Virtue Feed and Grain

703-837-9117

106 S Union Street

Alexandria, VA 22314

http://virtuefeedandgrain.com/menu/

by Beau Cadiyo

Back in January or February of 2000, I was in a supermarket in Cardiff, Wales.  I was studying in Cardiff and a girl in one of my literature classes was shopping in the same market – brunette, dark skinned with green eyes, half-Italian, yacht.  She came up and we started chatting about books in the aisle, and then paid, and then talked some more outside, and then she invited me back to her place for tea.  Once in her apartment, she put the kettle on, and then we looked at some pictures from her life, and then we were sitting on her bed, and then we had more tea, and then I left.  In retrospect all I had to do was make a move.  The problem wasn’t my not knowing what to do; it was that I didn’t even realize what sort of situation I was in.  It was like being in front of an apple tree, and starving, but not knowing that apples are edible.  Oh man, I could have eaten. 

The Indigo Girls have a song called Watershed, with the line, “Every five years or so I look back on my life and I have a good laugh.”  For me it is the opposite.  Every five years or so I look back on my life and think of these moments and experience a deep, profound sadness.  It’s usually temporary, but it usually makes me cry.  I feel – acutely – the lost opportunities, the chances missed, the girls not bedded, the words not said, the papers not written and the books not read.  I mourn, more than anything, the fact that I could have done more and that I didn’t.  I’m not only getting older, but it’s not going to get better; there’s little or nothing for me to live for if I can’t take advantage of the opportunities right in front of my face.  Kids – kids are a reason to live, they’re a reason to keep going.  Kids work. 

I don’t have kids. 

Not that I want them – I don’t, not right now and probably not ever.  If anything, they might make my life more satisfying, but they’d also prevent me from taking advantage of opportunities that are out there.  Yes, no kids for me. 

Today, though, it is fear of age and extreme mourning of what could be interpreted as a misspent youth.  Someone once told me that part of my problem was that I grew up too early – that I never had time to be young because I was always too busy becoming old.  I was 20 going on 60.  Now, though, all I want to do is go back twelve years, thirteen years, and live that time over again. 

The curse of experience is that you know how badly you screwed up. 

This whole line of thinking is, of course, foolish.  I can eat apple pie for breakfast if I want to because I am an adult, with a job (knock on wood), and I have money to buy apple pie for breakfast if I want it, and the freedom to eat as much apple pie as I can.  There was a stretch of three or four days where every meal I ate involved rotisserie chicken skin.  Try eating rotisserie chicken skin for every meal.  You’ll love it.  But now, in my early thirties, I just want to be young again, even if I can't afford apple pie and rotisserie chicken skin – I want to be young and carefree, without real responsibilities.  Greener grass.  Plus, I have this idea that if I could go back, everything would be halcyon.  I wouldn’t feel pain, and I’d take advantage of all of the opportunities thrown at me.  I’d be able to woo Annabelle Fryer again.  I’d run faster, stretch out my arms farther. . . . And one fine morning

Eventually I get to the point where I see this as a painful opportunity to look at my life, see what paths are open to me, and see which are the ones I want to follow or should try to blaze.  What could I do now that I’d regret not doing later?  I suppose I should feel fortunate about this as an opportunity, but really, I can’t help but regret what I did not do, the paths I didn’t take. 

One path I did take recently was an $18 cheeseburger at Virtue Feed & Grain in Alexandria, Virginia.  I wish I could say it wasn’t worth it – that it was mediocre, that the bread wasn’t perfect, the meat wasn’t juicy, the cheese not perfectly matched, the fries were cold and soggy, but none of those things were true.  This burger was worth every penny I spent on it, and I am glad I took that path. Plus, I was with great friends, and now the husband of them is going to start using a straight razor, which is exciting.  So that path - the $18 cheeseburger at Virtue - is a good path to take if you can. 

But there are still other paths I wish I’d taken.  Over the next few days, I’m going to think about how I want to live my life, and the “Raymond K. Hessel” things I want to do.  Who knows – you might hear about some of them.  

Grum's

1776 Coventry Road
Cleveland Heights, OH 44118-5226
(216) 321-4781 ‎


by Fidel Gastro

It is raining. It is raining so much that I don't dare go out. If it were a proper December I suppose it'd be snowing. Pedestrians – we're better suited to snow than rain – I know it's different for drivers but I know that the streets are plowed and the sidewalks are never shoveled so I have anger and class consciousness toward drivers.

So stay home and count your petty ducats! you say, and I respond by telling you angry things that you don't care to hear and soon we're not friends. So let's pretend that instead you said, with concern in your voice - well why do you need to go out so bad?

First. It is Christmastime and this Christmas I have made the acquaintance of the long walk to the long wait at the post office. I'm not the sort to hate. A lot of people will tell you that they have a sick-sick anger for the USPS but I think – someone sent me an important paper from across the world for $.44. I don't mind waiting in a line for a little while to get it. And also, if there was a crowd of people watching you do your job, they'd probably make fun of you too, jerk. Anyway, I'm not going to brave the roads today and suffer the gross indignity of being surfed by cars. It is a bad thing that happens.

Second. I can't go and get a sandwich. It's a rarity and a strange one, where The Sandwich is not preeminent in my world of earthly demands. But that is the nature of Christmas. Gifts first, Sandwiches second. On the matter of sandwiches, and on walking for that matter I have some words.

My love of sandwiches has governed my choices regarding where I will live. Because I prefer the constitutional savor of a brisk walk over the harried disruption of driving I have a smaller scope of available sandwiches. So I made certain to live in the midst of the greatest concentration of sandwich shops that I could find.

A strong man, a man only half as strong as me (and therefore pretty damned strong) could throw a stone and strike no fewer than seven sandwich shops.  Eight – if you count the Burrito as a sandwich, which I am told by Mr. Cadiyo, I shall not ever do. Nevertheless even in the narrow confine of sandwich definitions allowed me, I am up against an embarrassment of sandwiches. Now, I may some days savor the soupy vegetable cocktail added to the turkey of Dave's Cosmic, and I may sometimes humble myself before my fellow men and deign to eat a Panini. I might even steel my iron guts yet steelier for a sample of the Winking Lizard's barbecued fare. In desperation I may count pennies to afford the lettuce and mustard melange of the gas-station Subway. But on any day, regardless of circumstances, regardless – really, of consciousness – I find that I crave for the Hot Grumsteer.

Many arguments can be posed and settled only with fistfights over the superior merits of hot or cold sandwiches. I find that circumstances largely dictate my preference – but in general that a sandwich is sometimes aided by a modicum of fire, and sometimes hindered. But given the choice between the hot or the cold Grumsteer – you must choose the hot. All things being equal, the roast beef is made to come alive, is alchemically altered by the application of the 'sandwich herbs' that Grum's applies so judiciously. The cheese and the meat interweave into a massy substance that gives each vigorous bite its own tactile satisfaction, but in the midst of the occassional mushroom, the periodic onion – there is the lingering heavenly potence of the horse's aromatic radish. Like a medical tincture applied to the beast, the large Grumsteer solves your sinus complaints and salves your stomach's recurring wants. There is no sandwich that may better serve the wants and hungers of anyone, of everyone really, than the Hot Grumsteer.

Alas it is raining and I must test my sandwichmaking audacity with the spare contents of my cupboards. Is it a sandwich if you smear canned frosting over graham crackers and liberally apply shredded coconut? What about a congress of Nutella and marmalade between slabs of raisin toast? Will Sandwich Science™ ever be granted the opportunity for sleep? For rest? For the fundamental answers to necessary questions?

The Winking Lizard

6111 Quarry Ln

Independence, OH 44131

(216) 524-2226

http://www.winkinglizard.com

by Beau Cadiyo

“I think it’s good for the city,” Frank said. 

I let out an incredulous bark. 

