Tim Botta's Blog

I sat down with Tom Lisk at The Flying Biscuit Cafe to discuss his visual art in a conversation that covered such topics as Dollar Tree, the virtues of slow-drying glue, and the “perhaps dangerous precedent” of letting people touch works of art.

Read the interview here

I'm putting some of my drawings and other visual art here now:

http://timbotta.tumblr.com/

I've been posting some of my drawings here:
http://timbottadrawings.blogspot.com/

My essay "One Rare, Fined" is at rareburger.com

Read my interview with Steven Elliot here

When it's late at night..after midnight..and you can't sleep for whatever reason - whether you're worried sick about some loss you fear is impending or else annoyed by some noisy person downstairs - well, you might want to go over to Insomnia Waffles to while the time away till dawn. It's past one am and I can't sleep so here I am at Insomnia. I've set up my laptop on the counter here so I can transmit my wi-fi review to you live from the waffle shop. So with my waffle wi-fi working, I send you my thoughts about Insomnia Waffles, my favorite waffle shop in town. First off, let me say that Insomnia Waffles is the non-scary version of an all-nite waffle place. I really dig and appreciate and admire any place that is the non-scary version of something that people usually think of as scary and to-be-avoided. So for somebody to take the waffle shop concept and transmute it into a diner-friendly place is almost miraculous to my eye.

Insomnia is also great because it doesn't try to help you sleep. I think that a restaurant that tried to put you to sleep wouldn't actually be worth much. If you walked in here and they were playing lullabies over the sound system and serving you glasses of warm milk--well, that might put you to sleep but what would you do then? Spend the night in a waffle shop? I think not.

So Insomnia Waffles does the best thing, the best response to insomnia, it just doesn't acknowledge it or try to treat it. Insomnia Waffles tells you--ok, you can't sleep, let's just make the best of it. So they do serve coffee. They don't serve warm milk. And, of course, gloriously, they do serve waffles.

In keeping with the non-scary mode, this is a waffle place that actually has more the ambiance of a coffee shop, complete with mood lighting and great background music--right now they're playing Manhattan Transfer's "Spies in the Night." It's the cool phone-call part right now--"The winds are calm in the channel" and so forth. So while this driving tune plays, I'm sitting here looking over the non-laminated menu.

Laminated menu's. Don't they kind of scare you? Because really they're made for easy clean-up, which is always the sign of some creepy institutional ware. I mean, why on earth would you need to clean a menu with a sponge? It's too disgusting to think about.

But Insomnia Waffles, of course, has no laminated menu's. (I've already noted elsewhere that I realize there is no apostrophe in menus but I think it looks goofy without it so I use it anyway. Critic's prerogative.) The menu's are on a nicely browned parchment with cool early-70's inspirational-pamphlet calligraphy and ink-brush drawings of egrets. That's the kind of menu I like. So you can see it's just one more way that Insomnia Waffles departs from the scary waffle shop concept.

Now there are many choices with a waffle. You can have a round waffle. A square waffle. A triangular waffle. I'm particularly fond of the rhomboid waffle. And once you've chosen the shape, next on the decision agenda is how large the indentions or "wafflings" should be. Now, I'm not a fan of those waffles with only one or two gigantic indentations. I like the standard waffle grid or checkerboard pattern, though I know some disagree.

OK. My server has just appeared (I mean that literally--one minute they're not there and then they suddenly materialize). I will stop typing for a moment then report back.

OK. I just ordered the Powerhouse Waffle. This is one of those menu items that gains you a special engraving on a plaque if you eat it. Normally I don't go in for such sensationalistic food stunts, but in this case--well, it's a waffle! What do you expect me to do?!

Of course I'm also having the coffee. Coffee and waffles. That's what Jarmusch should have called that movie. It would have been an infinitely better film had it been about coffee and waffles rather than coffee and cigarettes. I mean, really. And the checkerboard table would have gone so much better with checkerboard waffles than with cylindrical cigarettes. I mean, it isn't that hard of a decision, people! And I'm a food critic not some famous motion-picture director!

Let me say something about syrup. Now I have been accused by various persons of drenching my waffles in syrup. Well, as a diner, I fully indulge my instincts, and I have a strong instinct for hot, sweet syrup, and I indulge that to the fullest! I also put a couple butter pats on each waffle before I ladle the hot honey-like syrup on. I like butter pats that have little images carved onto them (I don't know if carved is the right word exactly--I'm a food critic, not some self-conscious pedant! Who cares!). I like famous faces on my butter pats. Especially cartoon characters from the 1930s. And that's exactly what Insomnia Waffles does--they have people (characters) like Mutt and Jeff molded into their butter discs. Isn't that phenomenal? You can watch Mutt's face interestingly morph under the cascade of ladled hot syrup. Delish!

