Off the Map: When You're Better Off Eating in a Gas Station

Burnt Ends on a Bun -- Gates Bar-B-Q, Kansas City, MO

Gates Bar-B-Q

For a city renowned for its barbeque, said joints are strangely absent from Kansas City's Best Thing I Ever Ate list. 

"What Are You Doing in Kansas City? Eating BBQ?" "No, Happy Hour Crawls"

In fact, the only BBQ joint featured was Duff Goldman's favorite, Gates Bar-B-Q, home of the burnt ends on a bun from the ORIGINAL episode. 

Nothing Like Walking Along a Highway in Search of Some Charred Meat

One would think that, as the first ever dish he chose to be featured on the program, it would be especially outstanding. 

No Pressure, Gates

One would be wrong.

Womp Womp

After all, this is Duff that we're talking about, and his taste in BTIEA meals has been, with a few notable exceptions, mediocre at best. 

And Downright Terrible at Worst

Let's just say that his preferences at Gates are not his finest culinary moment.

Like the BBQ Version of Fast Food, Without the "Fast" Component

Ironically, while Joe's Bar-B-Que -- that of the "it's located in a gas station" fame -- seems to be by far the most well-known of Kansas City's meaty enclaves, Gates makes Joe's look downright gourmet. 

Take Your Gallon with a Side of Ribs

The restaurant itself resembles a run-down Pizza Hut, with dimly lit dining rooms and workers that, despite the sign at the entrance proclaiming "entering the smile zone!" are more adept at yelling than grinning.

More Like "Gates, Where Smiles Go to Die"

We order one burnt end sandwich, which comes with pickles and Gates sauce, and after a single look at the concoction, we are not optimistic. 

Sloppy Joe on Steroids

The meat resembles a chunky version of pulled pork, and thanks to the whole "burnt end" bit (which, we acknowledge, is the whole point), it feels like chewing on a mouthful of stray fish bones. 

Doesn't That Sound Appetizing?

The sauce completely overpowers the taste of the beef, which would be fine if it tasted like anything more than acidic ketchup.

Not Doing Much for Your BBQ Reputation, Kansas City

We end up consuming a hearty portion of five bites each before throwing in the towel, and much like all of our other experiences in Kansas City, nobody seems to care about our displeasure.

Guess What, Kansas City? We Don't Care Either

And so, Vodka and Mezcal leave the Midwest with a distinct feeling of "meh," certain only that, if nothing else, at least we'll always have Cleveland.

Gates Bar-B-Q's Burnt Ends on a Bun: 2 stars

Off the Map: Departing Los Angeles on a Wing and a Pie

Banana Cream Pie -- Bandera, Los Angeles, CA

Bandera

Up until this point, we have loved certain aspects of Los Angeles dining experiences: the roominess of the premises, the relative quietness of the dining rooms, the patience of the waitstaffs, and the ease with which we have been able to taste our Best Thing I Ever Ate dishes, without so much as a side glance for our peculiar ordering style.

Unfortunately, all of this west coast charm comes to a crashing halt the second we arrive at Bandera.

Way to Ruin It for Your City, Chumps

We are here to buy a single slice of banana cream pie, as spoken about by Adam Gertler on the ORIGINAL Best Thing I Ever Ate special.  We have already decided, prior to arrival, that we would just ask for the pie to go and consume it while safely back in our upgraded Beverly Hills hotel room (mostly because Vodka already had to make Ginger promise to "just stay awake until 9:30," and we only had 45 minutes to go until she turned into a comatose pumpkin).  

Stay Awake: We Have Potassium to Eat

This proves to be the correct decision, as when we enter Bandera, not only are there no seats available, at either a table or at the bar, but the place is packed.  More packed than any place we have seen in LA thus far, including the chaos that was Bay Cities Bakery and Deli.  Besides being crowded as all get-out, it is also excessively loud, both from the tinder of hundreds of voices, and from the quartet of musicians which they have inexplicably decided to place in the middle of the dining room.  Meaning that no matter which way you turn, you cannot escape the deafening noise.

