Song 3 of my Songs for Meals recording project was done at the Fall On Your Sword studios in Williamsburg, Brooklyn with my partner in Evil Cowards, William Bates. 

This was a great time to do the song and have the meal, as we are releasing the second Evil Cowards album this week.  Wills does a lot of the dirty work for Evil Cowards…. I just come up with some lyrics, he’s the guy who takes it all into the studio and makes the songs what they are. 

So I wanted to take it easy on him for this free recording project.  The song we recorded is the short acoustic song, which will be the closer on my album, so it only took us like a half an hour to do the recording.

So with that in the rearview mirror, we set off down the street for his compensation.  The restaurant he chose was ISA, a newish bistro that specializes in authentic Brooklyn fare.  I’ll get to what that is momentarily. 

When I approached Wills about being involved in this project, the restaurant he initially wanted to go to was some sort of crab shack that you have to take a boat to get to.  But that was meant to be during the summer.   We’ve postponed the event a few times and now autumn has come to NYC and it’s cold up in this bitch.  Wills called an audible and decided he wanted more autumnal fare, so ISA got our business.  I didn’t care.   I’ve been on a boat before.

I read the reviews of ISA ahead of time.  I saw a whole lot of “uber-hip Williamsburg hipster hangout where the food is an afterthought” or “if you can get past the stench of hipsters, you’ll love the fois gras!”. 

Enough.  I get it.  Yes, Williamsburg = extreme hipster fatigue, but as long you’re not there on Friday or Saturday night, you’ll be just fine.   I’d happily make Williamsburg my primary residence through the week and do my weekends in Atlantic City.  That would be a beautiful life.  Our dinner takes place on a Sunday night, so we’ve got this. 

Wills had made reservations for 9 p.m., but we decided to get there at 8:30 to see if we could get in early.  As we approached the rustic faux-log cabin chateau that is ISA, we noticed it was not that crowded, so we knew we’d be seated right away.   As one enters, one is struck immediately by the abundance of wood….wood tables, wood benches, wood chairs, wood-fired oven.  I felt like dressing up like a woodpecker and causing a ruckus. Next time.

We were greeted by a GENERIC WOMAN who offered us a variety of seating options and we elected to sit in the bar area so we could feel like we were part of the action.  We sat down and were immediately presented with this menu:

Look at this menu.  Just look at it.

So it is here where I explain what “authentic Brooklyn fare” is.   It’s like each of these bistros got together and decided to offer the same core entrée selections, with the same smattering of side dishes that can be mixed and matched.  The entrees must be limited to:

—  Skirt steak or hanger steak

—  Grilled Pork Chop

— Roasted Chicken

— Market Fish – usually sea bass

— Some sort of pasta dish, either a ragu over noodles, or a gnocchi

Side dishes are limited to one of the following:

— a puree of fava beans

—  squash

— sautéed greens

— baby potatoes

— sautéed leeks or ramps

Mix and match any of the sides with any of the entrees and that’s your authentic Brooklyn fare….and that’s what we are getting tonight.  All Brooklyn bistros are required by borough president Marty Markowitz to offer only these entrée selections and this is the way we like it.

So what then differentiates one bistro from another??  Well….everything else.  The differences are found in the cocktails, the appetizers and the desserts.  This is where wheat is separated from the chaff.  This is where the money talks and the bullshit walks.

As we perused the menu, we each ordered a different specialty cocktail from the bar.  Wills went with the Honey Bunny, which was some sort of tequila and honey jamboree.  I went with the Patagonia Rains, which was Pisco-based.  Both our drinks were spectacular, each in their own pan-Latin way.  I told Wills that if nothing else, he should come to ISA after a day in the studio and just sit at their bar.  During the cocktail drinking phase, we perused the menu.  Wills told me at this time that he hasn’t been eating mammals for close to a year, which I did not realize.  You think you know somebody….

Our server was an affable kid who had the hipster thing in check and definitely was more concerned with us having a good experience than with us walking away thinking “man, that guy is really funny in a really cerebral and socially-relevant way and his wit operates on levels I’ve never even knew existed, boy it would be fun to hang out with him sometime and have him open up some social doors for us.”   Maybe they save those guys for the weekend.  On a Sunday night, we needed the quiet, helpful kid and that’s what we got.  Well done, ISA.

Because Wills does not eat mammals, the starters were to be the deep-fried risotto balls with aioli dipping sauce and the octopus in tomato sauce and beans.  We ordered a bottle of 2009 Tuscany something or other.  And our entrees went the direction of Wills getting the chicken and me getting the pork chop. 

