Remember last year, when the Phils fired Bowa and people around Philly were gettign excited because there was a proven winner out there, just waiting to be snapped up? A guy who had won three division titles and had won a World Series with a team that, truth be told, really wasn’t that good? A guy who was extremely familiar with the National League, since that’s where he always had managed? Well, don’t worry, he hasn’t done much since he got snapped up by the Detroit Tigers this year. Well, with the exception of leading a perennial laughingstock to the best record in baseball. And the difference really seemed to hit home last night, as the Tigers came from two runs back in the 8th inning, while the Phils blew a three run lead in the 8th.
Related: Fascinating Phillie Facts

I had planned to get to Camden early on Sunday, so that I could paint the town red in a day and take part in the ol’ waterfront trifecta. You see, the good people of Camden were letting bloggers go to the Aquarium, the Battleship, and the ballpark for free over the past weekend, and since I wear so many hats (quizmaster, blogger, baker, etc.) I figured I should take part. But I was unable to get out of bed before noon, probably the aftereffects of “Baker’s hangover”. Or possibly the effects of “PBR hangover”. Anyway, that’s irrelevant. I called the lovely Ginger to see if she wanted to go to the city across the river. She said sure, so we hopped in the Crown Victoria and headed to “The City That Never Reads”. Ouch! That was a cheap shot. In my defense, I was raised to make fun of Jersey every chance I got.

Continue reading “Johnny and Ginger Go to Camden” →

We came flying in on two wheels into the Kitchen Kettle Village parking lot in Intercourse, careful not to let our cherished pie (The Rhubarb Banana Blueberry Supreme) fall in the car floor, then hopped out and ran into KKV. Judging for the Rhubarb Pie Bake Off was scheduled for 10:15 a.m., and it was already 10:20. “You must be the fellows from Philadelphia,” said an attractive lady in a giant pink hat. My butterfly shirt and the fact that we were the only people there under the age of 50 apparently gave us away. “Indeed,” I said, handing her my pie.

Ken had worked hard Wednesday night to make the ingredients, and I had spent my Thursday afternoon baking. It was an amateur production at best. I had never baked before, so I didn’t know what to roll the dough on. A newspaper? The bare table? Finally I put two cutting boards together and rolled it on them. I didn’t have a dough roller, so I used a large can of pineapple juice to roll the dough. I had no idea what I was doing, but when I pulled the pie out of the oven, it wasn’t completely burnt, so I figured that was a good sign.

The judging began shortly after we arrived. The judge for pies (there were also competitions for best rhubarb cake and best miscellaneous rhubarb dessert) was a lady named Holly Palacious (above) who worked at a nearby Tea Room. She looked very serious as she began her tasting, and seemed remarkably focused. She tasted the first few pies and got to ours. I began to get nervous. For all I knew, they were going to cut the pie and it was going to deflate like the turkey in National Lampoon’s X-Mas Vacation. They began cutting. I held my breath. No deflating, but the cute lady in the pink hat was having a hard time cutting through the crust. She got a bigger knife. The bigger knife worked and they took out a small piece. Holly tried it. She didn’t spit it out or even wince. In fact, she decided to have a second bite! Awesome! I looked at a nearby scoresheet to see how the pies were judged. Oh, crap, appearance counted! The other pies looked like they were posing for the cover of Martha Stewart Living, while ours looked like it had just come out of the EZ Bake oven. We were screwed!

Continue reading “Johnny Finishes Inches From Victory at 23rd Annual Rhubarb Pie Bake-Off!” →

A team known as the Sweet Peppers won a privately held quizzo at the Boathouse for Pepper Hamillton LLP on Thursday night then formed what Johnny called, “the most perfect single file line ever. I mean, they are equidistant apart, each turned at exactly the same angle. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I have never seen a line like that one.” Johnny denied that he thought a member of an opposing team was cute, and that he grooved a Beverly Hills 90210 question in round one for her. “That is patently untrue, and I am sickened by the accusations. If I hear anyone else make accusations like those, they will be hearing from my lawyers…and my lawyers make perfect single file lines.”

Gonna have a bunch of stuff to write about when I return to the office on Monday. The trip to Intercourse was legendary, as you might suspect. Then, on Sunday, I’m hitting all the hot spots in Camden. I’ll have exciting write ups on both endeavors on Monday. The above guys, by the way, were totally jamming at the Rhubarb Festival.

A text message has been received from Intercourse PA.
Johnny Goodtimes and co-baker Ken have received a 22 for their pie, the winner received a 26. The judge told them that their pie was “very creative.” Johnny also said, “I think I’ve got baker’s high.”

The night air is still. The pie cools in a nearby refridgerator. In a few hours we will find out once and for all whether Ken and I will pull off the greatest upset in pie baking since the Sioux City Shocker at the ’84 Berry Jamboree. Like I said before, I’ll try to post something from there, but the odds of a cyber cafe in Intercourse are about the same as me winning the pie baking contest, so you’ll probably have to wait until at least Saturday. Speaking of Saturday, remember that I’ll be emceeing at the ComedySportz Improv at the Adrienne. Shows are at 7:30 and 10 p.m., and it is BYOB. If you are looking for something to do today, my mom just joined Myspace and she needs some new friends, so hook it up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bake off to win.

The ladies above are from a team called Wire-tap that Ass tha played last night at the Bards. Once they found out that I was a baker, well, they simply couldn’t keep their hands off me.

It was last year this time that my buddy Ken and I headed out to Intercourse and found ourselves in the midst of the Rhubarb festival in what ended up being a legendary road trip. So this year, we are gonna return. And this year, there is an added attraction: We have decided to enter the Great Rhubarb Pie Bake Off! We were discussing it yesterday, though I was obviously kind of joking when I brought it up, considering I have never baked a pie in my life. Then this morning I got a voicemail from Ken, saying that he had made a crust and a pie filling the night before, and that all I had to do was to bake it. He’s just that insane. So I went and picked it up, and am now preparing to bake my first ever pie. I’m sure it’s going to go just great. We gotta head out first thing tomorrow morning, so heaven knows when I’ll be posting again, but rest assured, when I do, I should have a legendary tale to tell. I’ll bring my laptop with me manana, but I think the odds of a wireless cafe in Intercourse are fairly slim. Feel free to post below the odds of me and Ken winning the 23rd annual Rhubarb pie bake off. Also, post below any baking tips you have. Again, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here.

Philebrity, which usually tells you where you can go to find all the gals with striped knee socks and the guys who wish they were gay but aren’t, tells a juicy story this morning about our good friends over at Philadelphia Magazine. It seems that Philly Mag posted a report about questionable sanitation in Stephen Starr restaurants on their website (though they did not author said report). Well, as everybody knows, Stephen Starr spends more money in advertising in Philly Mag per month than you spent on your entire house. And the next thing you know, our friends over at Philly Mag are yanking the report off their website and claiming the whole thing was a big misunderstanding. All things being equal, they could catch a 6 foot mutant cockroach at Morimoto and I would still eat there. Damn, that s*** is good.
Related: Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup.