Free Tickets To Tomorrow Night’s Garces Family Foundation Fundraiser For The Fastest Poets In Philly

Posted by Jason Sheehan on October 9th, 2012

I believe we’ve mentioned a couple times now about tomorrow night’s fundraiser/launch party for the new Garces Family Foundation. Matter of fact, I think we’ve mentioned it more than a couple times. But now we’re mentioning it again because we want to send four of you lucky Fooboozers to the big event. For free.

We have in our possession two pairs of General Admission tickets to the party. These suckers are $200 a pop and grant you a 7:30pm access to the main floor of the event where Mike Stollenwork from Fish, Han Chiang from Han Dynasty, Kanella’s Konstantinos Pitsillides, David Gilberg and Carla Goncalves from Koo Zee Doo, Tashan’s Sylva Senat, Hiroyuki “Zama” Tanaka from Zama and representatives from all 8 of Garces’s local operations will all be cooking their hearts out for your enjoyment. There will be booze, there will be food, there will be entertainment, there will be a fine selection of Philly’s culinary elite on hand, and all you have to do to get your hot little hands on a pair of free tickets is write us a poem…

Oh, but not just any poem. We have done haiku contests here before. We have allowed you people to wax romantic about wonderful meals and blissful nights. But being the professional omnivores that we are, we know all too well that not every meal out is a delight for the senses. We know that sometimes dinner just plain sucks.

Tomorrow night? It’s got every chance of being awesome. That kind of talent, all collected in one place? Should be an excellent evening. So this time, the tickets will go to he (or she) who can come up with the best poetic rendition of a night gone horribly wrong. Your reward will be a night of great food and company, but what we want from you right now is a recollection of the exact opposite.

It doesn’t have to rhyme. It doesn’t have to be a haiku. Free verse is just fine. Write an epic if you want to (though it will still have to be in the comments section below, and the time constraints might stifle any would-be Homers out there), but just make it sing. Best poem wins a pair of GA tickets to tomorrow night’s soiree. Second-best wins the same.

Oh, and one more little complication? You gotta have this one done by 5pm TONIGHT. Because we want the winners to have time to get their suits pressed, we’ll be announcing winners at 5:30 this evening, so you’d better hope those muses come when called.

So is everybody ready?

Then get scribbling.

Garces Family Foundation [Official website]

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 9th, 2012 at 2:12 pm and is filed under Events, News. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.

Allison

Flies breed in balsamic
And dance on your salad
Like demon croutons.
Christine

Started with such promise on a Saturday night
Good friends, good food, good wine
But then the shouts and screaming
Looking through the glass at the darkness outside
What is that walking?

They look human
Friends and family transformed into animals
They gnaw and they rip
They don’t ever stop
Zombie Apocalypse

Dead and exhausted
I’ll just say worst night.
http://hydeparkblvd.wordpress.com Allison Berger

I was dressed to the nines and my boyfriend looked fiiiine
I had been staring at the dinner menu all day online
I couldn’t wait for this evening, to be wined and dined
It was scallops and mussels and carbs that I pined

We got out of the cab, and my boy held the door
I tripped on my shoe and fell flat on the floor
Our reservation was lost, a table we couldn’t score
We sat at the bar and ordered two pinot noirs

Our server was lost with no one to pick up the slack
The kitchen was out of my favorite cheese and mac
The was a hair in my soup and the bill was out of wack
I tried to smile across the table- at least I had Zack
Andy B

An eight o clock reservation
at Bibou

An Indian Summer night the
Queen Village streets are glowing

The cork is popped, our
faces flush with love and Bordeaux

Our eyes meet, the twinkling of bells
It is my cell phone

It is the babysitter. My son
Has
Vomited
All Over The Dog

Fin
Nikole

Nhu-Y Banh Mi
Hours Remain a Mystery
Forever Watch Your TV
adam

welcome, tonight’s feature attraction…bryannn adamsss, echoed thru Camden
with backstage passes for ani/dylan on the left
a frustrated girlfriend on the right
we trudge to the mann to catch the end, the end
cold fettuccine alfredo was on the menu, sounds great!
we order two
it was the summer of ’69, felt like the winter of 2002
Cuts Like a Knife to the heart
Anna

What were we thinking… Pub and Kitchen on a Saturday?
Our bellies were shrinking and no room to our dismay.
So up the street we sauntered, to a seemingly nice place,
But an hour had passed, without yummy food in my face.
But alas we did sit, with hypoglycemia and no treats,
Then came limp, fried masses followed by overcooked meats.
And stabbing by steak knife! by an impenitent waiter,
Dear Pub and Kitchen, I will never again be a traitor.
http://www.honeypiecooking.com Shayna Marmar