The coffee at Insomnia Waffles is incredible. It isn't typical waffle coffee. It's really great cafe coffee. So again it's the non-scary version of a waffle shop and that's why I keep coming back here! Again and again. Especially when I can't sleep (which is probably the point). Like tonight.

The service is serviceable. Nobody has ever disappointed me here. And what's especially appreciated is--the waitrons don't try to make you go to sleep! Wouldn't it be annoying if your server kept saying, "You look exhausted. Time to hit the hay!" I mean, I would not want to be served by that person.

Overall, then, Insomnia Waffles is the perfect spot to dine at when sleep is elusive. You can use the wi-fi and enjoy the waff-fi, as you sip the rich roast. The roast has an incredible gravy! The coffee is good too.

And so, although I wish I could sleep, although I wish I didn't worry so much which keeps me from sleeping and sends me off to Insomnia Waffles in the middle of the night--I still enthusastically--in a sleepy nocturnal way--award Insomnia Waffles Five Winks!

Today I had lunch at Oulipo's snack bar. A fabulous location, fantastic waitrons, astounding food--that's why I'm mad about Oulipo's!

Oulipo's surroundings? Simply amazing. Brilliant wall art (mostly oil paintings) charms you. Catchy music (classic rock hits mostly--Styx, Pink Floyd, Boston, and so on) wows. Waitrons and patrons? All cool folks.

I sit down in a comfy booth. My waitron displays Oulipo's voluminous food list. What looks good? All of it! In a quandary, I finally pick Oulipo's Lipogram Crust with squash filling. And to drink? Glug a mug of Squirt, straight up. Cool!

An Oulipo waitron is not your typical waitron. Quick, watchful, mindful, thoughtful--all you want in a waitron! My tip is always grand--not A grand, mind you, but grand. My waitron fills and fills again my Squirt mug without fail. And without my having to flap my hands! Oulipo uniforms? Stunning. Classic, classy, chic duds--not clinging or form-fitting but not baggy. Just right.

My Lipogram Crust is also just right. Crunchy and savory, this crust falls apart in your mouth. What bliss!

And so, looking back fondly, I found Oulipo's--as always--an out-of-sight dining spot. Oulipo's looks good. Oulipo's waitrons show us what waiting is all about. And Oulipo's food? Astronomically outstanding!

That's why I am awarding Oulipo's Snack Bar an avid four stars. No... I award Oulipo's Six Stars!

If as Ernest Hemingway once averred, morality is what you feel good after and immorality is what you feel bad after, then the steak-fried Chicken Steak-Fried Chicken XL at Wag Nabbit's is immoral--because after eating this entree I felt very bad indeed. The thing is still squatting in my guts like a granite curling stone. And I still can't tell you whether it was beef or chicken. The title completely disoriented me. I think it's a steak-fried chicken-steak, or a chicken-fried steak-fried steak-chicken, but I can't tell you. All I know about this aporia on a platter is that I'm still suffering from ingesting it. When I close my eyes I see it spinning eternally on some weird potter's wheel.

Wag Nabbit's is one of those plastic, Stepford Dives-type places that have absolutely no character. I guess they tried to lend the place some character by making a dish that was completely inedible. Well, if that's their idea of character, then I'll take bland soullessness, because I don't like to feel the way I'm feeling right now.

I don't suppose you know what it's like to have this kind of meal taking up residence in your stomach. No, you don't have to eat at places like Wag Nabbit's--because you aren't a food critic! There. I've said it. Because you're not a food critic, you get to choose the places you want to eat it. You don't have to go somewhere because it's on your list of places you haven't reviewed yet. Oh, no, you've got it easy. You can eat at the same place every single day of the week if you want. Imagine if I did that. I mean, really. Imagine it. Close your eyes and in as much sensory detail as you can, picture and imagine me, your food critic, eating at the same restaurant every day for a single week. I mean, picture me wearing different outfits, and visiting the restaurant under varied weather conditions. Are you picturing it? Are you smelling the smells, hearing the background music? Well, that will never happen. Push that vision away! That's right, erase it, because I have to eat somewhere different on a daily basis. Because if I turned in the same review seven times in a row, even if it was different each time, why my public would be outraged! They would turn into the torch-and-pitchfork mob that hunted Frankenstein's monster. I'm serious (I always am).

