So, after a pretty rough crash on Ellsworth Avenue last week that left my bike and body with various mechanical problems, I've been stuck riding one hell of a frankenbike. My rear wheel was totalled--bent, spokes broken, but luckily no damage to the cassette, dropout bar or derailleur--so I took apart a 40 year-old Sears Free Spirit to create a rolling frame that I could get around on. My Concord now has a 27-inch wheel in the front, and a 26 in the back, both different widths. The six-speed freewheel was replaced by a five, so now if I overshift, my chain goes into the axle. But it works, and despite the crumbling Continental tire on the back end, I'm still rolling around the city keeping up with traffic. The bike, however, which used to be a big, heavy, steel sonofabitch to ride, is now even heavier. Tomorrow I'm going to my faithful LBS in Squirrel Hill to buy a new wheel, which will be cheaper than I imagined.
Oh, and the garden is coming along beautifully. I've got about 13 tomato plants, zucchini, corn, peas, broccoli, herbs, greens... it's amazing what you can fit into a space so tiny.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
crepes suzette
I haven't written in awhile I suppose. Things are busy. While the job search hasn't gotten me anything yet (small bistro job didn't come through for me), I do have a place to live now. I'm moving in with Diane later this month, and I'll be there for the summer, if not longer. Rent's going to be cheap and it's going to be fun--big kitchen, big house, big backyard for me to till and start a garden in. Seriously, I'm going to grow tomatoes and shit.
I guess I'm going to stick with the corporation for a few more months. Every day I stay there is another day that makes me look good to future employers anyway, so I may as well put up with it as long as I can. It's just rough sometimes. Saturday was 150 people, which certainly isn't the worst day we've ever had, but it was tough, cooking dinner long after close and then cleaning that beast of a kitchen. Soba doesn't have slow days anymore. Every staff meeting we have there's always talk of the most profitable year we've ever had, but strangely enough, they say the labor cost is too much to handle, so they can't give out raises. When I got my six-month review last year, they bumped me up two dollars, which didn't exactly move me to another income level, but it got me out of indentured servitude. Recently a few guys have had their reviews, good, valuable members of our crew who are doing good work, and the management basically told them they were shit out of luck. It makes me feel sick that I'm broke, and making more than them, and we're all working ourselves to death.
Nevertheless, I feel like I'm in less of a state of depression/career/apartment crisis at this point. I could be doing worse at some hellhole Pittsburghese Italian joint. This is all going to come back to me.
I'm going to go ride my bicycle. I'm training for the Cleveland thing, although I admit it'll still be at least a month before I can do it. The bike needs a little love before I'll trust it that far, but I've got some free parts coming my way; namely newer brakes. The ancient Dia Compe calipers aren't so good in the rain, and probably 85% of my stopping power comes from the front one.
I was paranoid recently I had a crack in the frame, or a bad bottom bracket, which turned out to be nothing. My crankset was making an awful creaking noise and it turned out to be a loose nut, so I finally quit being a cheapass and bought a 3/8 rachet and a 14mm attachement to take the whole bottom end apart, clean it, and put it back together much tighter than the previous owner had. Even still, I'm looking at getting a brand new Campagnolo crankset on ebay for a few bucks that might make for a smoother ride and gear ratios that'll be better for what I'm doing. All I'd like to have after that is a new six-speed cassette, but they're somewhat hard to find.
I guess I'm going to stick with the corporation for a few more months. Every day I stay there is another day that makes me look good to future employers anyway, so I may as well put up with it as long as I can. It's just rough sometimes. Saturday was 150 people, which certainly isn't the worst day we've ever had, but it was tough, cooking dinner long after close and then cleaning that beast of a kitchen. Soba doesn't have slow days anymore. Every staff meeting we have there's always talk of the most profitable year we've ever had, but strangely enough, they say the labor cost is too much to handle, so they can't give out raises. When I got my six-month review last year, they bumped me up two dollars, which didn't exactly move me to another income level, but it got me out of indentured servitude. Recently a few guys have had their reviews, good, valuable members of our crew who are doing good work, and the management basically told them they were shit out of luck. It makes me feel sick that I'm broke, and making more than them, and we're all working ourselves to death.
Nevertheless, I feel like I'm in less of a state of depression/career/apartment crisis at this point. I could be doing worse at some hellhole Pittsburghese Italian joint. This is all going to come back to me.
I'm going to go ride my bicycle. I'm training for the Cleveland thing, although I admit it'll still be at least a month before I can do it. The bike needs a little love before I'll trust it that far, but I've got some free parts coming my way; namely newer brakes. The ancient Dia Compe calipers aren't so good in the rain, and probably 85% of my stopping power comes from the front one.
I was paranoid recently I had a crack in the frame, or a bad bottom bracket, which turned out to be nothing. My crankset was making an awful creaking noise and it turned out to be a loose nut, so I finally quit being a cheapass and bought a 3/8 rachet and a 14mm attachement to take the whole bottom end apart, clean it, and put it back together much tighter than the previous owner had. Even still, I'm looking at getting a brand new Campagnolo crankset on ebay for a few bucks that might make for a smoother ride and gear ratios that'll be better for what I'm doing. All I'd like to have after that is a new six-speed cassette, but they're somewhat hard to find.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I've had the idea to do a tour from Pittsburgh to Cleveland. I think I'm gonna do it the next time I can get maybe three days off.
No road support--just me, a bag, and this old, old bike I'm riding.
The alleycat race I was in yesterday really sold me on the idea of seeing more of this country on a bicycle. It was probably one of the best things I've ever done, darting around the city, riding the trail on the north side, seeing the sunset on Hot Metal Bridge, and just having a good time with people.