Friends arriving
Flowers in jars
Candles lit
Table set
Music on
Too ambitious
Again
This time it didn’t work
Veggies burnt
Rice sticking
Dessert not working
Oh no
No no no no no
Getting flustered
Friends arriving
Everyone in the kitchen
Want to talk
Want to help
I forget
What I’m doing
Oh ya
Fancy Indian-inspired dinner
In honor
Of the book we just read
Book club girls
My main contribution
Is not reading
It’s cooking
Drinking
And pretending
I know about the book
Without the food
What will we do
Oh ya
Oh ya oh ya oh ya
We will eat the burnt, the sticking, & the not working
We will enjoy wine
Music
Flowers
Table
Being together
We laugh
And hug
We are together
And cozy
Well fed with imperfection
And taken care of.
Ross

Ode to a Bad Banh Mi

On a roll, soggy with aioli
slumped my banh mi so unholy.
Jicama, carrots, lettuce, and jalapenos,
Should I have just gone to Geno’s?
So earnestly I had waited
for my hunger to be sated.
Alas — this Vietnamese gem
I am forced to condemn.

I washed you down with a beer
and soon it was clear –
stomach lining, I’d have none
Banh mi, you’ve won.
Cormack

Tonight, Vetri, I couldn’t believe it
I waited, I made it!, I happily tweeted
Saved up my pennies, called up my sweetie
Tonight we’d be dining a feast large and meaty

We arrived nice and early, but what? We’ve been conned!
We couldn’t believe our eyes, we’d been LaBan’d!
Craig had taken the restaurant to do a review
Our seats were no more, my thoughts askew

What to do next? This was my dream!
Come back next week, said Marc, no need to scream.
So until then my sweet sweet breads, please wait for me here
I’ll be back to enjoy you, please have no fear.
Winnie

The meal that was to rival the rest,
Was disappointing, at the best.

Chewy beef, pricey filet;
Well-done, almost grey.

Soggy greens, they have no zip;
Acidy? Forgettaboutit!

“Smashed” potatoes, nothing new;
Risotto draws suspicion—could it be glue?

The only way to forget this meal,
Is to find the nearest city-wide special deal.
http://www.twitter.com/leeanneeats LeeAnne

A cold night long ago, with funding no good
Stumbling through suburbia, desperate for food
Nothing jumped out and our stomachs were empty
So settled, we did, for Applebee’s 2 for twenty
Onion rings claiming crunch were really just sog
With batter that sat in our stomachs like logs
A burger overdone, no pink to be found
A patty quite chewy that tasted like ground
For him it was chicken, and though they didn’t skimp
The texture was rubber, like twice overdone shrimp
We skipped the dessert, perhaps just being cautious
For the rest of the meal began making us nauseous
Finally home, we were neither full nor happy
Eating from the cat box would have been much less crappy.
Ryan

There once was a Farmer’s Cabinet Team
Who opened up a concept around mead.
The vikings, they loved it
Their employees said “Shove It!”
It was closed by March Twenty-Three

Soon they cought on with gin
Overcharging hipsters, with a grin
Then the suppliers came pouncing
“Your checks are a bouncin!”
Again a restaurant – Fin!

A new idea in their head
“A Spanish Inquisition theme!” they said
Organize the permits and faxes
But dont pay the taxes
Another shitty concept – dead!
Amada

First date at the neighborhood wine bar,
Right on time and dressed to impress
A tall dark handsome stranger gets out of a car-
I hold my breath as he walks in and looks at me—
Then he breezes through to a table in the back.
Not. My. Date.
A glass of wine keeps me company as I Wait. And. Wait.

Twenty-five minutes later and the dude appears,
We grab a table in the back and I look through the menu-
A waitress arrives and I start to order,
He interrupts me and orders plates and plates of cheese and sausage.
I am lactose intolerant and a vegetarian.

I paste on my best smile and ask the standard questions,
The food arrives and I eat tons of bread and tiny bites of cheese,
He won’t stop staring at me intently with his beady eyes.
He holds the fork in his hand like a weapon, but hardly eats because
He won’t stop talking.

Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Now the smile is plastered on my face like a mask.
I decline to order a second glass.
Tapping my foot impatiently- ready to get on my way,
The waitress comes- I hope with a bill so I can pay.

