Restaurant Review: VOLT

A place where gray meets brown in a fashionable manner.  Where everyone wears brown Chucks.  Where food is served synchronized and perfectly timed.  Where it’s okay to giggle and act like a 12 year old.  Where the bread basket is never ending (hello, bacon popover). 

Phenomenal.

Now, my friends often laugh at my superlative of “Top 5 Meal.”  I give it often enough that the Top 5 has grown to maybe 50.  But this meal?  Really was. 

This past weekend, five friends and I had the awesome privilege of dining at Chef Bryan Voltaggio’s VOLT in Frederick, Md.  You may know Bryan from such shows as, well, Top Chef.   When coming to our table the first time, the sommelier asked us how we heard about VOLT.  The six of us giggled.  And when the Chef himself actually came to the table, well, there was some more giggling.

When making our reservation months ago, we expressed interest in the tasting menu.  This meant that we got to eat in the kitchen.  The same kitchen where Chef and his talented staff cooked the food we devoured.  The same kitchen! 

The six course tasting menu ($95) had two options–the Kitchen Menu and a vegetarian option. 

We all started off with beverages.  I chose the Spicy Spark, a sparkling wine mixed with a jalapeno simple syrup.  The rim of the glass was dusted with almond and cinnamon.  The sweetness of the simple syrup helped downplay the spice of the jalapeno.  Mixed with the dry sparkling wine, it was an interesting and tasty combination.  Best left as a pre or post dinner cocktail and not a meal accompaniment, though. 

As we sat and watched Chef and his crew in the kitchen, we gawked at the menu in front of us.  Six delectable courses.  We couldn’t wait.  And, we didn’t have to.  Before we knew it, three servers swooped down on our table, placing in front of us a bonus course.  More like an amuse bouche, the tri colored macaroons were a sight to be seen.  One was filled with foie gras, one was a take on Caesar salad, and while I can’t recall what the third was, I can assure you it was delicious.  The exterior of the macaroons was similar to those meringue cookies that were ubiquitous at piano recitals.  You know the ones.  Biting into each of these, though, we were welcomed by a smooth, creamy treat. 

Our next course was another bonus:  lobster flan with caviar.  Fancy pants we definitely were.  It was an interesting dish that I can best describe as a creamy custard (think a little firmer than creme brulee, but savory not sweet) with lots and lots of chunks of lobster mixed in.  The lobster was tender and not rubbery.  And the caviar was the perfect touch of saltiness the dish needed.  (Note:  as a salt fiend, I am happy to give compliments to the Chef–I did not wince, once, because there was no salt on the table…not that I would’ve asked for it (I know better), but the fact I didn’t have to is pretty cool). 

And if that weren’t enough, we were brought  a morsel of falafel.  As a self-proclaimed expert in this genre of cuisine, I’d say that Chef Bryan has it down.  It had the right combination of spices and was a perfect texture–if done poorly, falafel can be dry and crumbly.  This was quite the opposite.

And now on to the menu items.  First on the list was the Yukon Gold potato soup.  The bowl came empty but for the bonus accoutrements, the brunt of which I don’t recall but there was definitely some crunchy pancetta in the mix.  What more could you ask for, really?  The servers meticulously poured the creamy soup into our bowls and we dove in.  The potatoes were pureed to a golden, creamy, liquid consistency.  The soup was so smooth and served at just the right temperature.  Had we not all quickly scarfed down our bread minutes before, I can assure you there would have been some serious dipping and plate mopping  going on.

Next up:  the Cherry Glen Farm goat cheese ravioli with butternut squash puree, sage brown butter, and sage foam.   If forced to choose my favorite course, I’d have to say this was mine (though my impeccably cleaned plate for each course would cause one to believe I liked them all equally).  I generally am not a fan of foam–I always order my lattes without it.  But on this?  It worked.  Much like Graham Elliot used a horseradish foam to highlight the taste of the beef in my deconstructed beef stroganoff several weeks ago, Chef Bryan Voltaggio used the sage foam–a slightly more pungent flavor–to highlight the delicate flavor of the butternut squash brown butter and the slightly stronger flavor of the goat cheese.  The ravioli itself was perfectly cooked–it was tender all around, not hard on the sides as ravioli can sometimes tend to be.  I could have eaten a full sized entree of this and called it a night.  Thank goodness I didn’t have to.

