Tesco, Theydon Bois

Coppice Row, Theydon Bois, Epping

+44 845 026 9180

By Beau Cadiyo

I was driving to my private competitive ballroom dancing lesson the other day when Morissey came on the radio. My brain, which works quickly, rapidly delivered these thoughts: 

1. Someone waited for this album to come out, bought it, then listened to it straight through, as if that was the most important thing in the world. 
2. I used to do that when I was younger. I would buy an album when it came out, then sit in my room and listen to it, loud, to hear every note as quickly as possible. 
3. I don't do that anymore. 
4. Does anyone do that? I read a few years ago that the music industry is suffering because people are buying single songs on iTunes and then just listening to those rather than buying whole albums. 
5. I got in an intense argument with Des Ayuno about that. I said that her bands should just release singles, but she said they had to release albums. I said that was stupid. I think she took it personally. 
6. But anyway, do people wait with baited breath for albums from their favorite artists to come out anymore? If so, that is a romantic notion. 
7. I miss having that love and passion for artists and music. I miss the days when I loved it that much. 
8. Things are different now. They really are. 
9. Seasons change. Mad things rearrange, but they all stay the same like the love Doctor Strange. 
10. The Fugees. What was that, 1995? That was worth getting the whole album. 
11. There are kids today who don't know who the Fugees are. They also don't know Rage Against The Machine. 
12. That makes me sad. 
13. Sebastian had the idea of making a sign, during the sweat shop protests of the late 1990s, that said "Rage Against The Sewing Machine."
14. I remember rewinding tapes in my car, then playing them in order to make a song repeat. I used to get so excited when I stopped the song and it was right at the beginning, where I wanted it, during the dead space between songs. 
15. There are kids today who don't know what tapes are. 
16. I don't like the thought of being one of those people who think that they had the best childhood, and kids today should hold dear what we hold dear because things were better when I was growing up
17. But I am. 

This BLT was surprisingly good for being shrink wrapped from a grocery store, but perhaps that was because I was hung over and extremely hungry. The surprising thing was that it had American-style bacon in it. 

Mahall's 20 Lanes

13200 Madison Ave
Lakewood, OH 44107

(216) 521-3280
www.mahalls20lanes.com

by Beau Cadiyo

Running in the rain
A leaf fell, softly,
softly then it touched my eye.

I recommend the Deluxe Burger, although the mushroom is good - far better than Symon's attempt.  If you get the Deluxe, eat it quickly, as it will be succulent and delicious and the pickles will be cool against the heat of the double-stack of beef.  Also, match it with the Green Flash IPA, which is incredible.

Potbelly Sandwich Shop

515 Euclid Avenue
Cleveland, OH 44114

(216) 325-0161
www.potbelly.com



by Beau Cadiyo

We have a very limited period of time on earth.  Death awaits us all.

Each of us has the choice to make whether to care about what we do while we are here.

Sometimes things, in retrospect, might seem like a waste of time. They might be.  Nobody's life is perfect.

None of us can do everything.

All of us can, though.

We each have a role to play.  It's like a symphony.  Sometimes - most of the time - we are in the background.  At the same time, each of us are constantly playing solos.  There is no shame in being a fourth-chair violinist - they are critical, and they are still on stage.  They can also screw everything up, which is power in and of itself.

You must, must, must care about your environment.  It molds you as much as you mold it.

Most people settle.  There comes a point, though, where you can decide whether you want to settle or strive.

There is no downside to striving.

Again, we will all die.

Most people take what the world gives them; they bargain with life for a penny.  They don't demand more from the world or, more importantly, from themselves.  Everyone must decide for themselves if that is what they want for their lives and legacy.  There is no shame in choosing to accept what is given to you.  There is also no downside to striving.

The big tuna melt on multigrain bread with everything, extra hot peppers, is my favorite.

The Jolly Scholar

Thwing Center
11111 Euclid Ave
Cleveland, OH 44106
(216) 368-0090
http://www.thejollyscholar.com

by Beau Cadiyo


I prided myself, for a long time, on the fact that nobody I knew ever died.  It was true - I knew OF people who had died, like Abraham Lincoln and Jesus and Gandhi, but I didn't actually know anyone who had then died after I had met them.  Then, in college, another RA named Frank passed away after a long battle with eating disorders.  I got the news when we returned from summer break.  I wasn't close enough to her to be notified by the family or her friends or anything, but I remember thinking that her curly hair and blue eyes were gone, and her knee-high socks, and whatever spark there was in her body had died.  And life went on.