He says he’s still nibbling (ew- who says that?).
Blah blah blah.
The waitress comes- he says he’s still nibbling.
Blah blah blah.
Beady beady eyes staring at me like I am prey.
He won’t stop talking. He’s still “nibbling.”

Finally the night is drawing to a close.
The bill arrives and I reach for my purse to pay my half.
Gallantly, he declines my request, waving me off with a quick little laugh.
I go to the bathroom for a few minute escape- when I get back
I see he has left a 5% tip for a table he held hostage due to his incessant nibbling.

I quadruple the tip. We walk out the door. I hold out my hand, he leans in for a kiss!
I exclaim, “No! No! No!” I turn my face and hold up my hands so he will miss.
I flag down the first taxi I see- excited to leave, I need to flee!
At least I will never hear from him again- for No! No! No! sends a strong message!
Two days later the dude emails, texts, and calls because he had such a wonderful time.

It was a night gone horribly wrong.
Nikki

At a run of the mill frat boy bar in Manayunk,
waiting in line to pay a cover and be tortured
I’d rather be anywhere else, even sitting in the Schuylkill where 3-headed piranhas would have me butchered

I ask myself…

Located near great bars with nice people & good beer,
why did I leave the comfort of my South Philly hood?
Only to get bumped into by sparkly t-shirt wearing dudes w/ big biceps and little heads,
I’d punch all of these jerks if I could!

My beer spilled again with a quick sorry from the offender, I can’t believe I paid six dollars for this shitty “craft” brew
I notice the cover band is playing Journey, so thank god the night’s almost though

There is a saving grace to this story, that makes the trip maybe a little worthwhile and perhaps not a total flop
When the cologne & paper towel guy advised my boyfriend – “this one here make the panties drop”
Liz

Dental floss in my MacDonald’s apple pie
yes, not a lie….
Ryan

The freshest bread
and the finest stew
But to my dismay
It tasted like shoe!

I panic’d in fraught
and sent back the junk
thinking this chef
must have been drunk

But a visitor came
and said with delight
“look at the date,
it’s Halloween night!”

A witch she was,
In full attire
Black cat in tow
and her eyes on fire

And then I recalled,
the week before,
A miserable dinner
The cause for sure!

I stiffed on the tip,
and blamed the sever
Now she’s returned
with firey fervor

How could I know
and what would come next
now that my taste
was under a hex?

I pleaded and begged,
to no avail
The curse was set
So heed my tale!

Tip your server
Or suffer my fate
Where the finest cusine
Is crap on your plate!
Fritos_Nevermore

When will the Fritos fad end
for it
sours the legacies
of our grandmothers
who knew what a real pie was;
That it was
slickly larded dough
juice-heavy peaches
dollops of sweet clotted cream
served with a kiss
of pink lipstick to the cheek
of her grandchildren with a reminder to be thankful
for all that we had, and to want no more than family and
sweet fruit pies.
Our grandmothers, alive and dead,
revile the Frito.
http://gideonsbible.tumblr.com gijyun

I can’t think of anything that rhymes,
even harder to be witty.
I’m just hoping since I’m pregnant
and hungry you’ll take pity.

As if the lack of booze
for 9+ months isn’t enough,
I can’t even eat lunch meat
without heating it up.

I’m reduced to homemade lunches
and leftovers by day,
I have to abstain from seafood
(and cured meats too, by the way).

So while people complain
about a horrible night gone wrong
I hope you’ll consider
my pathetic gestation song:

Please, give me my night out
so that I can dine
on food that I adore,
and my @#$%ing weekly ration of a half-glass of wine.
Charles Alburn

10:03 PM
A crudely cleaved steak stiffens on a plate
Gristle and sinew
A knife brays on its surface

10:07 PM
A cough opens in the air
Minor distractions
A man next to us cracks the binding of a menu

10:10
Checking the menu
Foie Gras is misspelled
I catch you looking at your watch
Your eyes move but never meet mine

10:40 PM
You comment on the crumbs collected in the finer strands of my cartigan
I brush them away
Strangely embarrassed, slightly angry

10:42 PM
I recall you five years ago
Against the same broken tiles
Your cheeks flushed and glowing from the wine
Warmer
They’ve changed the lighting in here

10:45 PM
A half a glass of wine

10:51 PM
A check

10:56 PM
The silence blankly acknowledged across an ocean of table
Of pretense
Of wood and linen

11:00 PM
Happy Anniversary
AL

Friends in to Philadelphia
With Questions. About history, the bell, the crime
But most important, where to dine?