Next up were the pint sized Nantucket Bay scallops.  I don’t like scallops, but I probably could’ve fooled anyone who saw me take that plate down.  These succulent scallops were served with black forbidden rice, cardamom spiced carrots, shiitake mushrooms, lemongrass, and coconut.  The pairing of the flavors had an obviously Asian twist that worked well.  The lemongrass and coconut helped to tame the stronger cardamom. 

Pork belly.  Pork belly.  Pork belly.  Need I really say more?  Cholesterol be damned, this made my heart happy.  Served atop cannelini beans (whose blandness helped cut down the salty from the pork belly) and with a side of crispy petite red ribbon sorrel (think thin circle of bacon) and moutarda, this was a true treat.  The sauce was a sweet complement to the salty fatness of the overall dish.  Definitely not for those who are watching their fat or caloric intake.  Which is why it was so damn good.

Our final savory course was the piece de resistance for many of my dining companions:  the Wagyu beef culotte.  Wagyu beef is suddenly the be all end all of beef, taking over the throne from Kobe (Kobe is Wagyu, but Wagyu is not always Kobe–you know the whole square and rectangle conundrum).  This beef proved why.  It was cooked to a perfect medium rare (again, not for the faint of heart) and accompanied by ratte potatoes, golden raisins, dragon carrots, and glazed Tokyo turnips.  The turnips were the only thing I was served that I did not eat.   I wish I knew what he put in those potatoes but maybe that’s a secret he should keep, as I would make them ALL THE TIME and then get sick of them.  An interesting garnish on the plate was a garlic transparency…it was just a clear square that, when you bit into it, made you glad you weren’t a vampire. 

And now, on to dessert.  It was called Textures of Chocolate and included a white chocolate ganache, milk chocolate ice cream, chocolate caramel.  There was some kind of chocolate wafer served along with it, as well–it tasted a bit burnt but that flavor went so well with the caramel (if you were innovative enough to dip it, as I obviously was).  The whole thing was dusted with a light cocoa. 

And if that weren’t enough, we ordered a cheese plate.  Make that two.  There were four types of cheese on each plate.  Served with whole wheat walnut toast, the cheese selection had something for everyone–there was bland, there was hard, there was creamy, and there was stinky. 

Just as we thought we were winding down, one last course appeared before us.  Compliments of the maitre d’ and as a thanks for joining them for dinner, we had an assortment of house made, mini ice cream sandwiches (think Chipwich–but better).  As a thanks for allowing us to join them for dinner, we ate the three different varieties–oatmeal raisin with coconut ice cream, chocolate chip with chocolate ice cream, and white chocolate chip with vanilla ice cream. 

So, let’s recap:  six courses ($95) with an optional wine pairing (for an extra $45).  A regular or vegetarian course option (there was some molecular gastronomy going on with the vegetarian options).  Extreme willingness to sub in or out from the menus, based on preference and/or dietary restrictions.  Three bonus “tastes” from the kitchen.  Perfectly synchronized serving of all dishes, with a knowledgeable server letting us know what was in front of us.  Friendly staff who took the time to chat and socialize–not a cranky pants in the group.  Amazing view of the kitchen and all the action.  Mellow yet sophisticated atmosphere.  

Top.  Five.  Meal. 

PS we were sent home with a cranberry orange muffin so that we could prolong our fabulous dining experience.

Restaurant Review: Graham Elliot (Chicago)

We could’ve stopped with the popcorn.  The super delicious, parmesan and black pepper topped truffle oil popcorn that just kept appearing in a basket at our table.  I mean, stop it already.

And that was just the beginning.

I spent the weekend in Chicago with two of my very favorite friends in the world.  On Saturday night, in keeping with our “we’re fancy” theme of the day, we had dinner at Graham Elliot (he appeared on episode two of Top Chef Masters but was eliminated).   We arrived at the restaurant and were immediately seated.  We walked through the dimly lit, trendily decorated restaurant and were seated in what appeared to be the wine room…I say this only because the back wall was just a huge wine rack.  

Our waitress arrived soon after we sat down, taking our cocktail order and offering us very informed descriptions of the nightly specials and answering all of our questions (pisco, in case you are wondering, is a  South American liquor distilled from grapes and developed by Spanish settlers in the sixteenth century).  Turns out Graham Elliot likes to change up the menu often and to use seasonal, fresh ingredients.  Thus, the menu had a cornucopia of pumpkin and squash and other warm and friendly autumnal foods.

