The Lucky Ladle - This sleepy little spot on Magazine Street specializes in breakfast, and The Folk Singer and I gave it a go for Sunday brunch. Menu is simple but to the point of being uninspired, and the prices are cheap. Breakfast panini ($6.50) had an excellent buttery crispy exterior and gooey filling of egg, bacon, and melting Kraft singles. Call me crazy but the cheese made the sandwich. Accompanying side of home fries were frozen minuscule dices of potato cooked on the griddle but soft and mushy instead of crispy. Grits were terribly bland, but nothing that can’t be fixed with a salt shaker. Bacon and brown sugar waffle was a thick, pillowy round with not much flavor from either of the namesake ingredients. Service was friendly, and the sidewalk table with blue plastic chairs are a nice place to take your morning meal if you simply don’t feel like doing the dishes. Bogey/Par.

Nonna Mia - A group of us were famished after unsuccessfully grazing at the Martini Madness event at City Park a few weeks ago, and Nonna Mia was the only restaurant which  was happy to seat a table of 16 at 10:30pm. There were no (perceptible) grumblings from the staff either, which earns extra points for service in my book. The courtyard was a nice setting on a cool September night. Peroni on tap - gotta like that. Salads and bruschetta used lettuce and tomatoes that were flavorless and poorly executed. The pizzas, on the other hand, surprised me. The crust was yeasty and pliable, the sauce and toppings of respectable quality, and the pies in toto tasted pretty good actually. Understand that Nonna Mia plays AA ball while Domenica and Ancora are in the major leagues. But I would put this pizza on par with your favorite local spot. Birdie for Ambience & Service; Par for Food.

Thanks for all the comments on last week's debate. While we aren't positive (our historian is checking), rumor is it was the first meaningful discussion on the internet that did not detour into a mudslinging, nasty name calling affair. You guys and broads brought up insightful, intelligent points that we hadn't even thought about and greatly contributed to the discussion. So congrats, dear readers. We made history. The issue of cash vs. credit cards has no correct, definitive answer, much like which Olsen sister is hottest. Now onto another topic, diners who customize their orders.

Rene: The worst person in the world to eat with is Legend. Doesn't really matter where you go: high-end temple of gastronomy, cozy bistro, or fast food chain, he will customize his order to fit what he wants. For example, "I want the steak, but the potatoes from the fish, the sauce from the chicken, and the dessert from the place across the street." I can't stand this. At most restaurants, a diner should only be able to customize their order when asked. For instance, you may answer "medium rare" when asked, "How would you like your steak cooked?" Or you may tell the waitress how you like your eggs cooked. Eating with a picky, customizing orderer makes me want to crawl under the table. Just order the dish as it is on the menu. And remember, dressing on the side is about as cool as a bag of Robert Peytons. No matter what anyone says, you are going to eat the whole damn mini-tub of ranch anyway.

Peter: Remember when I wrote that story about the Old Broads from Broad Street? You know, that cadre of waitresses who migrated from the original Ruth's to the new restaurant in the Harrah's Hotel? (No? Well, I couldn't the link online, so apparently that article doesn't exist.) Anyway, when I asked those girls what it was like to work for Ruth Fertel, they all echoed the same memory: "Ms. Ruth's philosophy was always: "Give the customer whatever they want.'" Some restaurants pretend as if it takes an act of Congress to get the kitchen to swap rice for potatoes with your fish. If Connie at Ruth's could hand crush peppermint candies to make The Pope's beloved peppermint ice cream (which had been taken off the menu much to the dismay of the 11 year old Ponitff), then I should be able to get bernaise instead of demi glace with my lambchops.

Rene: A restaurant, a good one at least, is a highly tuned machine. Any little change in cooking, plating, or ingredients can throw a kitchen out of sync. Which means your meal could suffer. To increase your odds of pleasurable dining, decrease your special requests. Recently I heard of a story in which a group went into a recently opened New Orleans restaurant and asked for a "tasting of curry." Note: This was not an Indian restaurant. Now, I will concede that if you have dietary restrictions or are a practicing Bloggletarian*, then you may request kindly that the kitchen do something special. But the carte blanche approach smacks of Veruca Salt , "I want this Mexican restaurant to make me German food with candy corn topping and snozzberry ice cream, Daddy." I'll let you customize, but only when absolutely necessary. Also, you have to remember the most important rule, "Dont be an asshole."

Peter: I have to agree, but only to a certain extent. I'll go back to my argument above re: it's not that f*cking hard for a cook to switch out sauces and side dishes, provided that the different ingredient is offered elsewhere on the menu. Funny story about that though. Christmas 2006. My entire family travels across the pond to visit my sister, who was spending her junior year in Paris. Dining out in a foreign country is difficult enough with the requisite language barrier, but my father's healthy eating habits made it even worse. Everywhere we ate, he desperately tried to customize his order by supplementing vegetables. My sister - at the time the only one of us who spoke any French worth a damn - refused to help my Dad, using the classical excuse, "They don't let you substitute like that in France." Pops was always polite and smiled when he said in this most awkward Frenglish accent, "Les vegetables?" The rest of us would cringe at this exercise in futility, and the waiter would just smile and look confused. Looking back, I have to thank my Dad for showing me exactly what NOT to do when dining out abroad, because when I returned that summer I felt like an old pro when it came to European restaurants.