Google Voice transcribed the message this morning from Edward thus: "Hey, it's Drew.  Mr. So sad.  Smith College.  It, Hi it's me.  I was gimme a call, alright.  Yeah.  Bye bye."  The message itself was so garbled that I couldn't understand him either; what he was calling to tell me was that Frank Malde had hung himself this last weekend.

My favorite story about Frank Malde came after we got back to school after a long weekend - maybe fall break, maybe Thanksgiving.  He'd taken the opportunity to go up to Canada.  Frank was Indian, and had dark skin, and the ability to grow exceptionally long, thick, luxurious beards.  He'd grown his out, and so when he re-entered, he was subject to extra checks at the border because he was brown, had a beard and was traveling alone.  He was carrying his American passport, and when they asked him if he spoke English, he got angry.  He didn't show it, though.  Instead, he smiled a big, absurd, uncomprehending smile, the kind that lit up his face, and nodded his head, slowly, then vigorously.  They called over extra agents and asked again if he spoke English, and the new agents got the same response.  They pulled him out of the car and searched it while he was taken to a containment room.  Various translators kept coming in to try to talk to him, but he didn't respond to any of them; they found nothing in the car, and finally, after four, or perhaps seven, or perhaps thirteen hours, two agents were sitting across the table from him, talking frankly about the situation that they were in.  Frank piped up and asked, in perfect New England English, if he could use the bathroom, which made the agents jump up in shock and berate him for wasting their time.  They then got a lesson in institutional racism, and how to ask better questions beyond whether someone could speak English, and to trust the answers they were given, even if it was a nodding of the head.

When I got off the phone with Edward, I googled The Great Gatsby.  I went to the last chapter and scrolled down to Nick's conversation with Meyer Wolfsheim, and read,

“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead,” he suggested. “After that my own rule is to let everything alone.”

I remember laughing when Frank told his story, laughing so hard that tears streamed down my face, and how Frank seemed to see the whole thing as an opportunity to right injustice - he was just a citizen, making his way back into his country, and the problem was the border guards, and the system.  Then I remembered times at parties and school gatherings, where he was there having fun and was smart and only spoke when he had something interesting to say, which meant everything he said was interesting, and how whenever he spoke up in class, it invariably made the teacher either realize something new about the material or brought the discussion to a halt because there was nothing more to say on the matter when Frank was done talking.  I'm sad that I didn't stay in touch with him to let him know that I appreciated his friendship and the fact that I knew him, and I wonder how many people are out there who I similarly don't express enough appreciation for - people I'm close to, people I care about.

The burger at the Jolly Scholar is surprisingly good - we had one with bacon, cheese, and a bourbon barbecue sauce.  The pretzel roll was delicious.  The real winner, though, is the beer - they have exceptionally high-quality brew for student prices.  If you can deal with being around 20-somethings and feeling like you're out of your element, it's an exceptionally good place to go, and they're not nearly as snooty or expensive as Severance Hall.

Open Letter: Freddie's Cash Mob

by Beau Cadiyo

I have, with great respect and admiration, followed the work of my classmate, colleague, confidante and close friend Andrew Samtoy during his quest to spread Cash Mobs around the world.  His struggles, triumphs and willingness to do the right thing, whatever the cost, in expanding localism and communities has touched many and, while he is far too modest to say it, it was only by his immense capacity for hard work, Herculean efforts, natural leadership ability, roguish charm, silver tongue, stellar character and dashing good looks that Cash Mobs has spread so far, so quickly. 

Thus, when I learned Freddie's was closing again, I called him immediately. 

I'll give you a moment to process that.  Yes.  Freddie's is closing.  Again. 

The importance of Freddie's to Cleveland cannot be understated.  Besides being a long-time pillar of our barbecue community, Freddie's serves a Polish Boy that Esquire Magazine called one of the top sandwiches in America, and it received this accolade back when Cleveland's blossoming food scene was still merely a bud.  It closed before; the fact that it is closing - again - means that one of the real, true Cleveland restaurants is going away for good. 