Before leaving and letting us pore over our menus, our waitress mentioned that the Chef was trying out a new amuse bouche–foie gras lollipops dipped in orange Pop Rocks.  Yes, you read that correctly.  How could someone pass up a Foie-lipop?  I couldn’t.  And let me tell you.  The foie gras was absolutely amazing–smooth and buttery and without that pungency I often find when sampling dishes of the organ meat variety.  And the odd combination of the orange flavor and the popping sensation was a true experience.  The orange was subtle and complemented the foie.  And the popping was just fun and laughable.  Though one of my fellow diners abstained from trying the “meat lollipop,” the other tasted it and enjoyed it, despite her apprehension.  While it was delicious, it was much too rich and maybe a little too interesting to eat in its entirety.  But I’m so glad that I tried it. 

It did not take us long to decide on our meals.  As a shared appetizer, we ordered the cheddar risotto.  The risotto was cooked perfectly–firm without being crunchy yet also soft without being gummy.  The risotto was made with Wisconsin cheddar, chunks of Granny Smith apples, Pabst glazed pearl onions, and crispy prosciutto.  And the piece de resistance?  It was topped with Cheez Its.  While the concept of the dish was unique and, we decided, had a lot of potential, the prosciutto overpowered the cheesy goodness of the dish.  I know, everyone loves prosciutto, but in this case, there may have just been too much.  In the end, we felt there were too many components that just didn’t seem to come together as coherently as we had hoped. 

For my personal appetizer, I ordered the sweet potato bisque, an obviously seasonal choice but a good one for the cold, Chicago night we had just come in from.  The waiter set the bowl in front of me, empty but for the chipotle jam (SPICY!), garlic marshmallow (you heard me), dollops of lime creme fraiche, and the myriad corn nuts.  He then proceeded to pour on top of all that goodness the bisque.  It was a rich combination.  Taking a little bit of every component into each bite was definitely the way to go–the garlic marshmallow melted into the bland (but not in a bad way) bisque, providing a sweet bit of a kick to the warm flavor of the sweet potato.  Add to that the spiciness of the chipotle jam, the fresh citrus from the lime, and the crunch of the corn nuts and you’ve got yourself an unforgettable soup experience.

My companions had the beet salad…it was a sight to be seen.  Everything we ordered was presented in such a way that we hesitated (okay, for maybe a second) before breaking into the absolute artwork put in front of us.  This particular dish was comprised of roasted baby beets, hazelnut clusters (think about the clusters from Honey Bunches of Oats but substitute oats with ground hazelnuts), little balls of peppery goat cheese, micro arugula, pickled pears, and horseradish froth.  Yes, friends, the whole dish came covered in horseradish flavored foam.  Both of my friends greatly enjoyed the combination of flavors and agreed it was a great, light [second] start to the meal (or, I guess, third if you count the popcorn).

On to the main courses.  Each of my companions ordered fish–one the Arctic char (brussels sprouts, turnip confit, mustard caviar, and cider bubbles), the other the seared Atlantic cod (smoked clams, brandade beignets (!!!), blistered corn, pancetta persillade).  The fish on both plates was cooked to perfection.  Each dish had such interesting components to it–the beignets were made not from dough, as you would expect, but from mashed potatoes; and the mustard caviar was an interesting and successful attempt to make a powerful flavor option look like a more pretentious add-on. 

The “home run of the night,” however, was my selection:  the Wagyu beef stroganoff.  Now, I’ve been quite interested in the concept of food deconstruction since the Voltaggio brothers appeared on Top Chef this season.  While it totally fascinates me, this approach to cooking also completely confuses me.  Sometimes, I just don’t get it.  Not the case here.  The dish was beyond fabulous–in presentation, in concept, in execution, in taste.  The beef was melt in your mouth perfect.  It sat, in thinly sliced medallions, over a puree of thinly spread forest mushrooms (think the consistency of pate).  It was accompanied by two mounds of peppered spaetzle that were of lukewarm temperature (but it worked) and had a slight sweet hint to them (it kind of reminded me of the flavor of traditional, sweet, macaroni salad–the kind you can buy by the bucket load in the deli section at the grocery store).  The plate was finished off with two dollops of warm creme fraiche.  Each “piece” of the dish separately was a flavor dream come true.  But, put all together on one forkful, you tasted the ultimate result of beef stroganoff (albeit definitely less rich and much fresher tasting than that with which you are probably familiar).  Had I had double the portion that was put in front of me, I would have easily devoured it…and been more willing to share more of it with the gals.

