Aaaaannnd...Iiiiii'm.... Ready to Take a Chance Again

...Ready to put my love on the line...with you. (Thanks Barry Manilow for the opening song)

Okay, so as I'm sitting here sweating out the Cleveland Indians Game 3 in the series with the Yankees, I was blazing through the channels, dealing with sub-par Monday night programming when I stumbled upon No Reservations. After deep consideration, I decided to stick with it--Tony's in Brazil (in a re-run), drinking caipirinhas and feasting on traditional Brazilian dishes in Sao Paolo...and he was a different person. Despite being hung-over from an over-abundance of caipirihnas, Tony was happy, he looked healthy and content and was drooling all over the food as he chowed down in a tiny dining room of a local woman, decorated with multiple crucifixes and a wall painted orange.

And here's where I've decided: Tony requires the new and exotic to be happy. He's a 50-year-old chef with ADD who thrives on traversing lands that serve as homes to bugs (and spiders) the size of your head. He's happier--and edgier--drinking a cocktail in Peru made from yuca fermented with spit than being content eating delicious meals made with fresh but conventional ingredients somewhere in the contiguous United States. He sneered at Las Vegas. He mocked Cleveland. (I'm not sure what he did in South Carolina, but my guess is that if he liked it, he treated it as an exotic "other country.") Why? Because they were not "authentic" (gasp...I hate that word) in the sense that they were nothing new to him. He seems most impressed when he's just floored by the surroundings because they're new and so different and they kick his ass in someway. Thus, when he's in Cleveland, he has to find the sewer surfers and suck Twinkie cream from a warehouse pipe--because in some way those things will assault his senses...or his sensibility.

But, whether I'm just rationalizing (very possible) or really on to something, I have a question: Tony...why does the local experience of people around the United States require a sneering while local experiences of other countries are the "real thing"? If a place doesn't beat all 6'5" of the lanky you--yes you, Tony--then is it not worthy...or is it just what you consider fake...or commercial...or (gasp) touristy? And we all hate all of those things sometimes (my personal beef is with Walmart but who's counting) , but does it mean that they're not real? Does it mean the food or the atmosphere or the people who create it are somehow less?

As I watch the start of the next episode, Tony's on a mission to find the real Puerto Rico. He said it himself--the Puerto Rico only found by hanging with the locals. And while I get and actually agree that we cannot take an already touristy place (like Cleveland?) at face value to understand the "real" experience of it, what I don't understand, then, is the lack of interest--or abject disdain-- for the "real" experience of people living in Las Vegas or Cleveland or South Carolina (or wherever). Is it because it's not real--or it's just not exciting?

If "exciting" and "real" are what Tony's after, then I think the show needs a name change--because those obviously constitute "Reservations."

But, just for the record Tony, we're friends again.

Tony, Tony, Tony...You've Hurt Me

Dear Tony,
My dear, sarcastic-yet-lovable and awesome Tony. I write this with regret because up until now I've loved you unconditionally. I've laughed at every dig you've landed at the often dim-witted contestants on Top Chef. I've read your blog as though a religion unto itself. I've praised your style and awkwardly good-looks to friends of mine. I felt a connection.

But we need to talk. About what you did to and with Cleveland on No Reservations not so long ago. I remember fondly the day I heard you would be traveling to my beloved homeland to, what I assumed would be, showcase the ways in which the city has hung in during hard times. I was sure you'd hang in up-and-coming Tremont, venture up and around the Case Western Campus, and check out the bohemian shades of Coventry. I couldn't wait to see it. I was thrilled that you would revel in the unique cuisine in a city dominated by countless varieties of Slavic and Eastern European cultures.

And then I saw the show. And my heart broke. And then I got angry. Instead of celebrating the city, which is in dire need of some celebration, you took your size 12-cowbooted foot dangling off that impossibly lanky leg and gave it a sharp kick like a dog on the ground. Not only do you start the start off at Skyline Chili which is 1) a fast food chain 2) FROM CINCINATTI but then you proceed to find the crazy, anti-social Harvey Pekar as your personal tour-guide and SYMBOL of the entire CITY. Of course you met up with Toby, apparently the one friend of Pekar and Cleveland's version of Rainman, to guide you to the Free Stamp only to stand and make fun of it. Clearly relevant because all Clevelanders must harbor some degree of autism and general weirdness. But wait, I forgot to mention the visit to the Sewer Surfers, numbering in the 10s of Clevelanders--most of them transplants from other surfing-friendly climates, who themselves have not embraced the city. Every Clevelander I know 1) wouldn't step foot in Lake Erie 2) in February or really any other month for that matter. Of course, there was also the lame drag race in the broken down warehouse district just to make sure the desolation and down-troddeness of the city that you repeatedly claimed you loved showed through.

And then, only after all other shenanigans had been exhausted, there was the food. As an afterthought to stomping on the apparently cobbled-together inferior culture, that included the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that you hated not only in reality but also on principle, of what clearly for you is "the mistake on the lake" (despite the deep and abiding love you professed repeated), you ate a couple things. Cincinatti chili, a beer chilled by the snow over by the sewer drain, and just for good measure, pure aerated high fructose corn syrup from a pipe in a book warehouse that once produced Twinkies. I was particularly glad you showcased this as that is so typical of Clevelanders--nothing says a good end to the day like a shot of 30-year-old Twinkie filling straight from the pipe. Ah, but that's Cleveland for ya. While you did head over the the University Inn for some home-cooking that actually spoke a sentence about the ethnic background that still pervades and defines Cleveland down-home cooking, you completely glossed over the greatness that is Michael Symon and "Lola" both as a culinary destination and as a cornerstone of innovation and a breath of life in what is the slowly-rebuilding cultural scene. Of course, how could you concentrate when Jimmy Ramone was stuffing his face as though he'd never eaten before. And just to make sure that the slap on the face you were intending to serve up held its sting long enough to make it meaningful, as the great culmination of this expedition--YOU COOKED AT HOME with two things you bought at the famous West Side Market. Conclusion: Nothing says Cleveland like " I'm going to run away from the depressing and apparently slightly retarded social fabric of the city and escaping to a rich friend's house in the suburbs to cook for myself and try to forget I'm in Cleveland." Well done. Bravo.

Truly, Tony, congratulations. For a man who prides himself on seeking out, exploring and celebrating the uniqueness of every place you visit, you managed, in grand fashion, to mimic exactly what every other influential person has done to this city and thus personally contributed to its continuing depression. Now you're just another asshole on tv who questions an investment in the city thereby questioning the value of the people who love it and call it home. Frankly, save it. Oh, and please--I'm begging--do us a favor and don't come back.

We are so totally not speaking right now.