The starters arrived quickly and while the risotto balls were merely excellent, the octopus tentacle was a life-changer.  Understand, I am not a fan of octopus.  It is normally rubbery and bland.  I’ve never understood the appeal.  What appeared before us was the largest single tentacle I’ve ever been served….and you could cut it with a butter knife.  It had been marinated in lemon juice and once it simmered in the tomato jam, my opinion of octopus skyrocketed.   This dish was the hit of the night, easily.

The wine was selected from the middle of the price range available to us, and I never asked Wills what he thought of it as we were too busy talking about other people behind their backs.  But my opinion was that it was nothing special.  No vibrancy, even kind of sour.  Did we drink the whole bottle?  Yes, of course. Would I go in another direction next time? Absolutely.

The mains arrived in due time and both were quite acceptable.  My pork chop was enormous and had all the hallmarks of a big ole grilled pork chop.  The pesto summer squash it was served with was forgettable.  Wills’ chicken seemed to go in him smoothly as it was lubricated with brown chicken juices, to ease acceptance of the chicken down one’s throat.

Choices of dessert were fairly limited, so we went with the deep fried dough balls served with a piping hot fruit compote for dipping.  Accompanying this was two glasses of aged scotch.  We took it all down and felt ourselves succumbing to the effects of hard alcohol, sugar, fat and carbohydrates.  That is to say, we began to feel slower in every sense of the word.

The bill came to $175 and by New York standards for such a meal, I was surprised we stayed below $200.   Wills has every intention of recording a second song for this project later on when we can find the time.  He told me this as we went back to the Fall On Your Sword studios to drink some mezcal and to watch the final cut of our video for “Bedford Ave. Wine Distributors” which will be out there to for public consumption soon.

Next up, I am most likely going to do my next Songs For Meals with a guy in Ottawa, sometime in 2013.  That’s the plan.  Maybe while I’m on tour with Electric Six someone might step up with a functional recording studio and a hungry gut.  I’m always up for it.

Songs 1 and 2 of my newest recording project were recorded on June 4^th and 5^th in Cardiff with my friend Ryan Jones, or as he is heretofore referred to as….Jones.  Jones is currently one half of an entertainment duo called Massive Horse and if this the first you are hearing of them, I truly believe it won’t be the last. They’re just getting started and I seldom see two people with as much drive and moxie as them. 

Two years ago, Jones approached me at E6’s annual show in Cardiff and after the show, he offered to record me for free.  He seemed like a sane individual and I like sane individuals.  I also like free recording, so I gave him my email address and we put the wheels in motion.

We wrapped our recording on June 5th and immediately turned our attention to Jones’ compensation…..a meal at “the finest restaurant in Cardiff”.  Me being a visitor to Cardiff, I left it to Jones to determine exactly which restaurant that was.  Turns out, even as a Cardiff native, Jones was equally flummoxed.  So he put out feelers on Facebook and the overwhelming response from Jones’ people……was Charleston’s.

Charleston’s was located right in the city center of Cardiff, very close to a restaurant where E6 had a memorable band meeting 9 years previous.  Upon arrival, I felt an excitement building, as the exterior was incredibly pedestrian.  I probably had walked by it a billion times before without realizing it was “the finest restaurant in Cardiff.  This was clearly a place that had a track record and didn’t need bells and whistles to bring people in.

We got there around 7 p.m. and found that the place did not open til 7:30…..also a bonus.  This was a place for the late-night beefeater.  And late-night beefeating….is what made Wales great.  That….and the early morning sheep-shagging.

We killed the time with one round of drinks at a smelly and sticky Irish pub across the street.  I added to the smell by FARTING.  Not once, but FOUR TIMES.  I played coy with Jones, pretending that it was not me, distracting him with old adages about a fox smelling his own HOLE.

Whoever smelt it, DEALT IT.

We wandered over to Charleston’s around 7:40 and marched up the stairs.  It was indeed open by now, but there were no other patrons there.  The host confirmed that they were open and the lack of business was due to the fact that this was Jubilee weekend hangover.  After four days and nights of larging it, Britain was recovering.  So Jones and I had the place to ourselves.

Charleston’s immediately reminded me of Peter Lugar in New York City.  A family style steakhouse that saw no need to dim the lights.  The menus were also Lugar-esque in scope.  Appetizers, cuts of beef, house specials, side dishes…and that’s all, hooker.   Total separation of powers.  The focus is on the steak you order, not what comes with it.    So far…so good.

Now I had prepped Jones that if we were to be at a steakhouse, we needed to order a martini first and then….only then….could we peruse the menu.  So, when our host/waiter came to the table a few minutes after seating us, I mentioned that we would like martinis.