Putting the 'Band' in 'Bandera'

When we ask the host how we go about procuring a slice of pie, he sends us to the bar, suggesting we "get the bartender's attention."  Yeah, easier said than done, mister, as seven minutes later, we've yet to be able to track him down over the hoard of other patrons stacked in the area.

PLEASE JUST GIVE US PIE SO WE CAN LEAVE

Finally, Ginger manages to place our order, and the bartender, to his credit, is just as pleasant as all others we have encountered in this fair city, despite his surroundings.

"I hate this place," Vodka announces while we wait for our container of pie to arrive, saying each word like there's a period after it.  And the more irritated Vodka gets, and the more Ginger starts to droop, the longer our pie takes to arrive.

Much Like the Sun Setting Over Our Los Angeles Journey, Our Patience Is Decidedly Waning

"How long can it possibly take to cut a pie?" we ask after at least ten minutes have passed.  Eventually, and not before we are ready to throw said pie in someone's face, the long-suffering bartender passes it over three people's heads in order to reach us, and we hightail it out of Bandera as quickly as possible.  When we reach our hotel, Ginger approaches a member of the staff and asks if we could get two forks.

"Are you Dutch?" he asks her.

"Huh?"

"Dutch.  Are you from Amsterdam?"

"No?" Ginger answers, once again as if English really is her second language.

"You sounded like you had a Dutch accent," he insists.  "Where are you from?"

"New York."

"Ah, so you ARE from Amsterdam!" he proclaims.

"Huh?"

"New," Vodka whispers, trying to provide an English-to-English translation of the proceedings just so we can get out of here, forks in hand.

"What?" Ginger asks.

"New Amsterdam," Vodka explains.  "New York was called New Amsterdam."

"See, so you are practically Dutch!"  The fork purveyor is insistent on hammering his point home.  

At This Juncture, We Would Have Been Better Off Eating This Pie With Our Hands

When we are eventually able to escape from him, we return to our room and deposit the pie container on Ginger's bed.  Inside is a substance that looks a bit like slop, but whether that is due to Bandera's packaging technique or to our inability to effectively carry a to-go bag is up for debate.  

Funny That Fork-Man Seemed to Know We Would Need a Napkin, Too

The pie itself, while not completely offensive, is a bit on the bland side.  It's not really sweet, not really creamy, not really crunchy, not really... anything.  And there is just SO MUCH banana (including giant slices sprinkled throughout the container), that it essentially tastes the same as a plain old banana with some flavorless whipped cream on top.  Not only is this banana cream pie not good enough to warrant coming from a regular restaurant, it is certainly not good enough to be from a place as aggravating as Bandera.

What Is With All of the FRUIT?!

And with that, our Los Angeles Best Thing I Ever Ate adventure has come to an end.  In true form, the cheerfulness that LA had lulled into us over the past couple of days has suddenly dissipated, and we are ready to return to the land of abrasive waiters, cramped barstools, and our own bad moods.

Oh, New Amsterdam, there is no place like home.

Bandera's Banana Cream Pie: 2 stars

Ahhh H-H-HOT!

Bone Marrow & Oxtail Marmalade -- Blue Ribbon

Blue Ribbon

Perhaps we have been a bit lax on the Best Thing I Ever Ate eating front as of late, but we have a good reason: we have been abiding by the Mediterranean diet.  Well, at least the part of the diet that encourages us to "drink at least seven glasses of red wine a week."

This Is a Diet Plan We Can Get Behind

For this reason, as we settle into our "date table" at Blue Ribbon (apparently, when eating at 4:00pm, the corner banquet is the table of choice), our first mission is to order a bottle of red wine.  Ginger falls into her typical role of "domineering husband" and does the choosing for us, the main factor behind the decision-making being the attached price tag.  

If We Can Only Have Seven Glasses a Week, Can We Please Get Some Larger Pours?

We sip on our glasses of pinot noir and look forward to diving into the bread basket, which arrives not so much as a "basket" as a "giant loaf slapped on a cutting board."  

Are We Just Supposed to Start Taking Bites?!

We look blankly at said oversized roll for a few seconds before Vodka grabs the relatively miniscule knife and tries to make some headway.

And seven minutes later, she is still carving.