We couldn’t leave without some dessert.  We ordered two:  the blood orange dreamsicle was another deconstructed creation.  The “citrus supremes” were small, gelatinous, orange cubes–they reminded me (in both taste and texture) of a jello mold my mom used to make that had cool whip mixed into it.  Anyway, it was good but not OTT to die for.  And, honestly, the crunchy meringue that came on the side was just a little weird.  Our second choice was the pumpkin pound cake.  The dish had four small cubes of pound cake, candied ginger, cinnamon stick, and pieces of pie crust and whipped cream.  I’m not sure why the Chef added the pie crust to the presentation but, bravo.  It was my favorite part of the dish.  The ginger was very strong and totally overpowered the rest of the dessert, if you allowed it to.  All in all, the desserts were my least favorite part of the meal. 

So there you have it…my first travelling review.  If you’re ever in Chicago, I highly recommend making a reservation and heading over to GE.  The amusement you’ll get just from reading through the menu and marvelling at the Chef’s creativity is enough.  And, you can only eat so many pieces of deep dish pizza (in my case, two at Gino’s East.  YUM.), Chicago Dogs (just one at the airport, but it was worth the wait),  or bags of cheddar and caramel Garrett’s popcorn (my fingers were orange for days).  

(And sorry about the quality of the pictures–I know they’re worse than usual…I didn’t want to draw attention with the flash…but go to the website to see pics, if you want).

F-A-T spells fat, fat, fat.

Wow.  John Gosselin may need to join Kevin Federline on Celebrity Fit Club.  And, by celebrity, you know I mean “celebrity.”

They’re both fat.  They both cheated.  They were both (well, legally Jon still is) married to bitchy blondes (sorry to put you in the same category as Kate, Brit) who dress poorly and have bad hair and who aren’t the greatest moms and who have been accused of having affairs with people of authority over them (Kate = bodyguard, Britney = manager) and who try to buy their children’s love (candy store shopping sprees and Crooked Houses) and who have alienated their families and who like to parade around in bikinis…

 

PS Boys:  wearing black isn’t helping make you look slimmer.  But, at least it’s not Ed Hardy.

Competing with the Kardashians.

It’s an all out war between the Kardashians and MTv for gossip rag coverage this week (at least we’re done with the Gosselins).  For some reason, I blame MTv for the Kardashians in the first place, though I’m not sure why.  A few comments:

1. I don’t care whether your wedding was real or fake, Khloe.  I don’t need to hear from you that it was.  Or from Lamar.  Or from Kourtney, Kim, or your mom.  Even Brody’s getting into the mix.  Maybe once I hear it from Kylie or Kendall, I’ll believe it.   Maybe.
2. Kourtney, have this damn baby already. 
3. Yes, Kim, we know you’re back with Reggie.  And that the love exhibited on Sunday at Khloe’s wedding made you realize just how much you loved him and how much you missed him.  Gag.  Me with a spoon. 
4. Lauren Conrad has a movie deal for her book LA Candy. Admittedly, I read the first chapter one afternoon when I was hanging out at Barnes and Noble.  Can’t wait to see who they cast.
5. Kristin Cavallari should not be judgey judgey about Audrina’s plastic surgery (or lack thereof).  She really is a B, as evidenced by her debut on The Hills yesterday.  Wow, who knew that show needed to be revamped?  Or retramped?
6. And this, this has to be the worst…and on MSNBC, no less! 

Kris Jenner needs to step up her media blasting gig and get her girls in the news with some more varied stories…but, what’s left, really?  (Aside from the impending divorce of Khloe and Lamar and, perhaps, the twist that Scott is not really the father of Kourtney’s baby)

And, while I’m here, can I just put it on the record that

1. Adrienne Bailon, Cheetah Girl or not, really irks me
2. Justin Bobby needs to shave immediately
3. There’s a lot to say about The City, too, but I can’t right now
4. I don’t understand why everyone on these MTv shows has to have a title (ie “Spencer’s sister,” “Brody’s friend,” “Audrina’s ex-boyfriend”)…why can’t they just be who they are?  Pigeonhole… 

Dear Medical Examiner Who Conducted DJ AM’s Autopsy

Dear Medical Examiner,

An accidental overdose?  Really?  Do you think we’re stupid?  I just don’t understand how getting to the point where the drugs in your system are so varied as to be labeled a cocktail can be seen as anything other than on purpose.  How is having cocaine, OxyContin, Hydrocodone, Xanax and Ativan, Klonopin, Benadryl, and Levamisole all in your system at the same time be an accident?  As a seasoned drug addict (I am not being disparaging of DJ AM, I am just stating a fact), he should have known better.  That is some cocktail, there. 