We were meeting over burgers at the Winking Lizard in Independence.  I’d brought up the new young adult program being pushed by Fitzgerald.  Frank, a famous skeptic of county government, had just said he thought the program was a good idea. 

“No,” he corrected me, “I think it is good for the city.”

What’s the difference?

“OK,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling as if figuring out the best way to explain something to a child.  “We are dedicated to Cleveland, believe it is an incredible city, and want to make it as good as it can be, right?

Yes.

“We can agree that government in Cuyahoga County is despicably corrupt and wholeheartedly ineffective, right?”

Yes.

“We agree that if, say, the government was kicked out wholesale, everyone would benefit?”

Yes.

“We can agree that the way they’ve been doing things needs to change?”

“We can agree that the system itself is a corrupting influence, and that the people within the system can change but they are not going to change the system?” 

Well, what’s the point?

“It’s simple,” he said, as if he’d been waiting for me to get annoyed.  “This program is going to make it easier to identify the enemies of our city.  This program is specifically designed to catch the people who are young and to co-opt them into the system that needs to be destroyed.  It is going to appeal to people who are ambitious but not smart enough to think about what they’re doing, who want to change the system but aren’t smart enough to escape it.  And then we know who the enemy is. 

“See, kids are going to apply for the program, and then they are put through a selection process, which makes them feel special. It is custom-MADE to sound like it is selective, and it is.  It is selecting for the most promising leaders that the government can find.  These kids are then brought into the system.  They meet the so-called leaders of our communities.  They are taught who controls the government and how they should act.  They’re taught where to go to meals to impress people, how they should look and most importantly what bribes they should accept.  They’re taught how to bow and how to bend over, and they’re shackled to the old way of doing things.  In ten years, twenty years, these kids with their fresh-scrubbed faces are, like Orwell’s pigs, going to look exactly like Russo and Fitzgerald and all the rest of the politicians ruining this city.  I mean, do you think that any of these young “leaders” are going to try to buck the system as soon as they are the system?”

No. 

“Exactly.  So it’s good for the city.”

But how, if they’re taking the crème-de-la-crème and co-opting them and preventing them from revolting?

“Ah, but that’s where you again don’t understand me.  They’re not the crème-de-la-crème.  The people who apply for this program are already going to be the kinds of people who blindly do things for the baubles that result.  They’re going to be the kinds of people who pin nametags on their chests and look at the new line on their resumes and say, ‘I’m somebody.  Hey, look at me, I’m important.’  The thing is, the real leaders of tomorrow aren’t going to care about these baubles.  They’re going to care about improving the city.  These young executives are trying to get into government so they themselves can benefit; the next generation of leaders are going to care about destroying these young executives and saving our city.” 

What do you mean?

“There’s a revolution -”

A black revolution?

He smiled.  “A Cleveland revolution, afoot.  People are disgusted by politics and the politicians.  They are not looking for a new voice, a new leader or a new regime.  They are looking for a new system.” He pounded the table.  “FitzGerald and his boys and girls know this, and they’re going to fight it.  The county executive – I mean, Fitz is the one who opposed the executive passionately because it went against the old system, and then he’s the one that the system put in place to make sure that nothing really changed.” 

I took a bite of my burger.  It was ok. 

“But we actually do have a new generation rising, and they can’t stop it.”

Because they didn’t start it.

“You can feel the anger and the passion in the air.  There are social networks forming independent of the old guard, and it’s making them furious because they can’t tap into these networks as easily as they are used to doing.  They’re used to the old ways of doing things around here.  With these new groups, they realize that they can’t get access.  This young executive program is a dying gasp – a fighting gasp, yes, but a dying gasp, and anyone who helps out with this, who applies, is going to have a black mark on themselves.  We’ll be able to mark them out as functionaries, as servants.  Fitzgerald is trying to use them to keep the others in check, under control, keep them passive, keep them peaceful and nonviolent.” 

I heard echoes. 

“They’re going to use these young executives as pawns to try to control us.  These kids are the chameleons, the courtiers, who betray our city and each other in order to preserve themselves."

I still didn't get how it was good for the city.  

“Well, I think it’s good for the city, because it is going to help us identify the people we can’t trust to run this city, this county or this state.  Soon we’ll have mug shots and resumes of the very people who are being willingly put in place to prop up the current regime, the current system.  We will, in effect, have a line up of the traitors we can’t trust.  And when the time comes, we’re going to have to deal with these people the same way we’ve always dealt with traitors.” 

He looked at me for a difficult moment.

“Even if they’re trying to run this county like a third-world colony, this is still America, and we’re still Americans.  We’re Clevelanders.  It’s not easy to live here, and it’s not easy to love this city.  It’s not easy to deal with the system, and it’s not going to be easy to overturn the system and turn all of these traitors out into the streets.  But it’s coming.  Yes, it is.  It’s coming, and it’s people like us who are going to lead the charge.  We’re going to take a whole generation of these so-called leaders and, when we know who they are, we’re going to make sure that they don’t have a place at the table.  They play tough, and they’re going to be playing tough in order to stay in power.  But when push comes to shove, we’re still willing to create a revolution.”  Then his voice lowered, and he got the pace.  “‘A revolution is hostile.  A revolution knows no compromise.  A revolution overturns and destroys everything that gets in its way.’” 

“‘And you, sitting out here like a knot on the wall saying ‘I’m gonna love these folks no matter how much they hate me,’’” I said, laughing. 

“No, YOU need a revolution!” he roared, and it felt like Cleveland was looking at us and not just the waitresses and the people at the next table, and I suddenly had hope again, and the burger tasted just that much better.  

Tim Horton's

2000 Talbot Rd W
Windsor, ON N9A 6S4, Canada
(519) 966-1656
http://www.timhortons.com/

by Beau Cadiyo

Groggy, I walked to the Caesar's lobby in an effort to get my bearings.  The man behind the courtesy desk allowed me to ask the question that had been marinating in the back of my mind ever since we’d crossed the border:

"What's that one Canadian fast food place that people love so much?"

He was perplexed.  "Arby's?"

The ridiculousness of his statement shocked me so much that I paused.  Arby's?  Canadian?  It's beef, dude.  And bread.  And corn sugar-based sauce.  They have salted, seasoned curly fries and milk shakes.  They have coupons that give you five roast beef sandwiches for five dollars.  There’s no way it could be anything but American. I knew I could never trust him ever again. 

Instead, I said, "No - they send food to the troops in Afghanistan.  I heard that they have really good coffee."

"Oh, Tim Horton's!" he exclaimed.

"Yes!  Where's the nearest one?"

The woman waiting behind me looked intrigued at this exchange.  That didn't surprise me.  I'm Beau Cadiyo.  I know sandwiches.  Maybe she, too, thought Arby's was Canadian, and I blew her mind with truth.  Regardless, I ignored her immediate and intense attraction to me.  Sandwich Science™ can do that to a girl; you - or, rather, I - get accustomed to it. 

He gave me directions, to which I nodded and smiled and didn't pay attention.  I walked through sweltering streets, sweat soaking my shirt, skivvies and shorts.  The core of downtown Windsor has the distinct feeling of an abandoned tropical tourist town.  There are bars and restaurants, weathered facades and a few empty storefronts.  Trees line the street, there's not much traffic, and there were far more young, attractive women than there were men of any age.  Indeed, the paramedics we saw were women, and the first three cops I saw were women.  Very young, very, very attractive women.  I stopped to ask for directions from each of them.

Upon walking in, Tim Horton’s seems to be a mix between Dunkin' Donuts and McDonald's.  There were several people there even though it was mid-afternoon, and three staff members seemed busy, although I was the only one in line.  I was told that four Canadian dollars and ninety-seven Canadian cents would get me a chicken salad sandwich, a donut and a drink.  That’s what I got.  I’m a sandwich man; I’m not an economist.

