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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Jun 30, 2005 |
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Red's - Red's: The glue of the joint is owner Dana Walters. A ceramic artist who decided that a coffee shop is a much more orthodox way to earn a buck, she makes the place hum. If the elevation of your coffee dips below a fathom she is there to replenish.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Jun 16, 2005 |
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Dutch Garden Restaurant - Dutch Garden Restaurant: There is something to be said for a restaurant that puts more emphasis on the beer list than the actual food menu. I encounter this on my third attempt to experience the Dutch Garden Restaurant on upper State Street, which apparently uses the Byzentine calendar to set the hours of operation. Mondays and Tuesdays are definitely a no go. Try a Wednesday like I did and you should be OK. The rest of the week is apparently at the discretion of management.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Jun 03, 2005 |
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Shoreline Café - Shoreline Café: The Actress is concerned. Her boyfriend of over a year has recently taken up with a 22 year old Swedish photographer while they were experimenting with a brief trial breakup. She has us enraptured with this tale of infidelity, and movement at the table occurs only when someone needs to apply guacamole to a slightly stale tortilla chip.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on May 26, 2005 |
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Moby Dick - Moby Dick: Call me Ishmael. Or, just call me lazy. I figured there couldn’t be an easier target in the Santa Barbara restaurant scene for an acerbic lunch critic than Moby Dick. On several levels, the name alone can make a third grader snicker and a grad student ashen. It seemed almost too easy.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on May 18, 2005 |
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Boca de Rio - Boca de Rio: There is a television suspended above my head on a platform loosely engineered with plywood and drywall screws. The mono speaker screeches at full volume with the delight of a Mexican soap opera. Across the table from me is a man known as “The Coyote.” He has recently been electrocuted, and it shows. He orders a Pacifico and stares silently at the drama, nibbling lightly on a tortilla chip.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Apr 25, 2005 |
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Pascucci Ristorante - Pascucci Ristorante: My grandmother always told me that if you want to know a woman, see if her father drives a soft-top; if you want to know a restaurant, see if the eggplant still has the skin on it. Armed with this morsel of wisdom, we entered the holy grail of The Santa Barbara Business Lunch - Pascucci. A quick scan revealed two members of our city council eating at different tables (councilmen always travel single-file, to hide their numbers), a real estate tycoon, a retail diva, and your requisite tables of young men in blue shirts and khakis either plotting the take-over of the world or on break from the Men’s Warehouse.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Apr 08, 2005 |
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Brown Pelican - Brown Pelican: There’s something discerning in the knowledge that this restaurant sits only a few hundred yards from the county’s second largest source of raw fecal bacteria, Arroyo Burro Creek. The first-place honor goes to East Beach at Mission Creek where, with similar wisdom, there are no less than four restaurants lining the shores of what the non-profit Heal The Bay describes as water steeped in contamination from the intestinal tracts of humans and other animals.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Mar 24, 2005 |
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Lunch With Salmon - Lunch With Salmon: I remember being a waiter. The horror that is any commercial kitchen, be it the Four Seasons or a neighborhood Italian eatery. The later was were I spent most of my days. Starched white shirt working on its third straight night without a laundering. Two crumpled cigarettes in the back pocket for when there was a lull in the crowd. Employing the “Three Second Rule” when a veal cutlet slid off the plate and onto the peeling linoleum.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Mar 10, 2005 |
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Blue Collar Bistro - Blue Collar Bistro: I remember the summer that Uncle Carl lost his hand. It was 1985 or so, and propane was really starting to come onto the scene. Carl didn’t couple-up the fitting quite right and, while he fumbled with a box of strike-anywhere matches, a reservoir of highly-flammable liquefied petroleum gas formed under the carriage of the barbeque and made for one hell of an ignition source. Even though his old Pontiac and left flipper took the brunt of the explosion, he never stopped being The Guy Who Works the Grill. In fact, it assured his lock on this highly coveted position, but it was always Kingsford briquettes after that.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Feb 17, 2005 |
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Sushi Teri - Sushi Teri: A bootleg Steely Dan album from Japan seemed like the appropriate soundtrack for my drive over to the Sushi Teri. A “rockstar” parking place opened up right out on Bath Street and I swung the Cadillac into position. I had never been here in the daylight, but the little swinging lanterns brought back the memory of the last time. Her name was Andrea. 1997. She let go of The Salmon that night. My first time being deposited by the opposite sex since high school. Andrea was a singer, on her way to the top. She had yoga, I had beer. She had cash, and I had checks. Like a candle that burns at both ends, it didn’t last the night, but for a while it did cast a brilliant light.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Jan 13, 2005 |
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Cantwell's Market - Cantwell's Market: “We’re not gonna pay for the beer,” said the manager. “Or the fabric softener. Or the firewood. Just the sandwiches.” With that went my hopes of using the twenty dollar Edhat per diem to stock the pantry for the coming week. It did, however, highlight the benefits of dining at this glorified convenience store – one stop shopping during your lunch break.
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| Articles from Daily Newsletter on Jan 01, 2005 |
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Derf's - Derf's: Derf’s has always been a drinking place for me, as I always had the sneaking suspicion that food borne illness was just a bite away, when consumed without the sterilizing properties of alcohol. Sometimes I even worry about the ale, as it is typically served at ambient temperature.
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