Philly Burger Brawl 2016: Handicapping a Few Contestants

This Sunday, June 26th, a handful of Philadelphia chefs will arm themselves with a grill, heaps of beef, and other secret weapons to battle in the sixth annual Burger Brawl. This will be my second time attending (first time was in 2013 and I got a sweet tan and a belly full of burgers), having missed the past two years due to a shore vacation (sucks to be me).

Of the expected 40 contestants, I've generated odds of winning for a select few using a proprietary algorithm whose variables include the quality of photographs from a Google image search, whether or not I know them, and whether or not they follow me on Twitter. If you plan to attend, please note that tickets will not be available at the door (but can be purchased here), kids under 10 will be admitted for free, and that maybe you shouldn't bring your kids because Mike Jerrick is one of the celebrity judges and he's been known to scare kids with his IN YOUR FACE style of video journalism*.

Without further ado, some odds on who's going to win.

Lucky's Last Chance
Hailing from Manayunk, this 2013 People's Choice winner has more burger offerings than Imelda Marcos has shoes in her closet (that joke was funny like 30 years ago). If you Google "Chris Barnes," you get a bunch of pictures of Six Feet Under frontman Chris Barnes, including this one of him with Ice-T. While not the actual owner Chris Barnes of Lucky's Last Chance (who's way more handsome), it's pretty sweet that at least someone named Chris Barnes has hung out with Ice-T, who also probably likes burgers.
Odds: 3-1

Taproom on 19th
I met Michael Strauss at a Big in Munich concert (the former chef band whose members included Jeremy Nolen and Ben Puchowitz). We sung along to 80s hair metal hits and he knew all the words. Strauss has also given me the honor of judging the Taproom's annual chili competition for two years running and he likes 90% of my Instagram posts. What's it all mean? I'm not sure, but look at how sweet those Ray Bans are.
Odds: 5-1

SpOt Burger
Josh Kim makes my favorite cheesesteak in all of Philadelphia. His burgers are no slouch, either. And look at that face. It's maniacal. It's saying, "You had better damn well like this burger!" Or maybe he's just trying to see the back of his throat. Either way, you're definitely gonna like the burger.
Odds: 10-1

The Blue Duck
And finally, back-to-back winners, The Blue Duck. From the looks of that shiner, it's apparent that these guys a prepared to defend their title. Will it be a 3-peat? If you've ever been out to their spot in Northeast Philly, they make a convincing argument with the rest of their menu. They also put pork roll in their burger, which could be considered a PEM (Performance Enhancing Meat). However, much like the MLB of yesteryear, this hasn't made it into the rule books, so I applaud their innovation. Plus, Kris Serviss (pictured) has a winning smile.
Odds: Even

You can sample these burgers and more (plus tacos and cocktails) this Sunday from 4pm-6pm at Xfinity Live! You're only limited by your appetite (and two hours, of course). If you see me there (look for a husky Mexican dressed like he's trying too hard), say hi. Buen provecho.


*I'm so jealous of Mike Jerrick and hope to have his job someday

Rhode Island Round-Up Pop-Up to Feature Awesome Ass Austin Chefs

Last Minute Road Trip to Rhode Island, Anyone?

In high school, I played lacrosse (LAX, BRO!) with this dude named John Prescott. Between Junior and Senior year (I think), it was alleged that he went to a hair salon to get dreadlocks like some sort of prehistoric Ras Trent. White people do the darndest things, but that really has no bearing on this post. Nor does the fact that he told the entire student body I had one testicle (even though I'm still packing two last time I checked. Thanks, John!).

But instead of revisiting salon-styled dreads and bold-faced lies, we should really discuss what Prescott's been up to between the time we were dumbshit kids and now (and no, it's not telling the rest of the world lies about my nuts or lack thereof). He's actually been cooking his face off, first in Salt Lake City and now in Austin, and as you're reading this, he's en route to Rhode Island for a 4-day pop-up at the Horseshoe Farm in Westerly that starts next Wednesday, August 19th. He'll be cooking with Sonya Coté, owner of Austin's farm-as-fuck-to-table Eden East, who called Rhode Island home before she moved to a hippie commune in Iowa at four.