I begin.

“The most authentic Italian, best Mexican and Pho,–South Philly is not to miss!
And, Barbuzzo’s budino — pure absolute bliss.”

“Farm to table, gastropubs, and BYOB,
Amazing craft beers, and bubble tea!”

“Vetri, Garces, Stephen Starr,
Olexy, McAndrews, …” but, my list extends only so far.

I’m interrupted.
And their answer makes my proud heart ache,
“But we were hoping for a Philly Cheesesteak!”
Theresa

We had a dinner reservation at 8
“Just a few minutes, if you don’t mind the wait.”
A few minutes turned into 40
So we anxiously sat at the bar
As unfortunately we couldn’t go far
The rain outside was torrential and we had no umbrella or car

An hour later we were seated
Our energy completely depleted
And yet another ten minutes passed
Before a waiter even bothered to ask
If we’d like sparkling or tap
Then he spilled it all over my lap

Tired and hungry we we ordered our meals
And what sealed the entire ordeal
was that one meal was still cold; the other was burnt
and our “complimentary” dessert
was seemingly curdled
We left in a huff and I can’t say it enough
Even if they cry, plead or beg
We’ll never go back to Square Peg
Seasoning Gone Wrong

That plate on 13th Street was all brine,
So much salt, when it should have been divine.
I sent it back nicely,
With instructions precisely,
But on that bad food we could not dine!
Shannon

Sushi, sake, nori, moon.
Warm enough to sit outside.
Your face, juggling witty conversation
and diabolical twin chopsticks.

Avocado, crab and cucumber
Mosaic of perfection
Bundled in nori and rice.
And also, a spider.
(That was not a sesame seed.)
http://twitter.com/urbaninvention Jillian Penrod

No parkin–super weak–i coulda just walked from home
By the time i get that ticket the Moët is all gone
Why is everyone wearin tie-dye what is this ron jon
Tryin to catch the beat but the speaker’s all blown

This juice is pink in my chicken satay
Dude zip up before you serve that canapé
Tell me this ain’t cigarette ash dustin on my quiche
Aw, man, this isn’t lump crab this is Fancy Feast

How you raisin funds takin only money orders
Dirty plates dirty flutes dirty forks like Hoarders:
Buried Alive i shoulda stayed with my ride, saved some quarters
Man i would’ve had more fun sittin in that empty Border’s
Ed

Gold and maroon dripping down the walls.
Ornate chandeliers dangling like arachnid.
Sauce, unholy marriage of powder and wine.
Skewers of steer and fowl alike, cooked rare.
The restaurant that must not be named.
A la carte insect.

There was that time long ago,
I tried to be more grown-up than I was
More in love than I was
And I took my beau to the now shuttered
Pink Rose Pastry Shop
for dinner
and dessert,
but not the cockroach
That crawled across our table mid-meal.
An omen, yes.
MerLion

I’ve been had by Judge Judy and Harvey Keitel
Their celebrity head shots welcome me to hell.

A great bottle of Pinot was no indication
That this $90 “tasting menu” was the worst part of vacation.

I’d trust any chef to base a meal on meat, veggies or fish
But to have every dish
Based on the gelatinous mix
Of ketchup and horseradish
Is a cruel treatment for an expensive prix fix.

The shrimp cocktail straight out of that Beetlejuice scene.
Forever haunting me at every cocktail party.

Those poor salads and steaks doused to death in the ugly condiment.
Praise the lord dessert found the over-used relish absent.

That wasn’t the end.
Let’s not forget the heartburn my friend.

Oddly my only New Orleans mistake had the best correction,
It was a beautiful August redemption.
Dr. Funkenstein

I’m not on a dialup
Or some kind of modem
But the site timed out
And deleted my poem!!!

[Not cool.]
Dr. Funkenstein

Traffic was bad.
We got there late.
They gave up our table.
One hour wait.

The hostess was rude
and reeked of pot.
Sorry about the wait.
Her eyes said she’s not.

Menus in small print
We barely could read.
Prices outrageous.
Haute cuisine, indeed.

Our waitress talked
for minutes on end.
Then forgot our order
What was that, again?

The bread was stale.
The apps were bland.
Rubbery scallops.
Tomato sauce canned.

A crash from the kitchen.
A furious shout.
I’m sorry, sir.
We’re out of the trout.

The entrées arrive,
miniscule and cold.
They taste of rubber
and dry charcoal.

Would you like dessert?
Just the check, please.
Wait, it’s how much?
Haute cuisine, indeed.

