Pee Wee, Cowboy Curtis & Oeufs en Cocotte

Jambi: One pair of cowboy boots coming up! What size?

Cowboy Curtis: Uh, size 12, double E.

Pee-wee: Boy, big feet.

Cowboy Curtis: Well, ya know what they say.

Pee-wee: No. What?

Cowboy Curtis: For big feet, big boots!

I imagine most of you entitled snots were sitting on the floor in diapers with a piece of Zwieback sticking out of your drooling little mouth when this episode of Pee Wee's Playhouse aired back in November of 1986. I was in bed with a hangover and a woman old enough to be your mother. Not my mother. Your mother.

That's what some of your parents were doing in 1986. Laying in bed nursing hangovers and watching Pee Wee and Cowboy Curtis talk about wieners and big feet. I wonder how many obnoxious style bloggers were conceived during this episode? My spark was squeezed out while Jonathan Winters did 'Boys of Spring' on Jack Paar.



It's Saturday or Sunday morning. Hell, it can be Monday morning if you're highly evolved. You wake up with a throbbing head next to last night's first date. And lets say you wanna stay. It happens. You not only wanna stay...you want to make an impression. Especially if you didn't do so well last night. It happens...to you. Not to me.

Oeufs en Cocotte, my friend. It sounds (ee-noof en coe-kot) a helluva lot better than pancakes and bacon and it's a whole lot easier to make. Ask your host if they have any ramekins. Most women and all gay men have at least two. Four is better. Then tell them to go back to sleep.



If you find Stouffer's creamed spinach in the freezer then you're cooking with gas. That's an old expression, cooking with gas. You may be cooking with electric or, if you're Foster Huntington, with Sterno. Whatever, it's best to microwave the creamed spinach (4-5 minutes) then pour the whole bag into two (or four) ramekins. This is a real 'wing it' kind of recipe. No hard and fast rules. You can butter the ramekin or not. You can use herbs, onions, cheese, bacon, white truffle oil, tuna...anything you want although it helps if you use breakfasty stuff.


Crack one egg over whatever you placed in the bottom of the ramekin and place the ramekins in a sauce pan of boiling water. Mark Bittman leaves the boiling water out. Why? Because his cook books suck, that's why. You gotta have the boiling water step or, if you just stick the ramekins in an oven, you're gonna get oeufs en cocotte hard as a hockey puck. It happens...especially to Mark Bittman


Transfer the ramekins in boiling water to a 400 degree oven and set your timer for 8-10 minutes. The real luxury here is the softness of the eggs. Sexy is a good word. I recommend taking a tray of ramekins back to bed and presenting them to your new best friend, perhaps with a warm blowy whisper in their ear, "ee-noof en ko-kot." You can explain what cocotte means afterwards.

Holy Week: R100

Ruff Hewn - 1987


An Object of Desire


Far from the Ramrod



Somewhere in Chelsea - back in '85 - six vintage BMW motorcycles in front of a bar on Tenth Avenue. Five black. One white. Stopped - dead in my tracks. I ask Herbst to hold up, "Geez, man. Look at these! They're beautiful!" Herbst whines, "Tinseth. Lets go." "Hold on. What's your rush?" I lean over a speedometer to check the miles. "Tin-seth! Come on!"

I'm thinking, "What's his fucking problem?" Another voice. Deeper -- Closer. "You like bikes?" I look up to see three men covered in black leather and - for the first time - I see the name on the bar. 'The Ramrod.' "Yeah, I like BMWs," I say and turn to see Herbst a quarter of a block away with a smirk on his face.

"Why don't you come on inside and join us?" The invitation grunted by a man with a ring in his nose, a braided beard and a tattooed head. He takes a swig from a long neck Miller and holds a cigarette between two fingers -- his thumb hooked on black leather chaps. I stand and walk, not too quickly, towards Herbst. "Thanks. I better catch up with my buddy." "He can come too," says the tall one... and they all laugh.

