Category Archives: “Sports”

How to eat at the U.S. Open

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I’ve been in this business for four years, but every time I wind up someplace like the VIP Tasting Event at the US Open, I feel like I snuck in. Part of it, this time, is probably because our video team bailed out and I was flying solo. Part of it is because I really know very little about tennis. Part of it is because I can’t figure why anyone would be so eager to serve me fancy food on some odd Monday.

USTA employees led media through the stadium to the dining room in small groups as construction crews put finishing touches on last-minute renovations. “It never seems like they’ll finish, but it always gets done,” our guide said, laughing as maintenance men furiously screwed in light bulbs and scrubbed floors.

Enough nonsense. Food. On to the food, Berg.

As I stepped into the room and saw the place settings I knew immediately this would not be the chaotic feeding frenzy I had grown accustomed to from two years of annual tasting events at Citi Field. Smart lighting, small plates, delicate dishware. Hell, someone even brought me a fizzy pink beverage.

The Collins glass listed the past U.S. Open winners down the sides. That’s good. Study up, slugger, they might quiz you.

As I took a sip and scanned the room, I noticed all the slacks and blazers. Blazes! I was underdressed. I could tuck my shirt into my jeans to blend with the more casual among the media, but that would expose my odd choice of belt; in my haste to leave the house, I had grabbed the first thing I found suited to hold my pants up: the royal-blue elastic Rawlings belt I use for baseball on Saturdays.

There wasn’t even time for shame before someone rounded up the lot of us to parade us past the food. Professionals with telephoto lenses sized up the lighting and angled for the best perspective on the pulled-pork sliders while I tried not to drool on the steak sandwich I hunched over. iPhone photos suffice when you do business on the Internet, you just look like something of an amateur is all.

A chef came out and described the creations. Delicious buzzwords all about: grass-fed, Niman ranch, ginger goo, brioche. He explained where each item would be available, at in-stadium restaurants with names like Champions, Aces, Mojito. I tried to keep track as I awaited the call to the post. Good lord, why didn’t I bring a notebook?

Soon we were seated and the main event began. It started slowly, a waiter arriving with a lobster BLT. As I took a bite and considered what twisted genius first thought to bacon up the lobster, a second waiter arrived with a crabcake.

And thus began a furious onslaught of culinary awesomeness. Holy hell, these tennis folks can eat. It was getting in the ring with George Foreman. No dancing, no nonsense. Ever watch Foreman box? Just relentless.

Those crabcakes? Straight lump crabmeat, hardly anything else. Delicious. But don’t eat too much of it, because there’s a garlicky, buttery tender baked clam waiting on your table behind it. Oh, almost done chewing that? Here’s the custom-grind beef burger, so juicy it soaked through the bun once you cut it in half (because you can’t handle all of this, can you?). And make sure there’s room for the soft, flavorful buffalo mozzarella, delicately seasoned with salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar. Now comes the waitress with the BLT with avocado on toasted sourdough, and holy crap, I think I like tomatoes now.

And of course, it wouldn’t be tennis if there weren’t lobster served in all sorts of other ways. Would it? Damned if I know. At this point I’m not even sure they play tennis here. But lobster quesadillas came too, and lobster sushi. I can swear I saw straight-up lobster making its way around somewhere, too, just didn’t get to me.

After some twenty minutes of gluttonous fury, the coma began to set in. Some of the chefs – famous chefs from Top Chef, people I’m supposed to know about – made their way around the room to answer questions. The only one I could muster up was this:

“Do you have any more pulled pork sandwiches?”

One said he’d look, but I didn’t pursue it. I found a respite between plates and slinked out of the place, sated, defeated.

Good show, tennis. Good show. Allow this post to serve as spirited but polite applause.

If you make your way out to the U.S. Open in the coming weeks, make your way to one of the restaurants. Once you’re in, you’re on your own. Everything was good. My recollections of the event, even only a few hours later, are too dizzied to distinguish any dish in particular.

What I’m doing tomorrow

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I remember once, in college, a student trying to convince a professor to come to a club meeting. I don’t remember what club, though I recall it had some tenuous connection either to the subject of that class or one of the professor’s interests. In either way, the student said, “you should come, there’ll be free food.”

And the professor responded, “You know, someday you’ll get to the point when you’re no longer excited by free food.”

I chimed in that I hoped I never got to that point. And it still hasn’t happened.

So though what I’m doing tomorrow doesn’t necessarily align with the normal editorial thrust of TedQuarters, it is in keeping with just about everything I believe about taking advantage of the opportunities you’re granted to enjoy free food.

Sure, I’ve written almost nothing about tennis here, and actually less about tennis than I have about table tennis, but I would be doing a disservice to myself and the entire TedQuarters readership if I turned down the chance to attend the U.S. Open’s V.I.P. Tasting Preview event with executive chef Michael Lockard.

V.I.P. Like a straight-up baller.

The press release thing mentions gourmet sausages. I’m sorry; I’m not trying to brag. My job is f@#$ing awesome sometimes.

I’ll be around and blogging in the morning, then eating in the midday, then probably back blogging in the afternoon about all the eating I did.

Mike Tyson turns off the crazy for a night, enjoys a pleasant Indian meal

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Tyson, notorious for biting a chunk off Evander Holyfield’s ear in the ring in 1997, also abstained from alcohol and washed his meal down with tea with honey.