I've yet to experience John's cooking, but if it's anything like the way he played lacrosse (LAX, BRO!), then I imagine it hits really hard and is good at picking up ground balls (that's a terrible analogy). In all seriousness, if you've got the time, then you should definitely have the inclination, because the menu looks ridiculous. Plus, John's a cool ass dude with some cool ass tattoos (check out his food on Instagram @blackwidowchefs), so it should prove to be a lot of fun. Buen provecho.

Rhode Island Round-Up
August 19-22
Horseshoe Farm
Westerly, RI 
Tickets are $150 and can be purchased here

Why Did I Eat This? A Cronut for the Rest of Us

Back in May of 2013, the world lost its shit over the Cronut, a pastry likened to a croissant-donut hybrid created by Dominique Ansel in New York City. Lacking both the time and the patience, I didn't bother to go out of my way to see whether or not it was worth waiting in a line of Shake Shack proportions. Hell, I didn't even try any of the clones that popped up locally. To be honest, I just wasn't that interested, and I prefer to keep my donuts and croissants separate, much like my quesadillas and burritos.

Fast forward to now. Ansel has released a cookbook so we can all fuck up his recipes at home, and Dunkin' Donuts has finally reverse engineered a way to bring shelf-stable Cronuts to the masses. Since the word "cronut" is trademarked (shoulda, coulda, woulda, "Flaming Moe"), Dunkin' is simply calling them "Croissant Donuts," and retailing them for $2.49. They come in their own nifty little box instead of being haphazardly thrown into a brown paper bag (cute touch), and while they resemble the iconic pastry, they aren't that different than Dunkin's regular glazed donut. The butter flavor tastes artificial, the layers of pastry dough aren't flaky, and the shellac of milk and confectioners' sugar slurry weighs the whole thing down. Simply put, it tastes like diabetes with a heart disease filling.

At some point in the future (provided we're not all dead because the world is horrible and full of horrible people), I hope to try the original. For all of you out there, I'd recommend doing the same and skipping this clone in favor of a few extra years on your life. Buen provecho.

ICYDFMOT (In Case You Don't Follow Me On Twitter), Here's Some Terrible Photoshops for Your Friday

In light of the recent news that culinary bad boy Guy Fieri is wasting someone else's money on a steakhouse that will probably fail within two months of opening, I started thinking about an alternate universe where Philly chefs donned the denim chef coat and bleached spikes and kame up with some kewl koncepts. Then I tweeted a bunch of terrible photoshops called "Philly Chefs in a Denim Chef's Coat with Guy Fieri Hair." Now I'm taking it a step further and presenting some highlights in the series with each chef's money menu item since it's Friday and you need a distraction from your soul-crushing job. Buen Provecho.

Weighing in on Wells, or Guy Bites Big

By today, most of you have seen Pete Wells' takedown of Guy's American Kitchen & Bar. Already heralded as a thing of beauty by aspiring food writers and other folks that rest comfortably outside this restaurant's target market, the questions-only review takes a megadump on the newest Times Square megarestaurant branded by the goateed specter that haunts my nightmares, Guy Fieri.

It's a fun read, but the joke's on us. While we get to maintain such things as our dignity and our hair color, this clown's laughing all the way to bank. He cleared $8 million last year, and I would imagine that much like Krusty, he signed off on the use of his name and all of those dumbshit menu items after a dump truck full of money showed up in his driveway—too busy to think about anything but the dollar signs because he was "rollin' out!" to the next triple-D shoot.

We're hopeful that Mr. Fieri is investing this cash in something other than hookers and coke, especially if he's planning to continue diluting his brand. In the meantime, let's get back to Mr. Wells, for whom I have a few questions of my own regarding the expectations of this review:

Did you really expect this place to be good? Did the New York Times also review the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. when it first opened? Would you expect your readers—most of whom use the company card to impress clients—to entertain a night out in Times Square? Are you fucking kidding me with this? And one more time, just to make sure—did you really expect this place to be anything other than a T.G.I.Friday's with a different name?

More heartbreaking than this wasted review, however, is the scene that just played out in my mind. Guy's sons, Hunter and Ryder (as if we needed more fuel for the ridicule fire. Plus, that sounds terrible together), are seated at the dinner table, staring longingly at their mostly absent father. The family's eating a Papa John's pizza and Guy closes the lid after grabbing a fourth slice. Not sure what to make of the sad faces (because there's still plenty of pizza left), Guy asks them if there's a problem in flavortown, to which the older one replies:

"Dad, why does everybody hate you so much?" 

