Boston.  So I am taking my Brasilian square cut, new tattoo, some reading material, and my new cam to this city of 105 degrees.  I have been to this totally fucked up city once before but since then a lot has been happening in the restaurant industry here and I want to join in on some of the delicious festivities, lol.  Like Bouchon, my bday dinner.  Or Okada, in the Wynn.  I will definitely be blogging about this whole trip when I get back, later in the week, but until then, have a great Memorial Day Weekend, think of me on my birthday, and I will try to get some goodies on here for you all once I get to Vegas :)

Until then, read all about my last trip here.

The Weekend of the Tattoo

I flew to NYC last Friday morning and had a truly great day, minus the severe thunderstorm that had us stranded inside at Pace Wildenstein (an art gallery) in Chelsea and the hellish cab ride to Logan airport in Boston which is when my cabbie took off the sideview mirror of a womans car as she was sitting in it!  It eventually turned out sunny, warm, and beautiful but by then we were done looking at art and eating.  The only thing worth talking about is Richard Serra's new show at Gagosian which is just truly spectacular.  These huge honking metal sculptures which you can walk around, in, and have chemical rusting that looks like a Pollock painting are just as I said.. spectacular.  J and I had lunch in a little place on W14 and 7th that was like a lunch we shared in a little restaurant in Paris.  We had the three course lunch which was delicious and ate in a nearly empty restaurant (also like Paris since we arrived lated, it was after 2pm ... a no no in dining in France) as the sun started shining.

I shared two firsts Friday, and I am sure just two of many to come in this city, but for the first time ever, I met a friend in NYC without being with someone else to get there.  Does that make sense?  I met him alone is what I mean.  I also rode the subway by myself, rocking to my iPod mind you, for the first time ever.  I only went one stop the incorrect way before realizing I was going downtown instead of up (stupid mistake it seems) but for some reason the 3 train was weird.. but I quickly fixed the problem and got where I was going.  TOTALLY exciting from my view, sorry.. I know it might seem lame but these are two huge firsts to me.  NYC's subway has always confused the fuck out of me and because of that it has been intimidating.

So yah, HUGE... and since I am doing it all myself for once, it seems totally awesome and nearly perfect that I got a tattoo on Saturday in the LowerEastSide of a heraldic lion (I mentioned my interest in getting one awhile back).   Needless to say, it was fucking awesome, and looks fucking awesome.  I am so psyched!  I already want more, I think my idea of one on each hip is next.  The pain is not that bad, lol.    It is sorta hot actually, haha...honestly!     While waiting to be whisked off to Fire Island since after getting a tattoo you sorta want to eat and sleep which hit me basically a few hours later than normal, I bonded with the tattooist girl and learned that she also paints so it was cool.  I am planning on going back to get more in August, I think.  M showed up with the puppie and we drove right into obnoxious traffic on some highway through Brooklyn and Queens and then the L.I.E.  After a car ride, a boat ride, and a walk, we ended up at his fabulous house in the Pines on Fire Island for my FIRST EVER (yes, haha.. there are still virginal moments) trip to Fire Island.  My instant thought was that there is no comparison between Fire Island and Ptown, other than homo's frequent both.  They are two entirely different experiences.  Ptown is much more commercial and built up, much more jam packed with people (especially woman) yet still super beautiful once you trek to the beaches, or the woods, or DickDock, lol.  I love that you can't drive on the island.  I love the way people walk around on boardwalks and at night they carry flashlights.  The whole walking down the paths at night is just like a fuckfest waiting to happen and even though I witnessed nothing, I still think it is incredibly hot.  The only thing negative I would have to say about the island is that it is UBER-UBER rich.  It makes Ptown look like a hick middle class slum.  It is a little discomforting actually but I do think it just takes some getting used to.