Why We Never Became Brain Surgeons

"Um, could someone cut our bread for us?" she mumbles, as Ginger begins spreading the seemingly bottomless bowl of butter across a hacked-off slice.  

Objects on the Cutting Board May Be Deeper Than They Appear

After taking entirely too long (read: three pieces of bread each) to figure out that the butter is unsalted, Vodka is appropriately appalled and begins emptying the salt shaker on top of each smear.

And We Subsequently Begin Refusing to Cut the Bread At All

"Put it on the suggestion card," Ginger pipes up, "Need bigger knife and salt for bread."  Despite our complaints, we have no qualms about agreeing to the bread boy's offer to supply us with yet another Schwarzenegger-sized loaf and repeating the process all over again.

And Naturally, Like Giving a Mouse a Cookie, We Are Going to Need More Butter

Eventually, after scattering bread crumbs over half of the restaurant, we manage to place our order for bone marrow and oxtail marmalade, as recommended by Anne Burrell on the ORIGINAL Best Thing I Ever Ate special.  Now, we are not exactly well-versed in bone marrow, as Vodka has tasted it exactly once and Ginger has never even been in the same room as the stuff.  Therefore, when the overflowing platter of skeletal remains, meaty jelly, coarse sea salt, and crispy brioche arrive, we stare blankly at the proceedings.  

Bringing a New Meaning to the Term "Big Boned"

Our waiter picks up the quite obvious we-don't-know-what-we're-doing social cue that we're sending out to the universe, and he demonstrates how to push the marrow through the bone and then spread it on top of the (thankfully neatly sliced) bread.  

A Dollop of Marrow

Like good pupils, we follow his direction, topping the gooey marrow with a hearty helping of marmalade and an even heartier helping of salt.

And we have to admit that Anne Burrell is not lying about this stuff.

Good Thing We Procured That Extra Bread

The marrow itself, which is salty (and thus pleasing) in its own right, is only enhanced by the thick portion of sweet oxtail marmalade.  The bread is toasted to perfection, and the crunch of the sea salt ties the whole thing together.  

Hey Blue Ribbon - How About Distributing Some of That Salt IN THE BUTTER?

We are on the verge of giving the dish 5 stars before Vodka gets stingy with her ratings and decides that, according to our system, this marrow is only broaching the 4 star territory (being that we wouldn't make it a point to come back to Blue Ribbon in order to eat this dish, but rather, if we happened to be back here, we would order it again).

The Burial Grounds

In the midst of our carnivorous consumption, we manage to also order a platter of pierogies and Blue Ribbon's famous fried chicken.  

After We Get Our Table Cloth Scraped of Crumbs AGAIN

When both items arrive while the marrow is still on our table (along with the bread loaf, the wine bottle, wine glasses, water glasses, and both dinner and bread plates), we bemoan the fact that the waitstaff is not springing to give us two tables, especially since the time is now 5pm, and we are STILL the only ones in the restaurant.  

And For the Record, the LAST Thing We Will Sacrifice Off of the Table Is the Wine

Soldiering on, we get to work on the pierogies, which are not Blue Ribbon's finest work.  Lukewarm and rather soggy, they taste as if they've been sitting out for a while (and not just on our overly-crowded date table).  

Maybe Instead of Arranging Them Into a Perfect Pinwheel, You Could Have Just BROUGHT THEM TO US

Ever Hear of a Heat Lamp?

Instead of getting the positive effect of hot pierogie-against-cold sour cream, the whole thing is tepid.  And the Polish girl in Vodka is none too pleased.

Someone Get Us Some Mrs. T's, and Stat

In contrast, the fried chicken nearly burns our faces off.  We each pick up a piece, bring it to our mouths, and promptly drop it into freefall while fanning our tongues and yelling "H-H-HOT!"  Clearly, there is some temperature-related dysfunction going on in the Blue Ribbon kitchens.

Consistency Does Not Live Here

When we finally manage to bring our lips close enough to the chicken to taste the stuff, it is good.  Not great, but good. 

Translation: It's Fine

We both wildly prefer Hill Country's fried chicken, as Blue Ribbon's is greasier, more peppery, and seems to rely heavily on the crispiness of the skin over the flavor of the chicken itself. 

And Being That the Skin Falls Off on Impact, It Is NON-IDEAL

The sides that accompany the meat are equally underwhelming -- the mashed potatoes are soupy and the collard greens seem undercooked (though we admittedly do not make a habit of eating collard greens, so perhaps the fairer assessment is "We don't like them"). 

Taking "Roughly Chopped" to a New Level

Overall, the bone marrow dish is by far the star of Blue Ribbon's menu, and as Vodka can be seen photographing one dish after another, she remarks, dripping with disdain, "They probably think we have a Yelp page."

And How Dare We Be Treated Like Yelp Users!

But no, Blue Ribbon.  We have our very own blog which we are barely keeping a handle on.  Though based on our early bird dining experience within your establishment, we are considering renaming it "It's Not Even 6pm Somewhere."

Blue Ribbon's Bone Marrow & Oxtail Marmalade: 4 stars

That's the Dictator - You Two Could Have It Out

Ebelskivers -- Shopsin's
Shopsin's

Ginger keeps warning Vodka that she is going to get us kicked out of Shopsin's and Vodka is refusing to listen.  All Ginger wants is to eat our ebelskivers and nurse her hangover in peace, and all Vodka seems hellbent on doing is aggravating the Shopsin's proprietors.

You Say 'Ebelskivers,' We Say 'Munchkins'

Ginger is well-versed in the "art" of Shopsin's, most of which she learned from Kenny Shopsin's "renowned" memoir, Eat Me, and she is scared to death that we will be kicked out with empty stomachs onto Essex Street.

Vodka, figuring no one can out-nasty her if need be, has no such fear.

Hey Kenny Shopsin - You Really Wanna Take on New Jersey?!

In Vodka's defense, she is not purposely showing her irritating side -- she is merely acting like herself (which in some circles could presumably be called "irritating").  First, she mumbles a complaint under her breath when we and our Booze Before Books friend are forced to haul our own chairs off of our table and onto the floor, as if we are third graders arriving in our classroom.

"Shhh," Ginger hisses.  "You're going to get us kicked out."

Frankly, Vodka Is Controlling Herself - She Could've Complained About the Solo Cup-Like China As Well

Then, there is the matter of the Shopsin's menu, which Vodka has always refused to look at online because it makes her vision blurry.  Therefore, can it really be helped that when the waiter places our menus on the table, Vodka groans, "Ugh, this is going to give me an epileptic seizure"?

"Shhhhhhh, will you stop that?" Ginger reprimands.

Menu In Need of Ritalin

And finally, there is the matter of the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish which we are supposed to be eating: the ebelskivers, as chosen by Aaron Sanchez on the very first Best Thing I Ever Ate ORIGINAL special.  These ebelskivers, according to the chaos these people call a menu, come in a variety of incarnations (cinnamon, chocolate chip, and/or stuffed with banana, butterscotch, or chocolate), and we're not sure which we're supposed to choose.

And Heaven Forbid Anyone Who Works Here Help Us With This Decision

In what proves to be a fatal mistake, Vodka orders the mac and cheese pancakes for herself and leaves the task of ordering the ebelskivers to Ginger, who completely butchers the operation.  When her request for a combination of the "stuffed" ebelskivers falls of deaf ears, she is forced to choose a flavor.  First, Ginger asks what the waiter would recommend.  He stares at her blankly.  Then Vodka, who doesn't remember hearing of any flavored fillings mentioned on the Best Thing I Ever Ate episode, begins advocating for the plain, cinnamon variety, and Ginger is having none of it.

"I'll take the chocolate chip version," Ginger orders.

"What?!  No!" Vodka interjects.  As she pleads her case for the traditional variety, our waiter pipes in to ask her, "What, is it going to ruin your diet?"  Quiet, buddy, we've got Best Thing I Ever Ate arguments to contend with.

And Did You Not Just Hear Vodka Order These Saucers of Health Food?!

"Okay, fine, we'll take banana," Ginger tells him with exasperation, and he scurries away just as Vodka shoots Ginger a fatal glare.

"Banana?!  We HATE banana!"

"I love banana!"