No road support--just me, a bag, and this old, old bike I'm riding.
The alleycat race I was in yesterday really sold me on the idea of seeing more of this country on a bicycle. It was probably one of the best things I've ever done, darting around the city, riding the trail on the north side, seeing the sunset on Hot Metal Bridge, and just having a good time with people.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Sorry I've disappeared off the face of the planet for awhile, but I recently underwent possibly the busiest and most stressful time yet at the restaurant.
Yes, it was another trendy fusion prix fixe menu, complete with pinot grigio spelled wrong on the fucking advertisement. I cooked over 76 of them one night, some terrible amount for the rest of the time. The entire array of courses was unbalanced completely; all on saute, nothing for the other cooks to take the load off. It was just me cooking the shit out of some food, really fast. As usual. I need a change of scene, to put it mildly.
Today I had an interview with a man named Trevett; a fellow food-lover and veteran line cook. He and his wife are opening up a tiny, tiny bistro in Regent Square with emphasis on French and Italian country cooking. This is my opportunity to serve pate de campagne to a few people at a time--and in a brand new kitchen with one or two other guys, nonetheless. I've just got to fill out his application, but being the first interested cook, I think I may have the job if I want it. He says he'll match my wage. Closed Sundays and Mondays, dinner only from five to ten. Jesus motherfucking Christ, this is so exciting! I can get away from that evil corporation and their Mexican restaurant chains once and for all!
Yes, it was another trendy fusion prix fixe menu, complete with pinot grigio spelled wrong on the fucking advertisement. I cooked over 76 of them one night, some terrible amount for the rest of the time. The entire array of courses was unbalanced completely; all on saute, nothing for the other cooks to take the load off. It was just me cooking the shit out of some food, really fast. As usual. I need a change of scene, to put it mildly.
Today I had an interview with a man named Trevett; a fellow food-lover and veteran line cook. He and his wife are opening up a tiny, tiny bistro in Regent Square with emphasis on French and Italian country cooking. This is my opportunity to serve pate de campagne to a few people at a time--and in a brand new kitchen with one or two other guys, nonetheless. I've just got to fill out his application, but being the first interested cook, I think I may have the job if I want it. He says he'll match my wage. Closed Sundays and Mondays, dinner only from five to ten. Jesus motherfucking Christ, this is so exciting! I can get away from that evil corporation and their Mexican restaurant chains once and for all!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
god, it's windy today
Urban cycling is hard.
And I don't mean as an athletic challenge, which is the least of any city biker's worries. I mean acting like you're a driver. The price we pay for weaving in and out of traffic, mocking single passengers in Hummer H3s, and paying nothing for gas and next to nothing for maintenance is being easy targets for two-ton hunks of steel hurtling past us at twice our speed.
You can't stay to the right. You can't ride on the sidewalk. Unless you're in one of those modern cities that actually has bike lanes, you must be an element of traffic; signaling to other drivers, making eye contact, moving and letting move, and getting the fuck out of the way when cops and ambulances drive the wrong way at 100mph.
The bike you ride must be an extension of your body, and especially if you ride a city that's a mess of hills. If you're at a stoplight with ten cars behind you, and you've got to make a start going uphill, people are not going to want to wait up for you to do so. Shift into low gear and get your ass moving before you're flattened into the pavement.
Of course, most of the time, you can navigate through relatively calm streets to get where you're going on a bicycle--being an alley cat is one of the benefits of being small, after all. But sometimes, the only way to get down the hill is the way everyone else is, and you find yourself drafting a Port Authority bus at 40mph with a Buick on your ass, and you start thinking about your 30 year-old caliper brakes and crumbling pads, and whether or not it's time to replace that chain.
Speaking of the bike, I was doing some research today, and found out that mine may be a vintage piece of material... a Concord Pacer from as far back as the 70s. It's obviously been through a lot before me, considering what it looked like before I did some serious work on it. Just like my old Schwinn, it's fun to ride a piece of history like that.
And I don't mean as an athletic challenge, which is the least of any city biker's worries. I mean acting like you're a driver. The price we pay for weaving in and out of traffic, mocking single passengers in Hummer H3s, and paying nothing for gas and next to nothing for maintenance is being easy targets for two-ton hunks of steel hurtling past us at twice our speed.
You can't stay to the right. You can't ride on the sidewalk. Unless you're in one of those modern cities that actually has bike lanes, you must be an element of traffic; signaling to other drivers, making eye contact, moving and letting move, and getting the fuck out of the way when cops and ambulances drive the wrong way at 100mph.
The bike you ride must be an extension of your body, and especially if you ride a city that's a mess of hills. If you're at a stoplight with ten cars behind you, and you've got to make a start going uphill, people are not going to want to wait up for you to do so. Shift into low gear and get your ass moving before you're flattened into the pavement.
Of course, most of the time, you can navigate through relatively calm streets to get where you're going on a bicycle--being an alley cat is one of the benefits of being small, after all. But sometimes, the only way to get down the hill is the way everyone else is, and you find yourself drafting a Port Authority bus at 40mph with a Buick on your ass, and you start thinking about your 30 year-old caliper brakes and crumbling pads, and whether or not it's time to replace that chain.
Speaking of the bike, I was doing some research today, and found out that mine may be a vintage piece of material... a Concord Pacer from as far back as the 70s. It's obviously been through a lot before me, considering what it looked like before I did some serious work on it. Just like my old Schwinn, it's fun to ride a piece of history like that.