I met M's best friend, the oh so adorable French boy from Lyon, and their boyfriends, one of whom is the architect for the supposedly dreamy waterfall water fountain in the new  Norman Forster building in Manhattan.  I am getting tired of meeting boys with boyfriends though, lol.  We had a candlelit dinner with music by the French group Gotan Project (they did a lot of the music in SATCity when they go to Paris) and food created by a truly talented chef.  The food was was noticeably great at dinner but incredibly so at brunch when he created blueberry pancakes like no other.  I am still drooling.  At about the time I was supposed to be crashing thanks to the tattooing, I changed and went to the Sip and Twirl which is basically the only bar on FireIsland, or in the Pines at least, I guess.  I am in love with Mary J's "Can't Be Without You" remix.  haha.. the whole thing was funand just hysterical.  The whole bar was sooooo random, yet the music was... haha.. better than most places in Boston.  Even though the bar felt like you were in a remote town in the middle of nowhere, which I guess sorta is true, it's packed with every boy from Manhattan (nearly like the whose who actually) ... and still better than CCafe in Boston, Boston's main gay shithole bar. 

And even though we got stuck in mindnumbing traffic on the way back to the city, and that I had to run to my gate (for the first time ever, lol), it was a spectacular weekend filled with lots of firsts, lol. 

A Culinary Dream

Los Angeles is for people who sleep. Boston or London baby you can keep. Baby you can keep. Baby you can keep, baby you can keep. Baby you can keep baby you can keep baby you can keep baby you can keep baby you can keep. Other cities make me sad. Well, that pretty much sums it up. After this weekend, it is nearly confirmed. My move to NYC is inevitable. In fact, it is near. I am moving the date up to June 1. But lets go backwards to Thursday night. I’ll skip the whole getting to NYC thing via Jetblue and the whole little ride into Manhattan though the view of NYC from the bridge we took in was incredible. Some Mexicana Mama’s, which just turned out to be the local Mexican joint (it is the best in Manhattan) and M and I watched this week’s episode of 24 since it was pretty late.

The next morning I awoke alone to one of my first ever moments in Manhattan where I was alone in the morning. ha. Pretty dreamy especially after I made some home brewed espresso, glanced through the French mag Tatu, and headed out into the beautiful Friday sun down to Soho where I did a little shopping (mostly at Apple) before meeting M at Jerry’s for lunch. Per typical, everyone in Manhattan looks better. They actually pay attention to themselves (like looking in the mirror) before leaving the house in the morning. lol. Anyways, after a brief little lunch (a surprise dinner was happening within 5 hours), we headed to a secret tattoo parlor in the lower East Side where I had a discussion and put down a down payment, haha, for a tattoo to be inked into the middle of my back. We then walked the entire width of Manhattan back to the pier underneath the Richard Meier buildings to chat and look out to the statue of liberty and to the Goldman building in NJ, lol. A short nap and we walked through the Meatpacking district to Del Posto, the near newest Babbo restaurant where even though we were the pre-show crowd, we had a spectacular meal. All three restaurants (two of which have 3 stars from Michelin) have one thing in common; they have a staff of hundreds, very France! Del Posto was an large scale space reminiscent of most restaurants in LA, and had a cart like those in France stuffed with house made sweets for after your dessert and your after dessert dessert, lol.
I had a sweet carrot sfumato, we split morel risotto and my main course was a burnt caramel cod. We skipped dessert given our “fasting” and preperation for our culinary heaven the next day. We then were run up to midtown to see Sweeny Todd, which was one of the main reasons why M knew he was going to live in Manhattan. It turns out not to be mine but it was spectacularly dark, evil, and macabre. One of the stars, whose name I have no idea is a total rock star in the world of Broadway or so I heard, and could easily distinguish. I wanted to be her best friend. She was awesome as was the show. And we were in the third row, which always helps. If you are going to do something, you should go over the top. It is a good theory in life, I think.

After visiting the Biennial at the Whitney where I (I am amazed by this) got yelled at TWICE from a security guard for two stupid reasons, lol, we walked across the park to my second surprise for the weekend. Peter Doig, Kelley Walker, some photographer, and Dash Snow (I blogged about him here) stood out to me. Everyone else has basically become a blur. Expected supposedly.