I understand the desire of his family to  hold DJ AM’s name and memory in high esteem.  I get that.  But how is an accidental overdose verdict going to accomplish that?  Knowing he had all of those drugs in his system–dude, in his possession–is proof of how powerful addiction can be.  Being sober all those years was a tremendous accomplishment.  But there was something–the plane crash, his alleged breakup with his girlfriend or, hell, just life–that caused DJ AM to fall back into old habits.  I am not sure that “officially” stating the cause of death as an accidental overdose is actually going to make people believe that’s what really happened.  Oh, he had too much Xanax.  Or too much cocaine.  The fact of the matter is, any amount is too much for someone who has exhibited an addiction to such substances in the past. 

Calling this an “accidental overdose” is kind of like saying people who died of emphysema died from accidentally smoking.  Of course it’s an accident.  But it’s an accident based in purpose.   He knew that combination could be deadly.  How could he not?  Any combination of drugs is deadly.  Potentially, any drug on its own is deadly.  I remember when the policemen came to talk to us in elementary school.

I know that leaving out the “accidental” means it was “on purpose” which, pretty much, says  it was a suicide.  And that’s something that is hard to deal with, hard to understand, for those who loved and admired him.  Even for those who didn’t even know him.  It’s sad to hear things like this–a life taken away from us too soon and without warning. 

But our sadness, in itself, is selfish.  And that selfishness compounds the need to wrap our heads and our hearts around what happened…it’s that selfishness that makes concluding something is an accident the easy thing to do.   I’m not saying (and have no authority to say) that it was suicide, but was it really an accident?  Is there anything in between?

 He had eight OxyContin pills in his stomach, one still in his mouth.  This is in addition to everything else that was going through his bloodstream at the same time.  How is consuming all of that badness an accident?  He may not have meant to die, but he meant to use the way he did.  He was alone, no one–except his demons–forced him to do so.  The use of the word accident, here, is clearly a misnomer. 

I know there was probably pressure on you.  And I’m sure that you did all that you could, used all your medical examiner knowledge and experience, when coming to your conclusion.  But I really think you’re doing a disservice.  Yes, accidents happen.  But this, to me, is not the definition of an accident.

Of course, this is just my opinion.

La

Here’s Your Open Letter, Mackenzie Phillips

Dear Mackenzie,

Please shut up.  Even those of us who enjoy the most gossipy of gossip don’t want to hear about your affair–consensual or not–with your father.  That is just gross.  Seriously. 

Until this morning, when the “news” hit the internet, no one remembered or cared about who you were.  True story.  Sorry about that.  Why are you trying to get into the gossip mill?  And, couldn’t you have come up with a better way to do it?  Now, everyone is always going to think of you as the girl who did this.  I would say the girl who “allowed” this, but I know there will be people out there who say it wasn’t your fault, that you were the child, that this was something that was brought upon you by an adult who should’ve known better.  Regardless, this isn’t something the American public–the world–needs to know about.  Or spend an hour listening to (BTW:  Oprah?  Shame on you, too.).  Is nothing sacred any more?  Is there no such thing as family matters? 

It’s too late now.  I hope you feel better now that you’ve gotten all of this off of your chest. 

La

PS:  Chynna, way to get your name back in the “news,” too, by backing your half-sister’s story.  Unless you were there when it actually happened (and not having heard about it 10 years after it ended), can you really say, for sure, it happened?

An open letter to Martha Stewart

Dear Martha,

I’m really trying very hard to figure out why you  are even commenting about this.  Because you, too, lost a dog to a tragic event?  Seriously?  Come on.   Are you looking to get back in the spotlight so badly that you find anything on which you can comment?  Do you really think Jessica, or any of us, care about your take on the missing Daisy situation? 