You know what's worse than being Guy Fieri? Getting beat up because your dad's Guy Fieri. Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Shanghai Edition

In Shanghai, the Colonel's face is literally everywhere. Peppered in between wet markets and high end retail stores, the unmistakable smell of fried chicken even cuts through the malodorous fog of the diesel fueling the country's endless growth spurt.  Typically, "Why Did I Eat This?" is a result of marketing, but I had a different reason this time around.  I read that Yum! Brands—the fast food behemoth whose weapons in the war against health also include Taco Bell and Pizza Hut—pushed into emerging markets by catering to local tastes, and I was curious to see how these local tastes were interpreted as fast food.  But I fucked up (typical).  Instead of seeing how the classically good KFC meal of a two-piece, mashed potatoes, and a biscuit stacked up to the American version, I wound up ordering the New Orleans Chicken sandwich, a non-breaded breast filet doused in not-very-hot sauce on a sesame seed bun (who orders non-fried chicken at a fried chicken joint?).  As expected, the sandwich was pretty terrible, although the amount of mayo they put on it kind of made up for things.  The videos give you the whole story (if you turn up the volume), plus an awkward interaction with a deaf Chinese panhandler, who, had he not been deaf, would have panhandled himself a faceful of high fructose corn syrup.  Buen provecho.

Elderly Aspirations: Prime Rib Night at the Windrift in Avalon, New Jersey

I've given up on the idea of being famous when I grow up.  Instead, I have refocused my sights on retirement in Avalon, NJ, where Mrs. Gastro and I can enjoy Prime Rib Mondays followed by endless goblet-sized snifters of somewhere-between-well-and-top shelf whiskey on the rocks, all the while listening to the musical stylings of Jim Bannach, the piano man's piano man. Buen provecho.

Field Trip: Austin, TX

The traditional stag party has given way to opulent jet-setting. In an effort to maintain this new status quo (and to avoid a weekend of unsuccessfully pretending to be the dudes from the Hangover), Las Vegas lost the destination race to Austin, Texas, where opulence is offered at a steep discount.  I showed up with a hundred bucks in my wallet and went home with more than half of it (that's a bit of a lie, but not much).  Here's a list of what we shoved in our face when we weren't too busy knocking back cold ones:

Happy Hour at Hickory Street Bar & Grill: Chili cheese fries and onion rings. My hands were too greasy and cheesy to snap a picture of either, but both provided an excellent Tecate pairing.  The fries looked like they came from a potatoes the size of footballs, while the onion rings were probably the size of basketballs before being sliced.  Among six of us, these two apps plus fifteen beers was a jaw-dropping $40.  Turns out everything's bigger in Texas save for the check.

Dinner at Parkside: Thanks to a heads up from Tasting Table, we ordered nearly everything on this classic yet inventive menu. My personal favorite was the blond pate with strawberry relish (can anyone tell me what makes it blond?).  It tasted like cheetos (a great thing). Once again, food took priority over pictures, so you'll have to check out their website for the food porn.

Breakfast on the go from the Hideout: Waking up with an uncharacteristic burst of energy, I went for a jog (who goes jogging on a bachelor party?), which ended with me scooping up iced coffees and a dozen breakfast tacos.  This is a thing down here that I wish would be a thing everywhere.  Packed with chorizo, eggs, cheese, and refried beans, your hangover will thank you.

Lunch at the Salt Lick: Finally, some footage.  This place is as touristy as it gets, but the giant smoker piled high with assorted meats is truly a sight to behold.  Another example of how cheap things are down here, the all-you-can-eat offering is $18.95, and includes a heart attack's worth of baked beans, potato salad, pork ribs, brisket, and sausage. When you get full (which usually happens after one plate), the leftovers are shoved into a container for you to enjoy over the next few days.  Above is a video sampling of their beef rib, on special for $4.95 each.  It was a toothsome and greasy homage to Flinstonian times.  Something to try, at least for the photo opportunity.