But back to my second surprise. Per Se. I have talked once or twice about Per Se on here, more about Bouchon and French Laundry it seems, but I have nearly talked nonstop about it to people I know. It turns out having now eaten there that it needs to be talked about non-stop, 24-7, 7 day a week. It was by far the best meal I have ever had in this country. And not only was it an incredible meal but it sits in the Time Warner building on the fourth floor which is just high enough to let you see the brilliant spring greens of Central Park and the skyscrapers on the Upper East Side without any of the crap on the streets or for that matter the tree trunks themselves. Each of the 12 or so tables looks out the window into the park which you can only see after you are awe struck by the wine storage bunker that is built near the fabulously French entrance. Each material in the restaurant has been noticeably chosen with care and precision and only when you get to the amuse bouche do you actually begin to understand that this is a temple to food, like Masa which (gulp) turned out to be my dinner hours later. It was exactly like dining in Michelin France. The attention to every mouth-watering detail is spectacular. We had the tasting menu, which is what the chef feels like cooking for that day with materials that are freshly flown in that morning. One more delightful than the next. Like France, the waitstaff is nearly National Guard sized and the service is impeccable. Dishes arrive together and are sat in front of you at exactly the same time. haha. The tasting menu, which I asked for, is as follows:

Cauliflower “Panna Cotta” with Oyster Glaze and Russian Sevruga Caviar

Torchon of Moulard Duck “Foie Gras.” Poached Washington State Rhubarb, Spiced Shortbread, Field Mizuna, Rhubarb Mignonnette, and Toasted Tellicherry Pepper Brioche

Grilled Fillet of Gulf Coast Pompano. “Ragout” of Fava beans, Roasted Holland Peppers and Parsley with “Sauce Piperade.”

Scottish Langoustines “A La Plancha” “Confiture” of Meiwa Kumquats, Pickled Ramps, Green Almonds, and Kumquat “Coulis”

All-Day Braised Four Story Hill Farm’s Pork Belly. White Wine Poached Granny Smith Apples, Celery Salad, Apple Butter and Truffle-Pork Sauce

Elysian Fields Farm “Cote d’Agneau” “Panisse Batons”, Wilted Swiss Chard, San Marzano Tomato Marmalade, and Nicoise Olive Lamb “Jus”

Vacherin Fribourgeois. Per Se Coleslaw, Mustard Seed Melba and Young Mustard Greens with “Moutarde Violette”

Apricot Sorbet. Yogurt “Bavarois”, Graham Cracker “Dust” and Pistachio “Puree”

“Tentation au Chocolat, Noisette Et Lait.” Milk chocolate “Cremeux”, Hazelnut “Streusel”, Condensed Milk Sorbet, “Pain au Lait” Emulsion and Sweetened Salty Hazelnuts

To the foodie, who I am now realizing I fully am, this meal was incredible. Just the menu itself was incredible. I fully realize that if the whole art thing I have going on wasn’t happening as hot as it is … I should have been a chef. It at this point is as much me as art is. So after a brief brake where we walked in the cold raw rain to AF on Fifth Avenue to gawk at boys in flip flops, we ended up back at the Time Warner Center for dinner, lol, at nine pm. Nearly six hours after Per Se, lol.

Masa, if one is still in debate after viewing my blog, is the best sushi temple in this country and possible outside of Japan. But other than the impressive carved wooden door you enter from, and the orange billowing curtains you walk through, the place is un-descript and tame. It is for sure meant to be understated because the focus is entirely on the food. And the food, OMG, was incredible. Sushi that melts in your mouth in more colors than one ever imagined possible for fish. Sushi arrived that looked like wood, seriously. Various courses arrived before the miso soup but once you get miso, sushi is next. And so is green tea. All three go together, clearly. The sushi is so fantastic that touching it with fucking chopsticks or dipping it into soy sauce would make you the obnoxious American, and they basically tell you so. “No soy for this!” But the presentation of the sake we ordered was nearly like a dream. It sits in what looks like a conch shell on top of a bed of ice in a boulder of a rock, lol. The service was amazing, military-like almost. As soon as you were done with a plate, it was whisked away within seconds. If you had a question about something, they knew more than you wanted to hear. “What type of fish is this?” “Well, it is from this river in Hungary flowing upstream and having never touched the hands of a human, or god, it is unsalted and flash frozen and blabby blah blah.” Seriously, the waitress knew that much about one single piece of fish that arrived in Manhattan that morning on a plane from somewhere. There are no menus at Masa, your meal is all a whim from the chef who is (unlike Kelleher or JeanGeorge) actually cooking you dinner. His two assistants though, who are so skilled with a knife that I thought I was in KillBill for a few seconds, are equally as talented in preparing the heaven you are about to taste. Surprisingly, and for the first time ever, one of the two assistants to the main sushi master and owner, was a hot American boy who had to have studied in Japan because his talents were so stupendous enough that he is working alongside the Master of Sushi at Masa, lol. Two and a half hours later, we were again whisked down to the meatpacking district.