In addition, the Polish Boy is critical to our city's heritage and history, as it is one of the few places in the country where such a beautiful beast could have emerged.  The kielbasa comes from the Eastern Europeans; the French Fries from the Western Europeans; coleslaw was enjoyed by the rich industrialists in the early 20th century; and the barbecue sauce from the Great Migration.  It is difficult to explain how unlikely this combination actually is from an historical perspective.  The Polish Boy is the one true Cleveland food, and the fact that Freddie's is closing means that one of the best in the city will soon be no more. 

Therefore I, Beau Jesus Cadiyo, am announcing a Cash Mob.  Andrew has graciously agreed to assist me in organizing this venture.  It will be on Saturday, June 23, 2012 from 2-10 p.m. 

We harbor no illusions about our ability to save Freddie's; by 1 July it will be no more.  There is no "reverse" gear, no path back from the precipice; the ship has launched, the trigger has been pulled.  This Cash Mob is not about "saving" Freddie's from destruction.  It is, however, about being exposed to one of the greatest sandwiches in these United States, and thus the world.  It is about making sure that we imprint on our memories what Freddie's tasted like, and, when we taste other Polish Boys, reminding ourselves and each other what excellence actually tastes like.  It is also about being able to tell your children that you were there, and then telling them that they don't really know what real excellence is, because back in my day. 

Get a large Polish Boy next Saturday.  Get two.  Eat it.  Then tweet me and tell me it's not the most amazing thing you've ever had so I can call you a liar and challenge you to a cage fight. 

I suppose I do wish Freddie's was staying open, but I know what Andrew would tell me if he heard me casually mention it over a campfire:

What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Cadiyo? No, my fair cousin;
If it is mark’d to close, we are enow
To our community's loss; and if to live,
The fewer sandwiches, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one month more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for bread,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my turkey eat;
Such poultry things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet Polish Boys,
I am the most offending soul alive.
Rather proclaim it, Cadiyo, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this mob,
Let him depart; his passport to W. 25th shall be made,
And tokens for convoy put into his purse;
We would not eat in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to eat with us.
This day will be call’d the feast of Freddie's.
He that eats this day, and goes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Freddie's.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is Saint Freddie's.”
Then will he strip his shirt and show his barbecue stains,
And say “These stains I had on Freddie's day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What things he ate that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Andre the Wheeler, Samtoy and Cadiyo-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Freddie Freddie shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that eats his Polish Boy with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in Cleveland now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That ate with us upon Saint Freddie's day.

Yes, that is what he would say, and I would be chagrined.

I will see you next Saturday.

Love,
Beau

The Harp

(216) 939-0200

4408 Detroit Ave
Cleveland, OH 44113

the-harp.com

It’s hard to just get a burger these days.  I mean, it seems like every burger in town has a pretty predictable set of ingredients:

• Grass-fed beef;
• Aged, locally-sourced cheddar cheese;
• Smoked applewood bacon;
• Some variety of cured onions;
• Heirloom tomatoes and organic lettuce;
• Artisinal roll. 

Seriously, go into any “foodie” place, the kind of restaurant where bloggers take pictures of their food with DSLR cameras that they leave on Auto, and see how many of these you can tick off.  It’s likely that the menu will mention each of these items, and the waiter will, if well-trained, emphasize them in his sales speech.  We’re in a sort of Cold War-style burger race now, and the only advantages to be gained are in incremental variations – organic poppyseed rolls, or specialty onions, or restaurant-grown produce, or if the chef brought the cow to your table before slaughtering it and grinding up its meat, perhaps leaving the ear on your table as a trophy. 

So it’s nice to see a place ignore these Burger Wars and just grill beef, put it together, and trust that it will be fine.  The operative word there is “grill.”  The burger at the Harp was fine – it was disassembled so I could add all of the produce and condiments I desired.  Actually, come to think of it, that’s the first time in a while where the restaurant didn’t assume that they knew best how to make the most delicious burger and that I would love whatever they put together.  It was a good burger – the bread soaked up beef juices, the produce was fresh, the cheese was tasty.  What set it apart, though, was the last few bites: on one of the ends of the clearly hand-formed patty was a charred bit, still touched with flame. 

And that’s what restaurants have forgotten.  In their quest to make the most special burger with the most special tastes, they lost the idea that a burger starts out with flame applied to flesh, and that this alchemy still matters to consumers.  The Harp hasn’t forgotten, though, and that’s why their burgers, prepared in the traditional manner, are suddenly special and have suddenly won the Burger Wars.  

 

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.