If this is a rant, so be it. Wag Nabbit's, or Dag Dabbit's, or Wascally Wabbit, or whatever the heck it's called, it just isn't the kind of place I would ever set foot in were I not a food critic. I mean, you may not believe this, but at one time I was a very cool and with-it individual. My favorite Velvet Underground LP was the Couch Album, for goodness' sake. And now here I am eating some darn chicken-fried steak-chicken-fried steak steak thing at Dang Dabbit's suburban hellhole. You like I like this place? You think I like the music they play in here? This isn't music, I know what music is. This is the kind of music they play as soundtrack to the horrifying rituals of the spiritually embalmed.

I'm not sure how long I can continue to review places like this. I mean, do people who dine at Dab Diggety or whatever even read my reviews? They just eat there because it's attached to the mall, don't they? I mean, if they'd made a left turn they'd be at Dippin Dots instead, wouldn't they?

OK. I've vented. I feel better. The indigestion is settling. I'm going to finish my review and take a nap. The Steak-Fried Chicken XL wasn't really all that bad. Not really. I give up. I give it five stars...

According to a recent New York Times article, "Gen X [is Having:] a Midlife Crisis". Well, you wouldn't know it at Flannel's Cafe', because in this midtown eatery, Generation X it still in its grungy, nihilistic, slacker prime.

Yes, it was inevitable. If most theme restaurants have a sixties/seventies ambiance, why not a theme restaurant for the "Nevermind" generation? Yes, I know "why not"--but let that pass, because Flannel's Cafe' is where X marks the spot for flavor.

I like Flannel's because it just has that friendly, unassuming vibe that we associate with the post-boomer generation. Walk in and be pummeled by the music to dine by: Nirvana's "Scentless Apprentice" from a Peavey amp suspended above the hostess station.

Do you remember all those articles in Time magazine in the 1990's about how Gen X types were sullen wage slaves? Well, the help here at Flannel's lives up to that stereotype, but in an amusing, ironic (of course) way. So it isn't offensive at all. In fact, it's kind of sweet, bathing you in nostalgia for a time when people were deeply shocked to see a cash-register operator wearing a nose ring.

The bare bones atmosphere of Flannel's won't win any interior design awards. Exposed beams and wiring, with glaring lamps (and blaring amps) and uncomfortable seating, drop you down a time warp into the psychological darkness of the grunge decade.

As befitting a "Hard Rock Cafe" knockoff, Flannel's features goofy rock star memorabilia on the walls, items such as Kurt Cobain's death certificate that couldn't be more obvious and unimaginative.

As for the food, it's excellent, and I think if Flannel's dropped the 1990's nostalgia trappings, they might have a decent little "hole"-in-the-wall. I had the orange roughy with a lime smoothie, because I believe in taking the roughy with the smoothie.

Overall, I had a wonderful experience at Flannel's. This trip down memory lane made me pine for the days of that surprisingly light-hearted decade. If you're looking for a similar experience, be sure to pop into Flannel's Cafe'. I'm happy to give Flannel's Cafe' Five Smoothies!

As I was walking through the parking lot, my cell phone vibrated. A message from Jacques Wool. He'd left behind his panama hat--would I go back and retrieve it from the restaurant? But of course! As I walked back to Fosters, I pictured going back to the table and grabbing the hat from the chair Jacques had sat in. I stepped back into Fosters. I was about to tell the friendly and helpful hostess that I had returned to pick up my friend's hat, but before the words escaped my lips I saw that Jacques' panama hat had been thoughtfully placed on one of the stands in the entry.

That impressed me. Then again, a number of things impressed me about the restaurant. I liked the bright, airy dining room. The decor was appealing--I enjoyed the amber spheres enclosed in wrought iron bands that hung from the ceiling. A pleasant, talkative din filled the dining room, though Jacques did mention a more sound-absorbing floor material would help us hear each other--then again, you may not be as soft-spoken as Jacques and I. I didn't notice any music playing, if there was any, and there certainly was not a television in sight. Fosters would be an ideal place to discuss Wallace Stevens...and his world.

The server was great--attentive but not intrusive. My iced tea glass kept being refilled as though by magic! And that's the way it ought to be. The menu featured a great range of items at different price points, all the way from BBQ pizza to scallops. Jacques enjoyed his Buffalo Shrimp Po Boy. I couldn't resist snapping up one of his French Fried Potatoes sprinkled with sea salt--excellent! I like my French Fries to taste like...potatoes, for that's what they are.

I had the fantastic Four Cheese Pesto pizza. The crust was just crunchy enough and the Feta cheese was terrific. I think next time I'll ask for extra cilantro--though I understand why they may have gone easy on it--cilantro does have a way of taking over a pizza...though I like it when that happens.

I absolutely will be going back to this restaurant. I like how a menu with more reasonable prices exists in a restaurant with such a pleasant atmosphere and outstanding food. And so, I am happy to report that I give Fosters--five cilantro leaves!