Rene: You want customization? Been brainwashed to have it your way by Madison Avenue hucksters with catchwords, buzzphrases, and you are special dreams? Cook at home. There you can make a tahini and falafel gyro or delight in eggs benedict hold the Canadian bacon, add avocado. When I eat at restaurants, I want to taste the chef's food. I want an idea of how he cooks, how she thinks, or what her training is. This doesn't mean you have to agree with the chef's decision to place foie gras on top of a fried chicken, stuffed biscuit, but you should try it that way before disagreeing with it. When you customize at a restaurant it is like telling a girl, "I think you would be pretty if you lost 10 pounds." Finally, people love to say, "I love this or that restaurant because it feels like dining at someone's house." Well, most dinner parties I go to (read here: once - haven't been invited back), I have never had a say in the menu.

Peter: I agree with you - diners need to be more adventurous and trusting of chefs when it comes to uncommon combination of ingredients, flavors, and textures. But what if someone walks into restaurant, with a wallet full of cash (or credit) and willing to spend it, but they don't like beets? Does Donald Link allow a diner to order the braised pork rib without them? You're right, for the most part, chefs design a dish such that each ingredient serves a specific role in the overall composition. But, again, it's their money. Why shouldn't a restaurant give the customer without they, as long as it's within reason?


* Your friend and ours, Bloggle, has become a vegan or something like that. If you need him, he can be found playing in the drum circle at Panic Nolaween and trying to sell you a vegan burrito.

An Orange Mojito from Z Grille in St. Petersburg. Wicked good.

When one thinks of Florida, Destin, Miami, and Key West certainly come to mind. St. Petersburg likely does not. St. Petersburg sits south of Tampa on the tip of a peninsula which juts out into the crystalline waters of the Gulf of Mexico. To borrow fromJFK, St. Petersburg has the charms of the South, with the location of Florida. Legend lives there, and he promised us a long weekend of sailing around the area, working on base tans, and abstaining from alcoholic beverages.

We started Thursday afternoon riding through the neighborhoods just steps off the downtown area to go find groceries and liquor (Promise broken). Here, large homes built long ago, hug the gentle rolling lagoons and waterways leading to the bay. That night, dinner at Ceviche, where halfway decent tapas compete with a Moroccan decor and thumping house music. Large ceramic pitchers of sangria and caipirinhas hold down the table with an impressive jolt of alcohol.

Before dingying to the beach, we had lunch. Some sandwiches on white bread; it might as well have been filet mignon. What is it about eating outside (particularly if on the water) that makes the food taste so good? The next morning we headed back to St. Petersburg so Legend and Megorita could go to a wedding and we could hit up a Hall and Oates concert.

By far our favorite meal in on the trip took place at Z Grille, home of James Beard nominated chef, Zack Gross. The kitchen slings out bacon and pork fueled dishes inspired by California cuisine. West Coast food never had it so good. Take for example the wok spicy jumbo shrimp lettuce wraps. These little cups held tender and succulent shrimp awash in a fiery sambal butter with a little jicama to provide crunch and sweet.

Z Grille's quesadillas stuff chipotle glazed pork and Gouda cheese into big floppy tortillas and serve them alongside a dynamite barbecue sauce. Smoky, creamy, spicy, porky - if it tastes good, it is in this quesadilla. Well, besides foie gras. They left that out, which is probably for the best.


The deviled eggs were angelic. Here that Hank! Each day, Z Grille has a special deviled egg to go along with their California deviled eggs. The California version was the best with avocado, bacon, and jalapeno blending with the rich yolk into a stunning bite. The barbecue and chive crab were also very good. If Peter had been here, he would have eaten 300 deviled eggs again like he did at the SOFAB opening.

But for me the real star was the Dr. Pepper Fried Ribs. Yes, you read that correctly. All of it. While I didn't ask how they do it (was on vacation, people), I am pretty certain the ribs were braised in Dr. Pepper until tender. Then cooled in the braising liquid, fried, and then coated with some of the reduced liquid. Next to the ribs sat a pile of cabbage and under that a puddle of pepper jelly sauce. A platter of them would have been ideal, but destroyed this beach body.

Then the next morning a cruising sail to Egmont Key, an abandoned military base with beautiful beaches. Bases were worked on, but resulted in mostly weird tans and peeling. (All promises broken.) Dinner Sunday night was at Fish Tales, a place where you go for the atmosphere and buckets of ice cold Presidente beer. Which is all you really need with good friends and a vacation winding down.

Stay tuned tomorrow to see how the idea of those ribs turned into a Wednesday night meal. Is the anticipation killing you? I thought so.

Probably a lot of people. But not Rene, Legend, The Pope, or Doc - for today is the annual Galatoire's luncheon. So while some people (myself included) are busy toiling away at the daily grind, those four will be feasting on souffle potatoes, Lord knows how many pounds of crabmeat, and probably a cocktail or two.

'

It's OK to admit it if you're jealous. I am.