"Remember those horrible banana-cream filled doughnuts at the Atlantic City Buddakan?"

"Well, I love banana except for that one time."  With that, Vodka pouts and continues her personal quest to get us kicked out of the establishment by photographing our beverages, a practice that Ginger is, once again, insisting is not allowed at Shopsin's.

Not Good to the Last Drop

Vodka ignores these pleas for decorum, and really, how are we supposed to document our Best Thing I Ever Ate eating adventures if culinary photographs are not allowed on the premises?!

"You need to take pictures more stealthily," Ginger hisses again.

"WHO is going to kick us out?" Vodka, still believing this rumor of excommunication is some kind of urban myth, asks her.

Cause If It's the Same People Who Think This Is "Graphic Design," Vodka's Not Afraid

"They're all one family," Ginger whispers.  "The waiter and that guy in the back."  Vodka turns around and sees no such Wizard of Oz-type character, so she continues her photographic pursuit when our mac and cheese pancakes arrive.

And This Is the "Small" Option

When she has finished, the three of us dive into the platter, finding three large patties of pancake-shaped mac and cheese stacked next to containers of maple syrup and hot sauce.  Distributing the two condiments heavily onto the plate, we find the pancakes comforting and hearty, especially when combined with the sweet and spicy tang of the syrup and sauce (even though the hot sauce itself seems overrun with pepper and is thus burning our mouths).

Hot Sauce and Maple Syrup Straight Out of Alice in Wonderland

If anything, the pancakes could use more mac and cheese itself, as the pasta seems concentrated in the center of the cakes.  Still, they are a beacon of hope for the rest of the meal.

A Very Faint Beacon, But A Beacon Nonetheless

Just as we finish the pancakes, our friend's dish arrives, which Vodka snatches from her almost before the waiter has placed it on the table in order to obtain photographic evidence.

Okay... the Umbrella... Somebody PLEASE Explain the Umbrella...

"Our waiter probably thinks you're some kind of crazy control freak," Ginger murmurs.  "Between the ebelskivers confrontation and the grabbing of the plates."

"I appreciate you saying that as if I am NOT a crazy control freak," Vodka states, allowing our friend to eat her own dish only after enough pictures have been snapped.  She had chosen the Strider, which is a breakfast sandwich featuring maple veggie sausage, eggs, and avocado on an English muffin.  Deciding she can't possibly eat the monstrosity in sandwich form, our friend begins to pick at it with a fork and finds it delicious (though Ginger is mostly taken with the veggie sausage, and Vodka finds the whole thing bland and in desperate need of salt).

"I Can't Eat This Like a Sandwich." "You Eat It Like a Fork."

Finally, our plate of ebelskivers arrives, complete with a heaping bowl of whipped cream in the middle.  As Vodka had predicted, they look suspiciously like the Buddakan donuts, though we can't yet tell if this comparison is true by taste.  As it happens, these ebelskivers are so unbearably hot that they end up scalding our mouths and throats rather than coating them with cinnamon and banana goodness.

REBELskivers Is More Like It

We eventually show some self-control to hold off on taking a second bite until they cool slightly, and we are only mildly less underwhelmed with the lukewarm version.  While the taste of the ebelskivers is not bad, it is their texture that leaves much to be desired.  We are used to bouyant, chewy doughnuts, and these are so doughy that we can barely hold them within two fingers (probably partly the banana's fault.  Thanks Ginger).  The accompanying whipped cream is barely sweet and adds next to nothing to the flavor of the dish, which is even more disappointing since we normally believe whipped cream should be its own food group.  All in all, the ebelskivers need more "bounce," and our friend correctly summarizes that they taste like banana pancakes in the wrong shape.

Vodka Rests Her Case: We HATE Banana

As we are getting ready to leave, Ginger spots the owner of Shopsin's finally stationed in his chair in the back.  "That's the dictator," she tells Vodka.  "You two could have it out."

And though Vodka might understand the mentality of such "crazy control freaks" as herself, it seems Mr. Shopsin has recently grown as soft as his ebelskivers, for we pay the bill and waltz away with not so much as a grimace about our disobedient behavior.

Shopsin's Ebelskivers: 3 stars