The first difference I noticed was that Tim Horton’s used real flatware and silverware – a beautiful sight in a fast food joint.  Second, Tim Horton’s is quality.  The toasted bread was hearty, the chicken salad was excellent, the lettuce was crispy and the tomato tasted both fresh and ripe.  My donut was unlike any I’d ever had before; it was chewy and dense and had an aroma that indicated they used real, fresh blueberries in it.  It was solid, offered resistance to my teeth, and was still warm from being cooked.

I thought of California when I was driving back across the border into Detroit.  I heard once that there is nowhere in the world where the difference between a developed and developing nation is so starkly laid out as the border between San Diego and Tijuana.  I think that the border between Detroit and Windsor is the fast food equivalent: on the Windsor side is high-quality food, with reusable utensils and real fruit, represented by Tim Horton’s, and on the Detroit side is crap that makes people obese, represented by Arby’s, which is American, by the way, and maybe I shouldn't be proud of that fact but I am. 

Num Pang

21 East 12th Street Map
New York, NY 10003
212-255-3271
numpangnyc.com

by Beau Cadiyo

Walking through crowds is an art. Some people approach CrowdWalking™ as an opportunity to join the masses, just going along with what everyone else is doing, moving at the crowd pace. Some people bumble along even more slowly, disrupting and inconveniencing everyone else. Others successfully move through the crowd at a faster or slower speed at will, cutting through an otherwise solid mass swiftly and easily, without interrupting other peoples’ courses; they react to the movements of others and respond accordingly in order to maximize their own speed and avoid collisions. When they do get in the way of other people, the others may feel momentary annoyance, but then they realize that they’re in the presence of a Super Walker™ and don’t fault them for this transgression.

I am a Super Walker™. I’m really fucking good at walking.

It took these skills to get from Union Station to Num Pang Sandwich Shop. Union Square was packed on a Saturday morning; artists set up their tables everywhere with farmers, a sexual harassment exhibit staffed by nubile college-aged coeds was attracting half-shaved middle-aged men, and people lounged around on stairs, benches and fences, blocking everything up in a sea of humanity.

I meandered through the streets; for a city, New York feels safe and, as a tourist, it’s hard to imagine that these streets are considered “hard.” Suddenly, I passed a sign advertising Bahn Mis. I started, immediately flipped through my New York Moleskine and located the shop on my list of potential places to try. The window was open, as was the door, and I walked in only to be told that it would be another 15 minutes until they actually opened. Dejected, I went to buy fruit at a grocery store, then returned. I ordered a peppercorn catfish sandwich for $7.50 – a very good price – and rubbed my hands in anticipation.

They handed me a bag, and I brought it back to Union Square. I was salivating, the heat was permeating the bag in a teasing way. Sitting on a somehow-vacant bench, I pulled it out of the bag and popped open the cardboard container expectantly.

I was again dejected.

The bahn mi was actually pretty good – delicious, really. The chewy bread had a nice crust and the filling was delectable – simultaneously sweet and salty and spicy, all of the elements mixing in perfect balance of tastes and textures. The problem, of course, was that the price may have been low for a bahn mi in New York, but was nevertheless exceptionally high for the amount of food I actually got. It was barely bigger than a dinner roll, and, while the filling was good, there was not much of it. My paradigm may have made an adopted New Yorker blush, and a native New Yorker scream, but if I’m going to pay that much for a sandwich, it better be big enough to satisfy me. This was barely a cocktail appetizer, much less a $7.50 sandwich.

I’d feel bad about these expectations, or at the very least embarrassed in front of my New York readers, except that these sandwiches are a ripoff. If people want to tell me that I’m a backwoods hick, well, that’s fine. As a New Yorker at Time once wrote, “There is no provincialism so blatant as the metropolitan who lacks urbanity.”

Port Deli

681 8th Avenue
New York, NY 10036
(212) 245-2362
by Beau Cadiyo

So there have been a few more shootings in Cleveland recently. As with all of the shootings in this city, there was an initial flurry of political attention and television coverage after each incident, followed the next day by radio silence.