What occurred next was a thing of beauty.  The waiter asked us to accompany him to the bar and point to what went into making a martini.  It was here that I realized that there was no bartender on the premises….that this guy was going to WING IT.   I liked this place and I became excited by the prospect of showing this fellow who worked in a steakhouse how to make the most basic of steakhouse cocktails.  I saw bottles of Malibu.  Bottles of Aftershock.  Bottles of Jose Cuervo tequila.   Bottles of BLUE SCHNAPPS. 

But no bottle of gin.  In retrospect, I think that just can’t be the case.  This was BRITAIN.  I am guessing that there was in fact a bottle of gin somewhere back there but it wasn’t leaping out at my American eyes the way a Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray bottle would.   I am however still of the belief that there was not a bottle of vermouth on hand, nor a jar of olives. 

I asked Jones if he was okay with just getting a bottle of wine and he was.  We ordered a bottle of 2010 Cote du Rhone.  Then we went back to the table and began to peruse the menu.

I insisted that we order two appetizers.  It was an impressive array of traditional steak house starters…..shrimp affairs, garlic and butter mushrooms, country liver pate, garlic bread, mussels, oysters.   Jones indicated up front that he was not a fan of seafood, so we opted for the country liver pate and garlic bread. 

At this point, the Cote du Rhone arrived and was poured.  It came from a bottle, but had all the vibrancy of wine from a box….a box that was soaked for days in sea brine.  After one sip, I knew that this was going to be the most below average Cote du Rhone I had ever consumed.  I believe that wines live and wines breathe.  I believe this wine had spent a few months breathing in the essence of the Malibu and the Aftershock it lived beside.  I believe that faced with living and breathing in this environment, this bottle of wine….simply gave up.

But not me and Jones.  Over the course of the meal, we drank the whole bottle.  After all, the worst bottle of the wine in the world will still alter your perception of reality much more effectively than Cardiff tap water ever will.

The country pate liver pate arrived.  It was presented with cuts of flatbread, iceberg lettuce, tomato slices and BUTTER.  Pate not fatty enough?  Add a little BUTTER!  That said, this pate was as good as any I’ve had and I was impressed with the portion of it and its presentation on the plate was as if it was meatloaf from Cracker Barrel. The pate was succulent and I’d recommend it to anyone.

Upon ordering the mains, Jones and I went in different directions.  We were at Charleston’s so I could not not order the Steak Charleston.  This was to be a filet that was smothered in some sort of garlic/onion/courgette marinara sauce.  Jones kept it simple by ordering a basic chargrilled strip steak.  We were informed that we did not need to order extra sides as we would be provided with an assortment of peas, potato wedges and flash-fried cauliflower.

It must be said that the entrees were very good.  Being American, I am trained to be skeptical of non-American steak, but Charleston’s got the job done.  I make no apologies for opting to have my meat covered with shit.  I like my meat covered with shit.  Jones was equally satisfied with his cut of meat.  We both raved about the flash-fried cauliflower. The cauliflower was the winner….at the steak house.

It was a lot of food and we declined the pudding menu.  If they even offered one, which I don’t remember.  I like to pretend they did.  They probably didn’t.

The bill came to 55 quid.  I remarked to Jones that I regretted it wasn’t more.  He’s a good kid and it was a pleasure recording with him.  He deserves a FOOD SUPPLEMENT at some point in the future.  Courtesy of ME. 

ME:

Next up….sometime later this summer I record song number 3 in New York City with my friend and partner in Evil Cowards, William Bates.  He’s gonna nail the song and he’s gonna eat and drink his face off.  Courtesy of ME:

ME:

I am a tumblr novice.  Every time I go to change the title to “Songs For Meals” , I get a prompt saying a link will be sent to my email address to verify my shit.  Then I go to my email, and nothing has been sent.  I’ve clicked on this step 43 times.  43 is a prime number so I know it’s good.  Still nothing has happened.  I don’t care anymore.  The title of my tumblr is “Untitled”.

Hello! My name is Dick Valentine. I am best known as the lead singer of Electric Six, but I do other things as well. I am undertaking a new musical project, the nature of which will be disclosed when it is ready.  But I am starting this blog to document how I am going about recording.  Not the recording itself, but how I am financing it.

Short answer:  I am financing this music project with food.  Over the past couple of years, I have been approached by more than a few people with home recording studios that have offered me free recording.  At this time, those offers have come from people in New York, Los Angeles, Ottawa, London, Paris and Cardiff.  I intend to take all of them up on their offer of free recording.

But me being me, I feel I should give each producer something for his efforts and generosity.  So I am offering to take each producer out to the finest restaurant in his town.  And I am going to blog about the experience.  I am a foodie.  I am a musician.  And now I am a blogger.  This journey will result in a wonderful album and many wonderful meals with wonderful people.  Wonderful.