Dinner at Manuel's: The afternoon-to-evening went thusly: I got the shit kicked out of me by a wave runner, the bats decided to stay under the bridge (supposedly thousands of them fly out at dusk to eat people bugs), and I got iced (yes, I am a not-so-secret fan of this douchebaggery). When we could no longer ignore hunger, the group consensus was good Tex-Mex.  Unfortunately, the concierge gave us a bum tip, and the trend of cheap and delicious eats was brought to a screeching halt.  My cousin Orlando has a theory about Mexican food's deliciousness being inversely proportional to price.  This meal further verified the negative correlation. The last thing we wanted was contrived Mexican food, but that's exactly what we got.  It was all brittle tortillas and watered down sauces, and the service was tortuga-slow, even though we were one of only three groups in the dining room.

It was a great trip from start to finish (except for the stupid bats and the stupid Manuel's).  I could have used more time and a bigger stomach, but that would mean me being jobless and fatter than I already am, so I'll just have to plan another trip down there.  Buen provecho.

My Friends are Cooler Than Your Friends: Jason Goodman and Jeremy Lovitt of Goods Restaurant

When the world ends (which might be soon), I can say for a fact that Jason Goodman and Jeremy Lovitt will be among the few to manage the daunting task of recreating civilization.  Their Mad Max approach to sustainability not only allows them to make lemonade out of lemons, but helps them find the right lemons to use.  Case in point, Goods--their recently soft-opened food concept in Williamsburg, Brooklyn--began as an empty lot and an abandoned trailer (that they tracked down in upstate NY).  Two years later, they've transformed the two into a kitchen, bar, and outdoor eating/drinking spot.  Some of the neater details: the fully custom kitchen is inside a 1946 Spartan, the outdoor flooring will be repurposed wood from Coney Island's boardwalk,and the menu--created by chef Alex McCrery--will feature beef sourced from Pat LaFrieda, hot dogs made with grass-fed beef, house made pickles, and beignets made to order; quite possibly the freshest donut you'll ever eat.  I went with a Goods burger and curly fries.  The loosely packed ground beef made for a surprisingly juicy burger for what I'm told is an 85/15 blend.  Topped with local cheddar, caramelized onions, and served on a potato roll, I made a mess of myself eating it, but it was too delicious to put down and bother with napkins.  And the curly fries.  It was amazing to see these on the menu, not only because hand cut fries aren't my favorite, but because I haven't had them in years, and they're really fucking good.  While I ate my face off, Jason took time out of his busy schedule to catch up with me about the project, about 3rd Ward, and plans for the future.  It's a bit long, but we hadn't caught up for while.  Regardless, it's an excellent opportunity to deconstruct the synapses of an artist who has launched himself, along with his business partner Jeremy, head first (and nuts on the table) into the role of being an entrepreneur, and a successful one at that.

Field Trip: Local West

Dear New York friends, I'm sorry I didn't look every last one of you up when I was there the other day.  I was too busy drinking away the pain of the realization that the douchebags surrounding me at Local West probably make more money than I do.  Submitted for your consideration, Emil Corsillo from Hickoree's shows us the proper way to order a drink there.



And as a follow-up, Mr. Corsillo explains what would happen in a world where swift justice is the norm. Unless you have a sponsor (Pete Bisso's a good choice, and he's not much of a douche), you're better off brown bagging a 40 by the pier. And yes, I'm thirty-one years old. Buen provecho.

Field Trip: McCrady's, Charleston, SC

There is a distinct possibility that Sean Brock, executive chef of McCrady's in Charleston, SC, may have stumbled into a time machine fashioned by Eli Whitney somewhere around the turn of the century.  Better yet (and capitalizing on recent media trends), perhaps he is a vampire.  That might explain the fact that he never sleeps, which I am guessing there isn't much time to do so as he tackles the dual role of executive chef and gentleman farmer.  Or quite simply, farm-to-table was the norm for his rural upbringing.  Whatever the case may be, he is both an old soul and an innovator.  In the soft-spoken monologue above, he exudes passion for food, stresses the importance of creating a sense of place, and outlines some of his efforts to undo more than a century of agribusiness food fuck-ups.



Upstairs, where I drank way too many bourbon and cola cocktails, I got the pulse on the Charleston wedding scene from Kiah Stone, who was also pivotal in getting me an audience with Mr. Brock (and more importantly, rattling off his many accolades and food philosophy before I sat with him).