Poor Jessica is already obviously quite upset about losing Daisy to a coyote (and Tony to a lookalike, and her sister to a family of her own and CW fame) right before her very eyes.  She’s so upset that she personally made signs (now is not the time to make comments about her spelling mistakes) and put them up, in addition to hiring FindToto.com to help find Daisy.  We all know that the poor maltipoo is probably in doggie heaven, but give poor Jess a break.  She’s been through a lot in the last few months.  Telling her she should’ve watched her dog more carefully is just a kick while she’s down.  It’s like telling a parent of a kidnapped child that they should’ve paid more attention.  Way to put the blame on her, MS. 

And a new dog?  Already?  That’s like a rebound dog and isn’t going to help her get over her feeling of loss.  Give the girl some time.  She’s obviously thinking Daisy is going to come home and isn’t ready to even begin contemplating that she may not.  The gravity of the situation hasn’t hit her yet. 

I think you need to apologize.

Thanks,

La

Separated at Birth?

So, I was catching up on the season premiere of One Tree Hill last night (don’t judge) and was delighted to see that Scott Speedman was playing Nathan’s agent, Clay.  I excitedly emailed a good friend of mine who has had a serious crush-o-rama on SS since the Felicity days. 

“Your bf,” I typed hurriedly, “is on One Tree Hill!” 

So, this morning, I decided to see if he was on for the whole season…and I realized my mistake!  It wasn’t Scott Speedman at all!  It was, in fact, Robert Buckley.  You know, the cutie pie who played Kirby on Lipstick Jungle (RIP).   Or, even better, Kyle from the Lifetime classic Flirting With Forty. 

Seriously?  They are twins.  For real.  A doppelganger if I’ve ever seen one.  How had I not noticed this before?!

And, PS, WTF happened to Lucas and Peyton on OTH?  How did I miss the memo on that??

He’s no Bronx Mowgli but…

Today, on this “very rare” birth date, let’s join Nicole Richie and Joel Madden in welcoming their new son.  His name?  Sparrow James Midnight Madden.

Yeah,  I know.

While I have a lot to say on the subject, no one can do it justice as can my pop culture email chain buddies.  So, allow me to let you into my secret daily life.  Please enjoy the email chain below.  I’m not even going to change the names to protect the innocent.  Of course, it started with a simple link  (from CAH) to the BREAKING NEWS birth announcement.  The subject line was : WORST BABY NAME EVER (emphasis not added by me).  The rest is what followed (note:  all photos were included in original emails):

BS:   Sparrow and Harlow?  Also, Sparrow sounds like a girl’s name.  I thought you were going to say Ezekiel Czar was the worst baby name, which I would’ve agreed with.

CEBM:   Welcome, Sparrow.

CAH:  At least Ezekial is biblical – its much worse for his brother Xen..

BS:  He’ll def go by James, which is why it’s pointless!  And why 4 names?!  do they want him to be a pirate?!

CAH:  Oh, Jack Sparrow. Yes it makes perfect sense now.  I also love that kooky numerologists get to talk about how special today is for him to be born.  How do I get that job?

CAH (again):  My co-worker is disappointed that the baby isn’t DJ AM

BS:  Ooooh that would’ve been better.  Sparrow Adam Goldstein Morning Madden

CEBM:  What’s your Richie- madden birth  name?  Cardinal Sara Dusk Madden, Dove Ronya Morning Madden, Eagle Erin Afternoon Madden, Falcon Christine Midday Madden, Flamingo Christine Sunset Madden.

And, because I could not do it the justice that DListed could, please enjoy that account of the news breaking birth.

An Open Letter to You, Jon Gosselin

Dear Jon,

I hesitate to write this letter, as you are getting much more than your allegedly allotted 15 minutes of fame.  And by much more I mean anything past that first second was enough.  But I really need to get all of this off of my chest.  And then?  Then I’ll be done. 

First of all, Jon, you are not a clothing designer.  In fact, you know nothing about clothing.  Please take a moment and look back at old episodes of your stupid show.  Remember what you used to wear?  Gap sweaters with the big horizontal stripe across the chest (circa 1997).  Or T-shirts that quoted Bible verses or had stupid phrases sprawled across them. Until you became cool and hip and

Credit: INFphoto.com

trendy and started wearing Ed Hardy.   Wearing Ed Hardy isn’t going to make you young and hip.  Or change the fact that you have eight kids.  Even if you were just a regular 32 year old, this type of fashion choice would be unacceptable.  And to now think you can design children’s clothes for the label?  I can’t think of anything worse than a trying too hard 32 year old wearing Ed Hardy except for, well, a four year old wearing it.  Just because you wear it doesn’t mean you should be designing it.  You don’t see me calling up Tory Burch and being all like, “Hey, T, love your shoes.  Do you think I could give you some ideas for your spring line?  Great, thanks.”  And PS, Tim Gunn is not happy with your choices, either.  And PPS:  word of warning (or, should I say, two words):   Von.  Dutch.

This brings us to one other fashion decision you’ve made lately–the diamond studs.  Again, I’ll go with the classic “who do you think you are” and leave it at that.

Today you are all over the headlines, saying that Kate stole your wedding band…that you took it off and left it lying there and she took it, as she is the only person who could have.  A few things about this.

1. Did you take it off and leave it somewhere on purpose with the hopes she would do so?  I wouldn’t hold that past you.
2. Remember those eight kids you have?  Are they not around?  Do they not pick up things they shouldn’t pick up and put them back someplace other than the place they found them? 
3. Do you really care what happened to the ring?  Could you not look at this as a symbol, or some sort?  As a sign that the circle of love is, in fact, broken and lost?  

In a bout of extreme (and I do mean extreme) boredom this weekend I found myself watching an old episode of your show (note to TLC:  J&K+8 marathons aren’t going to be bringing in the ratings.  So please?  Stop running them.) and was astounded by the way Kate treated you.  In retrospect, this whole divorce thing was a long time coming.  Had I known to look at how she berated you constantly, even when she was supposedly giving you compliments, I would have urged you to get out sooner.   That you put up with that for so long is nothing short of amazing.  She’s really a piece of work, that Kate.  And I’d like to keep thinking that…that it’s her fault, that you’re the victim.  But your recent behavior and allegations and trash talking is making us hate you and become ambivalent toward her.  As someone who’s trying to sell himself as a brand (because, lbh, that’s exactly what you’re doing right now, whether you acknowledge it or not), you’re kind of doing yourself a disservice.

Also, stop with the Las Vegas party hosting and the bikini clad entourage.  I bring you back to those eight children.  What do you think they are going to think when they see their father cavorting poolside with 20 somethings, as though he’s on spring break?  A person is often judged by the company he keeps.  That Hailey of yours?  The one you’re already so in love with?  Don’t forget that however great she may be, there are inappropriate photos of her floating around all over cyberspace…pictures that any person with even a modicum of intelligence could easily find.  I can see it now, “Hey, Dad, I just found a picture of Hailey!  She’s taking a hit from a bong and not wearing pants!”    I will not even mention the shenanigans on the yacht in Europe.  Or your rendevous with Michael Lohan in the Hamptons.  You’re a suburban dad from Pennsylvania.  Stop fronting like you’re some misplaced hipster who’s trying to find his place in the world.  Each day you act like you’ve been acting or say the things you’ve been saying, you lose one breadcrumb on your road to stability and normalcy.  If there even is such a road for you any more. 

And what’s with the smoking?  Really?  Is that a habit a 32 year old just picks up?  Because I can bet my bottom dollar that Kate would have no such thing in her pristine, organic home.   Is it the stress of being a big time clothing designer and part time dad that is bringing you to huff and puff? Did Hailey introduce you to it?  Did you succumb to the peer pressure?  Is it peer pressure if the person is ten years younger than you are (and the behavior, for that person, is slightly more acceptable, or at least expected)?  And, while we’re talking about Hailey…do you really think that she is going to stick around after your Us Weekly  covers diminish?  Do you think it’s going to be cool for her when those monstrous child support payments start going in to Kate every month?  When she has to deal with those eight kids as their step-mother?  Didn’t she just stop babysitting, like, three years ago?

You’re setting a bad example for so many people–for your children, especially.  But also for all those men out there who are in the process of getting divorced, for single fathers who are struggling to care for their children, for men who have been burned by the woman they love.   You may be a good enough dad when you’re actually with your kids.  But you need to carry that over to when you’re not with them.  Because just because they’re not with you does not mean that everything you say and do isn’t going to get back to them or affect them in some way.  Now, I’m not a parent or a relationship expert or a psychologist (or even remotely qualified to give you advice in any way) but I know that what you’re doing is wrong and it’s annoying.  If I know anything, it’s that we all make decisions in our lives and that we have to deal with the consequences of those decisions–good or bad–and not be resentful of them or take our frustration out on others. 

I’m exhuasted.  That is all.  Go design some t-shirts or meet Hailey after class on the quad or something. 

La