Mr Choudhury said: ‘He was here for a long time. He’s a very nice man and just wanted a nice curry.

‘I created these six dishes for him because he is a vegan and he must have liked them as the plates all came back clean.

‘They were very, very spicy. We made all different varieties for him.

“He’s a wonderful chap and very pleasant. He paid the bill and everyone was happy. We’ve had some wonderful celebrities here but he was the best one.’

– Georgina Littlejohn, Daily Mail.

Words not typically used to describe Mike Tyson: “nice” “pleasant” “chap.”

Also, looks like Iron Mike has lost a ton of weight:

Who knows? Maybe he has pulled it together or made peace with himself or something. If so, good for him. The only things I can say for sure about Tyson is that he’s not dumb and he’s not boring. Also, he definitely still has a huge facial tattoo.

Hat tip to Tom Boorstein for the link.

Understanding Kobayashi’s arrest

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It’s about 100 degrees outside and hotter in my home office — the AC doesn’t quite make it in here. I’ve got a day off from work, so in lieu of any worthwhile or well thought-out posts, please accept this series of links about Japanese competitive-eating champion Takeru Kobayashi.

First, on the nature of his dispute with Major League Eating. Turns out Kobayashi didn’t want to sign a contract that prevented him from eating competitions in Japan or in endorsements in the U.S.

That’s cool, and makes a lot of sense. I figured he was holding out for more money, which would be ridiculous since he already gets all those free hot dogs. But dude’s got to make a living, and he’s an entertainer and all.

Second, on his special “extraordinary ability” visa. The Japanese Kobayashi applied for and received a special U.S. visa given to only those with extraordinary ability evidenced by “sustained national or international acclaim.” The Major League Eating people had previously sponsored his visas, allowing the organization to keep him under its greasy thumb.

Next, a recap of yesterday’s event, which Joey Chestnut won with a disappointing total of 54 hot dogs. Chestnut admitted he would have eaten more with better competition, but there is no better competition. Without Kobayashi pushing him, Chestnut can just breeze to victory.

Then, of course, Kobayashi’s arrival and arrest, on video:

And finally, just for kicks, an article I wrote recapping 2008’s version of the event, which I really liked at the time but think seems a little ridiculous now, but which says everything I think I ever want to say about competitive eating.

Looming spectre of monkey uprising, wholesale lack of scoring continue to threaten enjoyment of World Cup

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Gangly striker Peter Crouch’s parents have been left ‘petrified’ after a gang of wild baboons broke into their hotel room at the Sun City resort near England’s training camp in Rustenburg.

Making the schoolboy error of forgetting to lock their room window before they left, Bruce and Jayne Crouch returned from a trip out to find the hungry monkeys on a mission to liberate some tasty snacks.

– Josh Burt, The Spoiler, via Deadspin.

TedQuarters first reported on the ongoing South African monkey uprising back in November. Commenter Dan provided more insight:

I lived in Cape Town for three months in 2006, and the baboons on the Cape Peninsula were remorseless. People would tell me stories of baboons breaking into their homes, going into their refrigerators.

There is a national park on the south end of the peninsula where visitors have to take real precautions because of them. I ate lunch outside with two other people there, which was ill-advised. A baboon came at me at top speed, and lept onto a picnic table where we were eating. My friend threw a sandwich at him, almost as a reflex. He snatched it out of the air and ran off. But others soon followed him to come after the rest of our lunch.

They are not to be trifled with.

Don’t mess with the monkeys, folks, and take measures to make sure the monkeys don’t mess with you.

In France, they call it ‘deauxping’

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Floyd Landis, the American cyclist whose 2006 Tour De France victory was nullified after a positive doping test, has sent a series of emails to cycling officials and sponsors admitting to, and detailing, his systematic use of performance enhancing drugs during his career. The emails also claim that other riders and cycling officials allegedly participated in doping, including seven-time Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong.

– Reed Albergotti and Vanessa O’Connell, Wall Street Journal.

And so concludes a run of public denial and bald-faced lies hilarious enough to make Roger Clemens look like Honest Abe. No word on why Landis fessed up now, though he claims he wanted to “clear his conscience.”

If you weren’t forced by your work to follow cycling in 2006, you might not know that Landis tried to explain unnaturally high testosterone levels by claiming he was out drinking the night before his test (during the Tour De France, because lots of successful cyclists break from the grueling, 2,200-mile race to get all liquored up), and then suggesting that he’s just some special superman who produces twice as much testosterone as everyone else. Because, you know, Floyd Landis is obviously the face of immense virility.

And because, of course, having the type of testicles capable of producing twice the normal amount of testosterone wouldn’t in any way make cycling unbearably uncomfortable.

Also, if you’ve never followed international cycling, you might not realize that every single person who has ever been on a bike has endeavored some sort of illegal doping activity. No term was bandied about on the now-defunct WCSN.com more than “disgraced cyclist,” because international cycling, for those who get broken up about cheating athletes, is a complete disgrace.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most ridiculous part: At some point, cycling legend Greg LeMond told Landis about the sexual abuse he endured as a child, and Landis detailed his doping regimen to LeMond.

And so when LeMond was preparing to testify against Landis in court, Landis’ business manager — from a listed number — placed a threatening call to LeMond during which he said, no joke, “Hi Greg, this is your uncle. I’m going to be there tomorrow… and we can talk about how we used to hide your weenie.”

Floyd Landis: One weenie apparently unwilling to go into hiding.