Prior to the interview phase of the evening, I ate what could have easily been my last meal. Passed h'ors d'oeuvres included fried green tomatoes--a single bite of brittle cornmeal surrounding tart and juicy flesh--and crab cakes that posessed a subtle crunch and delicate meatiness (that's a good thing).

As an amuse, a perfectly cooked scallop presented with oyster mushrooms (I think) and asparagus (maybe a bit more than an amuse).

For the first course, a charred marshmallow slowly melted into a rustically textured sweet potato soup.

The main course was a standard filet mignon that was anything but. It was perfectly executed, and the flavor of the beef needed little more than salt and pepper.

For dessert, a duo of chocolate mousse cake and something that everyone was calling, "oh my god, did you try the banana cake?" It was perfection from start to finish, and I'll be shocked if Mr. Brock doesn't take home the Beard award in the coming weeks. Given the time and resource, I would go back to Charleston just to eat here. If your travels take you to the dirty south, I recommend you do the same. Buen provecho.

McCrady's is located at 2 Unity Alley in Charleston, SC. All pertinent info regarding reservations, etc. can be found on their website  Some tooling around on the internet helped me locate Sean Brock's blog as well. Much props to both Kiah Stone and Sean Brock for taking the time to talk to me.

TGIFAHTTTIICC

Or, Thank Gaga It's Friday And Honest Tom's Taco Truck Is In Center City. If you think that's a mouthful, wait 'til you get a load of the tacos themselves. Typically reserved for Dragons, Quakers, and the staff that cater to those punk kids in West Philadelphia, Honest Tom's is using the spring break hiatus to bring the truth to Center City. Foobooz says that the truck says (not the actual truck, because talking trucks only exist in the land of make believe) there's a possibility of coming to Center City every Friday and that location suggestions are welcome.  I would be perfectly happy if they stayed put at 18th and Vine, where they are right now, serving up delicately cooked fish tacos topped with a pineapple salsa.  And if you need something to wash them down, they've got cold brewed Stumptown iced coffee by the jugful.  An infinitely better choice than the shrimp taco disaster of last week.  Buen provecho.

Field Trip: Yakitori Totto

 Mrs. Gastro and I are in week two of our throwback diet (no carbohydrates).  At this point, hunger has turned into hanger, and we would give pretty much anything for a pancake or two.  There have been some bright spots (most of them involving steak in a cream sauce), but overall, this diet is for freaks, which I suppose makes us freaks.  Getting to the point of all this, a quick trip to New York City could have unraveled the whole thing, but a dear friend of mine came up with the perfect solution: yakitori.  It's how the Japanese do churrascaria, a much more delicate and intimate experience that I'm assuming can be attributed to the fact that samurai swords are just way too sharp to be carrying meats around a crowded dining room.  Instead, your meats and organs show up on wood skewers, all of which are ordered a la carte.

 

There are too many skewers to mention, but rest assured, we ate everything there is to eat that a chicken has to offer, plus a few vegetables to health it up.  The experience was great, but if you're not careful, your appetite for charcoal-kissed chunks of chicken can really add up.  No matter, it was great to catch up with my NYC crew, even if I left the joint reeking of a Japanese backyard BBQ (I have no idea what that means).  If you find yourself in Midtown Manhattan during a throwback diet, I highly recommend waiting for a table here.  Buen provecho.

We scored our skewers from Yakitori Totto, located on the second floor of 251 West 55th Street. We had what felt like unlimited skewers, shochu, sake, and sapporo for $90 including tip.  Like I said, it can really add up if you don't watch it, but watching it is really no fun, so expect to spend some money here.  Also, expect to wait if you have a party larger than two.  The place is really small.

Stuck Between Maroc and a Hard Place

When you're young and stupid, business travel sounds like a great idea.  Air travel, free food, maybe a neat name tag if you're at a team building or sales convention.  The reality of business travel is that since you're wherever you are to work, all the touristy stuff you had planned to do takes a seat right next to you in the back of the van that's carting you around.  It's still pretty cool that you're considered worth the airfare, lodging, and the name tag, however, and if you can manage some downtime, you may wind up eating something that will never show up on the menu at Applebee's (although I just got an email from Uno Pizza about a Moroccan soup).  You might also get kidnapped.  This past week's sojourn to Morocco was a blitzkreig of interviews, harrowing cab rides, and language barriers.  When we finally hit the pause button to eat, we found a wealth of porkless options that showcased the amalgamation of French and Middle Eastern cuisine typical to the region, a place where a lemon sauce is so sour as to be bitter, veal is actually short ribs, and every meal comes with French fries (a good thing).  More pictures after the jump.

Guided Missile versus Kamikaze

Rather than jumping head first into the funeral pyres of processed food like I tend to do, Hamburger Calculus uses a more, er, calculated approach.  Integrate yourselves into their blog this week as they drop some science on Japanese snack foods and where to get them (I stole the photo above from this post).  Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This?

 

With all of the crap I've been eating lately, I may as well just change the name of the blog to "Why Did I Eat This?" or maybe, "How Am I Still Alive?"  I suppose there's the possibility of a spinoff, but nine times out of ten, spinoffs are depressingly unsuccessful (did anyone watch "Joey"?  If you did, please stop reading now because you're making my blog a lot less cooler than it should be).  Speaking of which, I was able to catch the Sixers vs. Jazz* game this past Friday, and in true fat ass fashion, I spent more time back and forth to the vendors than I did watching the Jazz crush the poor Sixers (actually, since there was literally nobody there, the food lines weren't that long, so I think I may have managed to see at least half of it).

I really miss the days when basketball was cool.   Nowadays, the freakishly tall dudes just look bored running up and down the court.  It's kind of sad, but if nothing else, it gives me an excuse to eat arena food, and as written so eloquently in a previous post, it gets better as you get closer to the action.  The poor saps eating hot dogs way up high (even though they could have easily walked down) ain't got nothin' on two of my favorites: chili cheese fries and boneless buffalo wings.  As you can see above, the chips are replaced with french fries in these Irish nachos, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, especially when you have a fork to do your bidding.  I love the redundancy of cheese and sour cream.  It's like wearing belts and suspenders, or so I've heard.

This last one's a little blurry, but it's still easy to see that this is a chunk of breaded and fried chicken slathered with a gut gouging combination of hot sauce and bleu cheese.  By the time we got to these, I think the beers had made their way to my dome piece, giving them the appearance that they were going out of style (get it? I ate them really fast).  The murderous pairing of all of this processed goodness with upwards of twelve beers racked up a major digestive debt that I was left to settle the next day, and although I enjoyed it at the time, I am once again left wondering why I ate this.  Buen provecho.

*Before you comment on how John Stockton was the cheapest player in the NBA, I already know, and I don't care.  As the all-time assist leader, his generosity with the rock cancels out any cheapness.  Eat it.

What Dreams Are Made Of

According to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, unrequited love smells like bitter almonds. Had that love been reciprocated (and I think it finally was at the end of the book), I'm pretty sure the smell of almonds would be replaced with the aroma of D.P. Dough. Why, you ask? Because after six years of waiting, I was finally able to sink my teeth into these pockets of perfection, and now I am whole again.

A late-night (read: drunk) food staple in Ithaca and various other college towns, D.P. Dough makes calzones filled with a dizzying assortment of ingredients, so you're covered whether you need to soak up some of the booze with pepperoni and cheese, or if you find yourself so high that steak, eggplant, and ham sounds like a great idea.

I was able to catch up with the proprietors the other day, and between banking, commuting from NYC, children, and whatever else life can throw at you, they were gracious enough to school me on their version of the American Dream, a three year journey that taught them, in their words, "Everything."

Check out the interview after the jump.

Give Me a Break

Sometimes I'll while away the days being remarkably unremarkable. Please take advantage of this brief service interruption to check out Hamburger Calculus' magnum opus on Kit Kat bars. It will send your brain into diabetic shock (that's a good thing). The grapefruit sports drink Kit Kat is the hands-down winner in the "would only try it on a bet" category. Buen provecho.

*image stolen from hamburgercalculus.com

Ever Heard of Sky Juice?

Ethan drops some serious knowledge on "sky juice," an unlikely pairing of gin and coconut milk available at the Fish Fry in Nassau, Bahamas. Tommy Up, if you're reading this, it may well rival the Pickleback in the category of sounds gross/tastes great. Buen provecho.

Fish and Tripps

As far as I'm concerned, the best fish and chips (and surprisingly, fried chicken) reside at McDonagh's in Galway, but this sounds like a close second, newspaper and all. Buen provecho: