Ahhhhhhhh....I have a full and happy colon. (Though not for very much longer.)
Yes, it's official: There is actually ONE good restaurant in Michigan!
The old lady and I met our friends R & M at a new boite in Lansing called, oddly, "Majority." Methinks the name has something to do with the fact that it's across the street from the state capital and they're doing a little political/voting name kinda thing. At least I hope so. I hope it's not secretly owned by the KKK or something, 'cuz that would put a serious damper on the enjoyment of my meal. Yeah, it's gotta be the capital thing. I hope.
Anyway, I don't want to get into a long description of my meal. I'm not a good food critic*, I just know what I like. And this food -- me likee. Here's what is packing my distended poop chute (and it's only distended from the big meal -- don't be gettin' any ideas):
Appetizer -- That goat cheese in a tomato sauce thing, with the crusty little breads. Simple, yet perfect for starters. Kinda like laying down a little mortar for the impending brickage.
Salad -- The "chopped caesar." Perfect. Crisp lettuce, not too much dressing (the extra was in a little cup-ette). One anchovy, hangin' like a stray eyebrow off the side of the plate. Didn't want it -- R ate it. Bleh.
Entree -- A seared ahi, sushi grade no less, that was a-speecy, spicy, a-spoocee! They rubbed it in some peppery hotness rub... stuff. It had these caramelized onions and some squash-y/mashy/potato-y thing going on, and apples and shit. Man, it rocked. I inhaled it.
Washed the whole wad down with a glass of Italian Valpolicella and then a spicy little Shiraz. Dumped in a little pumpkin/chocolate cake and cafe for the caboose and there you have it -- the nummy food train was well on its way through twisty Intestine Pass toward its last stop in Toilettown. Toot-toot! Splash!
If this is the only good restaurant in the state, I'm still happy. I'll go back again and again. Even the chef came out and chatted us up a bit. Nice tubby little bald fellow. Schooled in Los Angeles, no less. Fancy.
Hell, it's no Chicago but I guess I'm gonna be here awhile and I've gotta start accepting it. Now all I need is a good breakfast joint and maybe a friend and I might actually be almost, dare I say, mildly contented.
*By the way, if you're looking for a real food blog that'll crack your ass up, go here.