Sunday morning was a time for rest, digesting before brunch, expanding my Latin and classical music section in my iTunes (yay, 700 new songs!) and a walk through Chelsea, part of the W.Village, and the Meatpacking district where well luxury condos are taking over the world. It was an incredible trip to Manhattan to see the truly spectacular world of a truly spectacular man.

I Love New York

I wish I could include music to this entry.  It would be Madonna's "I Love New York," so if you have it press play now.  We found parking in Manhattan before we even started looking.  That in itself began the awesome weekend that I just had in the great and only city worthy of being talked about in this country, New York.  After hanging some art for my friend, we headed to Gramercy Park to catch V for Vendetta again (since he hasn't seen it) stopping on the way to get drinks at just some random place that had more people in it than most bars in Boston at 5o'clock but oh well... lol, soon!   After the movie we hopped in a cab, I glimpsed the colors of the Empire State Building and we headed to a JeanGeorges 1 Michelin star restaurant called Vong.  I still don't quite understand why the French chef wandered into the world of Thailand but whatever.  We did the tasting menu and nearly were dead by the end of it, lol.  Mm...coconut soup.  Afterwards, to lose the weight I just gained, we walked back to the UpperWestSide to sleep, lol.

Saturday morning I woke up, read and had a panic attack over an art article in the Times, downed a homemade cappuccino, and headed out to meet my friend Tate who I met on the Atlantis Cruise that I went on to Brasil.  After ditching my duffel bag at one of the fabulous Equinox gyms in the Time Warner building, we headed into Central Park for a stroll in the beautiful nearly 80 degree weather.  After we caught up and enjoyed as much sun as we could have, we attempted to hunt down a Starbucks on the UESide which turned out to be a lot more work than one could ever imagine so we ended up in the little country French (sorta chain that I can't remember the name of, with wooden tables, and a rustic look) place that makes awesome bread and hazelnut chocolate spread (it is like crack, basically).  Once we had a bite to eat, and I fully got the motivation to get a tattoo (don't we think I am a lion or a tiger or a star?), we hopped in a cab and headed to PS1 in Queens to check out the Wolfgang Tillmans show which turned out not to be that good once we got there.  HOWEVER I absolutely loved the building that it is in.  PS1 is in a renovated grammar school (Public School One) so each (very new and very contemporary) artist has what used to be a classroom to exhibit in.  It is a totally fantastic space, in fact it is one of the best I have seen to display contemp art but it is also incredibly eerie. 

PS1:  In the halls of P.S.1 one can sense the passage of time, the sound of children,     even the smell of school lunches. Its transformation from a public school     into a contemporary arts center maintains the building’s original function     as a place of gathering, learning, and enlightenment. And while certainly     other historic structures in New York City have grown old more gracefully,     P.S.1 wears its age proudly, an impressive pile of stone and brick with a     rich and somewhat scandalous history.

We finished off the museum with sitting in the sun (again) and downing an awesome iced coffee that was like a melted scoop of coffee ice cream.  So delicious.  After our little art jaunt, we headed to 14th and 9th which is basically Meatpacking district central.  If you have never been to this neighborhood, I am sorry.  It is absolutely the best in Manhattan on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon.  Just to stroll the streets is too overwhelming.  It is the top of the top, the cream of the crop, the best of the most beautiful people in Manhattan, the hottest fashion on boys around, and just rambunctious and exciting glittering energy.  We strolled around enjoying the eye candy before heading to the Hudson and to the piers which (when Manhattan was at the cusp of the raunchy rough but hotter edge) was the spot to many a hottie being sucked off, orgies being enjoyed in the sand, and well.. everything else happened underneath the docks.  I also heard stories of late night parties (and orgies) happening in empty meat delivery trucks where people would pop open the back and go to town.  Sigh, I wish I was there.   haha, but anyways.  So Tate and I headed to the redeveloped and gentrified pier to sit on the grass with the rest of Chelsea and Village.  lol, it clearly was the place to be on this Saturday afternoon, and took on the feeling of Ipanema beach on some level when a twenty something year old boy (who nearly made me look fat) stripped down and pranced around in his briefs which he decided to suntan in.  I couldn't resist taking a pic with my cell, lol.  Two hours later we headed back to his house before going to a virgin moment for me.  There are a few left ;)

That night we had tickets to the NYC Opera (check out the video if you want at that link) and it's rendition of Don Giovanni by Mozart.  It was my first time at the Opera and I had been warned that DonG wasn't one of the most approachable Opera's out there because of it's length (nearly 4 hours).  It was a story that was incredibly familiar to me, lol.  I had listened to cd recordings of the opera before I actually sat in my little velvet seat and I have to say that it didn't help, lol.  An opera is about seeing the singers belt it out in person, not so much on cdI, however, LOVED it.  The music was fantastic but that is just Mozart (unreal basically), the costumes were great yet you really weren't paying attention to them or the set.  What blew me away was how the singers created such song with just their voices.  It is incredible.  Two of the serious solo's were simply amazing.  The ability and talent that these people have is just unreal.  DonG being dragged to hell for making woman fall in love with him just to be hurt is pretty fantastic as a theme   

Sunday I woke up and headed to meet my friend Jerry by myself (in a town car, haha) for brunch.  After brunch I sat on the Great Lawn (or the Sheep's Meadow) where I swooned over a Brasilian boy playing soccer with his friends, and the city.  Yes, the city.  The Lawn is fantastic especially on a beautiful day and especially now that the first "green" building in NYC known as the  architecturally amazing Hearst building (designed by Norman Foster) is nearly finished.  It changes the skyline in such a beautiful way.  Then I had to sadly get back into the car (I nearly wanted to throw a tantrum) to drive back to the depressed, miserable angry people living in history city, we call Boston.  However, on the way back I totally fell in love with the LA Symphony and it's minamalist Andriessen recordings which basically make me think of someone living in Northern Europe going insane, lol.  It is sublime.  I am totally intrigued by post 1945 classical music now. 

MASA

I have currently stopped eating because I have a confirmed reservation at MASA, in the Time Warner Bulding in Manhattan on April 22nd.  I am going with a super special rockstar I met on the whole lil gay cruise I went on a month or so ago.  If you have never heard of it before, tisk.  If you haven't read my blog entry from a long time ago, double tisk.  If you shake your head after reading this entry about MASA and its extravagance or how it has easily and instantly become America's best and most expensive restaurant, triple tisk.  If you have never been excited about a restaurant before, don't talk to me.  Seriously.

NYMetro: "There are no menus at Masa; the chef adjusts his meals according to the availability of ingredients (white-truffle tempura is a specialty in the fall) and his diners’ whims. These meals are intricate, lavish cultural entertainments, part nourishment, part entertainment, and part ancient performance art. They’re designed to be enjoyed in a state of blissful suspended animation, and sitting at the bar at Masa, with a world-class chef preparing food for you, that’s more or less what happens. After the tuna tartare, I was presented with aji mackerel sashimi tossed in shiso blossoms. This palate-cleansing course set up a whole salvo of rich, uniformly delicious dishes that began with uni risotto (rice plus sea urchin plus copious amounts of truffles and truffle butter), continued with a meltingly sweet version of Kobe-beef sukiyaki, and culminated in an extravagant shabu-shabu composed of fresh lobster and lobes of foie gras.

Of course, a normal Japanese person wouldn’t dream of cooking foie gras in his shabu-shabu. But then Takayama isn’t overly concerned with normal people, and what he is selling is more than just a meal: It’s a personalized aesthetic experience of the most rarefied kind (though New York is not, and is never likely to become, a cultishly devoted sushi town like Tokyo or L.A.). Masa’s sushi is flown in daily, some of it in plastic organ-donor containers, from faraway places like Alaska, Spain, and the Sea of Japan. Like Alain Ducasse before him, Takayama has a very specific clientele in mind, patrons willing to pay huge prices to enjoy the work of the latest culinary diva or auteur. He devises the menu, prepares the food, and, unlike M. Ducasse or Nobu Matsuhisa, who are busy jetting among their numerous establishments, he sometimes even serves it to you.

The sushi is uniformly exceptional, which isn’t surprising since each bite costs roughly as much as a first-class cut of steak in many restaurants. The pieces are presented singly, like small works of art, framed on a round palette of black slate. There are milky slices of o-toro, silky ika (squid) touched with drops of yuzu, silvery little kohada (a type of herring), and glistening, pearly shrimp (ama ebi) with their tails stuck in the air. When Takayama makes a toro maki roll, he jams it with fistfuls of tuna belly. (As he did this, I asked him which restaurants he’d enjoyed since arriving in New York. “Peetah Lugah Steakhouse,” he said, smiling a big showman’s smile.)

It was a memorable meal, as different in style, dimension, and scope (and, of course, cost) as a TV rerun is from a first-class Broadway show. But when I returned a few weeks later, my experience changed in a number of significant and not-so-significant ways. Perhaps it was because I’d already sampled the meal (Takayama’s menu tends to change seasonally, as opposed to weekly or even monthly), or perhaps it was because I was dining with my discerning wife. A refugee from the land of midwestern malls and cineplexes, she was mildly horrified at having to walk through a glorified shopping center (“Is that Muzak?” she whispered) for the most expensive meal of her life, and as a dutiful, empathetic husband, I became mildly horrified, too.  “You realize,” she said in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, “I could have bought a ticket down to Florida, chartered a boat, and caught my own tuna for the price of this meal?” She’s more or less correct: We spent $834.31, including tip, sake, and two $10 bottles of mineral water. (The bill for my first meal, at the bar—with the Kobe-beef sukiyaki—was exactly the same.)"

I have eaten at Peter Lugher and I have to say it was a waste of time/money/beauty.  MASA is delicious and I know I will come away raving like the NYTimes or nearly everyone who has eaten there.  You have to read the NewYorker article that one food critic wrote about his experience in MASA.  It is absolutely hysterical.  The article is here on my blog but here is a glimpse before you make the jump to it:

"Unfortunately, we were running late. This worried me. I had been trying to get a reservation at Masa since 1987, seventeen years before it opened, as I knew that one of the prerequisites of dining there was a knowledge of the future. I also knew of the restaurant’s strict “on-time” policy. Babette and I arrived exactly one minute and twenty-four seconds late. We know this because of the Swiss Atomic clock that diners see upon arrival at Masa.  The maître d’ did not look happy. And so we were asked, in Japanese, to remove our clothes, in separate dressing cabins, and don simple white robes with Japanese writing on the back that, we soon found out, translated as “We were late. We didn’t respect the time of others.” Babette’s feet were bound. I was forced to wear shoes that were two sizes too small. The point being, tardiness is not accepted at Masa. (Nor, frankly, should it be.)  The headwaiter then greeted us by slapping me in the face and telling Babette that she looked heavy, also in Japanese. (No English is spoken in the restaurant. Translators are available for hire for three hundred and twenty-five dollars per hour. We opted for one.)"

Gay Cruise Pics

All of these photos come from Tom.  Thanks :)

How I Accidently Hired a Hooker

As promised, I am writing about my little adventures through two Brasilian bathhouses, both of which were in Rio and one of which was the hottest bathhouse I have ever been to.  I will leave that one for the latter.  As I was writing this though, my boss told me that she has been reading my blog, and since that scares the hell out of me, I am going to give you a little warning here before you actually get into the meat of the article, so to speak.  So you will actually need to follow the jump to get to the stories but I think they are worth it.  As it's my first attempt at writing gay porn, haha.

The second bathhouse we I went to was in the neighborhood of Copacabana and I think the name of it was something like 202 Sauna, or something.  It was basically right up against one of the scariest favella's in town as there were wooden steps a few doors down that if you walked up would take you into the shanty housing.  We, Sorry, I myself had to climb up about 2 flights of stairs to get to the door of the place and upon entrance was greeted by someone working the register and two "very clearly working" guys, much beefier and older than my taste.  They, however, thought I was perfect and followed me to the lockers, watched me strip, and then watched me make some attempt in Portuguese to get flip flops from the counter as they tried to tempt me into buying them as well.  I denied their attempts, at all costs, and declothed into my towel and flip flops before running away and heading straight for the stairs.  The second floor I thought was going to be better since the first floor seemed to be a little overrun with boys/guys/men watching return results of the Sambadrome festivities the night before, like an American election yet more exciting, lol.  Anyways, so I walk upstairs and cruise the sauna, steam room, additional room area, and basically decide that this place sucks and is seriously a little too grimy.  I decide to sit in the steam room until one of the jacked muscle studs comes in wanting to further convince me that I should hire him.  He honestly just wasn't my type.  So I sit there thinking to myself...shit...this has failed, lol. 

Disgruntled,  I walk to lean against the balcony of the bathhouse which is when I notice the only, exciting, younger, guy in the place and he is quickly approaching the stairs up.  I think to myself smiling, "Great."  But then I notice my best friend nearly running after him like a lion at dinner while the other hyena's sitting around the Samba results cackle and drool.  We will from here on call the exciting boy Favella stud since he turns out to have been from the one up the mountain behind the bathhouse.  So, back to he action.  I turn around and lean against the wall, cruising him as he comes up the stairs, my friend in hot pursuit, and walks right by me.  It turns out he was as hot up close as he was from afar.  A tattoo covered his shoulder, he was lean and ripped, and very dark Brasilian looking.  My friend walks past me and says on the way by, "He is Mine."  Even though I could have created competition for him I decided that he needed his "bathhouse moment" since I have already had mine in the one previous and being greedy is never cool.  They disappear in the sauna and then later a room where supposedly it was discovered that this boy had nearly a third leg, or one could say 10 inches of fun.  It was also discovered he had a child and he unofficially was a rent boy.  As I heard, he heads down the mountain every so often to fuck around with guys and get some cash because either his daughter/sister/mother up in the favella needs help.

I figure at this point that there is little hope for any action for me, having given up/lost the hottie favella boy.  So I head back downstairs where I figure I can at least join in on the excitement of the samba drome results.  I sit down on the outskirts of the group and decide that I have nothing to do but wait for my friend which is when I turn my head to the left and see a buzzed haired, lean, twenty-something year old groping his hardon through his barely visible towel.  I smile.  He continues catching my eye.  I smile, lick.  I sit there for a little while more and decide that I am bored even with the kid groping himself.  So I get up and head back to the room I had rented and figure I should just get ready to go.  As I head back to the room I notice the kid following me and I think to myself, "what the hell?"  He was hot in the half hour sorta way, a little young but incredibly hung (like all Brasilians it seems).  He approaches me and says something in Portuguese and I basically attempt to reply in Portuguese.  Quickly he learns that I am American, or at least speak English since I now rarely say I am an American, and we proceed to have some struggle with words.  I do, however, get the idea that he is talking to me because he is trying to get me to pay him.  US $40 to suck him off, $80 to get fucked, and $100 for him to actually cum.  I was like, no, even though I was at this point OMG horned up.  He gropes himself hard again as he is talking to me and eventually pulls it out from underneath the towel which is when I basically started drooling, sadly.  He was a thick nine inches cut with a totally trimmed package and a beautiful glow to his skin.  I continue to have some banter with him about how I am not paying him and he eventually says, or what I believe him to say, "Okay, no money."  So I go ahead and bring him into my room, we make out with him for like a minute groping our already hard dicks, lie on the scary bed together, and go to town sucking each other off.  He is basically ready to blow 10minutes into the oral festivies so I basically quicken up the pace for myself and do it first, thinking that he is nearly ready.  So, I shoot all over his chest and he basically gets up and is like, hot, and then we start to get dressed which is when I decide that he doesn't want to finish since he was the one getting his towel on.  At this point, I start to decide that this wasn't free.  And as we proceed to leave the room, he basically puts out his hand and I in return said, your kidding.  Of course he has no understanding of what I am saying.  So he follows me down to my locker, where you lock your wallet right next to the exit, and even though I don't have enough cash with me (as I proceed to tell him in a mix of English and Portuguese) he still sits there.  So I am thinking shit, now I am going to have to ask my friend to give me cash to pay this hooker when I don't think we ever agreed on anything or even a price.  US $40 later, I basically run to the Copacabana Palace to cleanse my mouth in the bathroom before downing two Pina Colada's to forget about the facts of 15minutes previous.

The first bathhouse was hotter and a lot more fun for me.  It was again a lot smaller than any other sauna that I have been too.  It was in a house located a few blocks from Ipanema beach and like all of the other bathhouses/saunas in town are extremely popular from 3pm until 8pm, and close at like midnight which is basically when bars/clubs open.  So after chilling on the beach for the day, I head to the bathhouse at like 3:30 this time with 3 friends.  I quickly shower the sand out of the private places, abandon my friends inside since unlike the second bathhouse, I noticed the hot boys first.  And when I say hot, I mean HOT.  This was the hottest one of these places that I have ever been to on many continents and in many countries.  Freshly clean I head upstairs to the little lounge area which leads to a dark hallway lined with private rooms and cruising halls and rooms.  I stroll around for awhile cruising before coming upon the bathhouse boy of my dreams.  My height, mid 20's, dark "I just got out of bed or sex" hair, dark soulful eyes, slightly scruffy, tattoo on his chest of the sun (appropriate enough for Rio), totally lean but toned, six pack, and again...horse hung.  The hottest thing though or what caught my attention first was that underneath the typical towel they give out, dreamy bathhouse boy was wearing his squarecut bright blue bathing suit.  He wasn't as trashy as my second bathhouse encounter, the boy groping himself, though being in Brasil there were plenty people doing so.  Given my new found confidence in life, I approached him without hesitation.  He responded very well and was within 5 minutes down my throat.  His tongue, not his cock...yet.  He also spoke English which I learned more towards the end of our "encounter" not right upfront.  Weird yes but I kinda just figured he didn't speak English so after our small talk about how he was hot, kissing felt appropriate. Needless to say, we ended up in one of the rooms and were excitedly going at it.  Oddly enough, or not, I still remember the smell of his sweat mixed with the beach and the cheap cachaca.  Both of our dicks were hard as rock and totally rubbing against the other so the towels had a hard time staying around our waist.  But then there was an extra step, the blue bathing suit, which was so much hotter than just removing the towel.  I was already naked and thrilled so after more time making out, groping, fondling, etc etc, I got down and took his seriously 9+ inch uncut meat out of the squarecut.  I wrapped both of my hands around him (this is where I think I came up with my new rule of:  if my hand fits around your dick and there is no dick to be seen, well...it isn't going to happen again) and after toying around with it, his balls, and the hot smell of him in his inner thighs, sucked him until he couldn't take not sucking me any longer.  Or so I thought since he basically picked me up off the slightly gross floor and threw me on the bed.  He layed on top of me and made out with me as we sat indian style facing each other.  This lasted for god knows how long before he just layed forward downing my dick with me sitting back against the wall.  Once we got each other to the point of orgasm, he totally was rough and tumble and throwing me around (totally hot) and was basically putting me into a position to get fucked.  Which is totally cool, and hot, but we were in a bathhouse without condoms or lube readily available.  And for 9+, I am going to need lube.  We recognize that we need a condom though he tried otherwise, and I sent him out to get one.  Serious bummer and work but he came back still hard (I wish I could have seen the faces of the others in the place) and basically jumped right back in where he left off.  Me on my back, lol.  The problem was that he came back without lube and I sorta think he knew it too since he made a huge attempt to get me totally ready, fingers, serious making out, serious toying with my dick and ass, and roughing me up (which other than my response to him, I have no idea how he knew it was hotter).  Needless to say, when he shoved in and started pounding, I basically gasped not at pain but at the amusement that I was taking his seriously hung Brasilian meat without lube, lol.  He fucked like an animal, in many positions, and payed attention to the bottom like only one other I have known.  It went on for like 20 or more minutes, just the fucking and I held out until I knew he was close.  Once I shot on my chest, spraying the wall behind me, and his chest since he was super close to me making out, he pulled out and did the same.  It was amazingly hot.   It was also at this point though that he said, in English, where are you from and what do you, and...do I get your email.

haha... so, well.. yah, thats it. 

Friend in Rio

Everyone knows how obsessed the Brasilians are with fotologs.  MadeinBrazil (who awesomely featured me the other day) continously points that out for our pleasure.  But I was able to get a real life hands on impression from one of the boys I met and hung out with in Rio, Robert.  He is adorable and I thought his site needed some exposure.  ;)  Thanks Robert.  One may wonder when we ever put a shirt on and the more I think about it, I wonder that myself, lol

Buenos Aires photos