Outside it’s raining.
No umbrella to use.
We slog through puddles.
We ruin our shoes.

And the final insult,
the dessert to our meal:
A parking ticket
on the windshield.
Joy

Birthday celebration
St. Patrick’s Day
avoid the crowds

Korean bbq at Kims
Long drive to Olney

Hungry, thirty
excited to unwind

Flashing lights
screaming
cop cars rushing
blocking 5th street
blocking our path

cops had shot a man
he refused to drop his cleaver
Kim’s chef gone mad?
turns out no

we never made it past the barricades
to Kim’s that night in March
Lola

Slimy, putrid brownish green mass,
carelessy plopped in a bowl, carefully covered in lemon juice.
Far too long has passed since its bright days
as an avocado.
Even the chips seem repulsed,
lacking necessary bravado.
“Is that black pepper?” he asked.
“Could be…” I reply.
“Black pepper” left by cockroach more likely…
I give a muted sigh.

The server is called.
Send it back a second time.
“But it’s from a new batch” – a tone of surprise.
Pleading looks of disgust,
shot in her direction,
force her to comply with no more hesitation.

A smile and a nod is all I can muster.
It can’t get much worse.
His choice of restaurant failing quickly,
My beau reciprocates with a smile, of course.

Next comes the soup.
Apparently served hobo style.
Canned black beans, warmed,
raw onion added.
-Yes, I assure you, this actually happened.

Still in slight denial,
we wait for the mains.
He swears up and down,
“This place used to be good,
but it’s been a while.”

On to the enchiladas –
Dry chicken, fishy shrimp, pinto mush.
Pushing at my plate, I look around in disgust.
HOW ARE OTHER PEOPLE EATING THIS!
I somehow bite my tongue.

He sees the look on my face
and knows,
politely getting food poisoning will not help his case.
He takes my hand in a panic,
“Chipotle on the way home??”
Thank God, smarter than I gave him credit.

We look for an exit -
a weak point spotted in the garden wall.
“I can see the car.” He whispers.
Never having skipped on a bill,
there was some hesitation.
Looking down at that vile fare we knew it
the only option
to save such a wretched evening.

On three we made haste,
the car soon within reach.
But we failed to notice the server gave chase,
drawing the rest of the staff on her way.
Still, we refused to pay.

Sticking to principles,
We spent the night in the clinker.
Not exactly the evening he planned,
but at least jail served an edible dinner.
http://Foobooz Melville

‘Call Me Foobooz’ he said
when working at sea he never ate bread
Fish, however, was another matter
He happily harpooned the Moby Dick platter
But looking at the great white plate, he was at a loss
The fish was but a guppy, and no sides, no cocktail or tartar sauce

Back into the kitchen and grabbing a chef knife with glee
He could be heard ‘No condiments? From Hell’s heart I stab at thee!’
Sherry

Heels On.
Jewelry Sparling.
Lights ablaze.
The city glows below.
Anticipation seeps through my pores,
As the approaching hour nears.
Wine chilled.
Settings arranged.
Oysters salivating on ice.
Butterflies, waiting….
Lights slowly disappear.
Melancholy fuels my hunger.
Wine and oysters slowly migrate.
What? Not even a call?
Linda Lyons

“Twas the day before PHeaST, when all through the city
Everyone was stirring, even the mice!
The food was ordered and being prepared
In the hopes lots of foodies would soon be there!

The chefs were all nestled snug in their kitchens
As they cooked all the good food the foodies would be eating
With vegetables from the gardens and food from the pantry
They settled in for a long cooking PheaST

When out in the Navy Yard, there arose such a clatter
The chefs left their kitchens to see what was the matter.

The sunlight was dawning over the city of Brotherly Love
As a US Aircraft Carrier docked with such a might
That they hit the gas and electric lines all through the yard!

“Now, sous chefs and bussers, dishwashers too
Come now we have a job to do!
We must find fire and light
Or no one will eat the entire night!”

Off they all go through the city they flew
Looking for ways to say the night!
Generators, candles, gas grills and fire pits too
They knew what they had to do!

With hours and minutes ticking away
They set forth to kitchens today
With generators and candles they light up the yard
And with the grills and fire pits they cooked like a storm

Even though they had such a late start
The mood in the kitchen was light of heart.

All over the yard they fussed and set-up
For an over the top celebration to be had by all
The chefs worked to and fro
And the night was a go!!

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Free Tickets To Tomorrow Night’s Garces Family Foundation Fundraiser For The Fastest Poets In Philly