Whenever something like this happens it reminds me of a debate I had with Frank Ciepiel over whether it was a more pressing priority to fund education or security; he argued the former, I the latter. It was during a discussion with a few friends over the weekend that I realized again that Frank is completely wrong and I am completely right. Two important points came up in that discussion, and the subsequent ruminations that such discussions always provoke: Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and the living example of New York City.

A while ago, a psychologist named Maslow formed a theory about how we progress as human beings. It said that we all have basic needs, and only after basic needs are met can we move on to secondary needs that are less important to survival but are important to our happiness and sense of self-worth. Among these basic needs: food, water, shelter and security. If we don’t get these, we will be so preoccupied with getting them that we won’t begin to think about whether we are truly happy, or what our purpose in life might be. Education? Seriously? It’s not even on the radar. Security, however, is very important; if we don’t feel secure, we will put up with threats without realizing our full potential, fight for our security until we ARE secure or flee to a place where we are secure.

Here’s the thought that Andrew Samtoy, our media representative and bon vivant, had: just as there is a personal hierarchy of needs, there is a societal hierarchy of needs that is necessary for a society, on any level, to function properly. At its most basic level, before anything else, a city must provide citizens with security.
This played out in New York City over the last twenty years, and shows us a clear path to where we must put our energy, attention, time and money. New York City was a dangerous place twenty years ago. It was so dangerous that people living there were leaving and people not living there were staying away. The critical need of safety wasn’t being provided, and New York City was falling apart.

So what did they do?

The police stepped up their game and the citizens got themselves some security.

The cops started to work better and smarter. They secured the streets and the subways. They fixed broken windows, and then they went neighborhood by neighborhood to stop crime. The result? Murder rates fell. Violent crime rates fell. Actually, all crime rates fell, and they continue to fall http://www.wbng.com/news/state/Crime-Rate-on-the-Decline-in-New-York-130116908.html . People felt safer because people were safer, and soon they were able to think about other things besides their personal safety. They were able to do more, to think creatively, to achieve, and to invest their time in things like education without worrying so much about their safety. The most important thing is that they stopped moving out and others started moving in.
Frank Todoroff and I saw this first-hand last week. We took the train into Penn Station and walked up toward Central Park, through sidewalks absolutely packed with New Yorkers and tourists. We saw a sign for the Port Deli and I went in and ordered a corned beef sandwich. The man behind the counter carefully prepared it – rye bread, heated corned beef, Swiss cheese, mustard, lettuce, tomato. He wrapped it carefully and handed the package over. It was medium sized, and warm, with well-marbled beef, perfectly melted cheese and good rye; it wasn’t Slyman’s, but then, you can only hope for so much. Back outside, we joined thousands of people rushing around, New Yorkers and tourists alike, flooding the restaurants, bars, cafes, shops, parks, subways, and pounding every inch of concrete, overflowing into the streets.

Many years ago, when we came together to create the modern form of social groups, we delegated certain tasks to society in order to focus on doing other things well, things that we found more interesting and rewarding. The most basic need we delegated was safety; we set up a societal security system where we created a police system and, in exchange, we rewarded the people who served. As a society, we can’t and shouldn’t feed and clothe all of our citizens; history shows that that’s a fool’s errand https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Soviet_Union . We can and should, however, create a system where people can do this for themselves, and this can only be accomplished by making sure they are safe to pursue their chosen vocations. I am not arguing that Cleveland should be like New York; I am arguing that if we want the vitality of a city, we’re going to have to change a few things to make Cleveland better for Clevelanders.

Right now, our citizens aren’t being provided with enough security - the recent shootings are proof of that. If we do not meet this need, we, as a city, will continue to lose our citizens to cities that provide security, and we won’t attract replacements for them.

Searching

Someone in Russia just visited us, leaving the following on our Feedjit:

Posad, Novgorod arrived from google.ru on "The Cleveland Sandwich Board: Freddie’s Southern Style Rib House" by searching for restroom ratings blog "walking into a cave".

Sir or Madam: I don't know what you're looking for, but I hope you find it.

Best,
Beau