Herbst was a free lance archeologist (Have Trowel- Will Travel) working a dig for the NPS under the Main Immigration Building at Ellis Island. I was loaned to him during renovations at the Statue of Liberty and most days it was just the two of us digging through oysters and mud.

Ellis was a garbage dump for Indians living on Manhattan going back five or eight hundred years - give or take a few hundred - based on the carbon date of a femur we found. In addition to throwing away oyster shells and refuse on the island, the Indians also left their dead there.

We had time to talk - looking for dead Indians. Herbst had a thing for Jeremiah Johnson and early trappers. He told me they'd eat once a day but dinner was five pounds of buffalo. There was a moment of silence as trowels scraped. Exposed light bulbs strung above us cast a honey yellow light on the dark dig. Herbst broke the silence, "Jesus, Tinseth...just imagine the huge piles of petrified shit all over the West."

Herbst had a Tudor Submariner and admired my Rolex Sub until he discovered it wasn't a chronograph. I don't think he ever like me after that. Still, he invited me to the wildest Manhattan party. All apartments on one floor were opened up. Jazz band in one. Bar in another. Food in another and so on. Herbst introduced me to a numerologist. She was pushing 40 in tight Guess jeans and a silk blouse.

Necking on her sofa later that night, she breaks away and stares at me. "I'm sorry," I said. I think I've gone too ..." She stands up, takes me by the hand and pulls me to her bedroom. She cut through a lot of bs.

It rained the next morning and we stayed in bed until late that afternoon. I treat her to a cheap brunch of French Toast and Bloodies at J. Melons then make tracks back to her bedroom. Grateful, I thank Herbst the next day. He points his trowel at my head and berates me under the honey yellow light, "Tinseth, she's the older woman. Don't you get that? She's supposed to fucking pay not you." This pissed him off more than my watch.

I haven't talked to Herbst in 12 years but called yesterday to fact check and catch up. He told me he had laryngitis and couldn't talk long. I finished fact checking and he promised to call back. I doubt I'll hear from him again. That's okay. I'm amazed by the trip I went on with a motorcycle I never owned.

Update: So much for fact checking. The bar was the Rawhide ( 8th Ave bet. 20th & 21st) and not the Ramrod. Apologies for my lack of leather bar knowledge.

One Sexy Rear End: Penthouse 1973

Amazing isn't it? I'd like to wash her naked with a really big sponge and some...


Turtle Wax. The Volvo 1800 ES. Pretty sexy...

Especially for a wagon.

Mmm, A bucket of warm water, a bottle of Wash & Wax and thou...

Charlotte Rampling & Eau d'Hermes

EdH and Charlotte's Riding Jacket


"Cumin in a bottle"

For Mature Audiences

It's been called sex in a bottle. Animalic. Classic. Leather. Astoundingly real. Cumin done right. Balls in a bottle and my favorite, "Grace Kelly's handbag stuffed with Robert Mitchum's jockstrap." I think it smells like Monkey Bread. Naked Monkey Bread.

Created by Edmond Roudnitska in 1951, this is a unisex scent that has always appealed to me. While I love Caswell Massey Lime... it's a little like comparing junior high school necking in a church basement to a long weekend in the 16 Arrondissment with Charlotte Rampling clad only in a riding jacket.

I've had that bottle since 2002. I use it sparingly because it's expensive. And it lasts. My nephew is a scent hound. I once caught him opening my EdH and had to peel him off the ceiling when I said in my best Alec Baldwin bass, "Put. That. Bottle. Down." No 15 year old has the right to wear this. He's gonna have to do time in that church basement for a few more years.

Orgasm for .20 cents - Orgies for $8

Prosperity Dumplings located at 46 Eldridge Street in Chinatown

Five dumplings for a dollar

Confusing but worth it

Also confusing

Out of Pork Fried Buns but Sesame Pancake was surprise hit

And I'm not a vegetable guy

Dining in the middle of the street

50 for $8

The Orgy

That menu looks like something out of 1965 but it's not even the best part of Prosperity Dumplings. Not easy to get to. Not easy to order. No place to sit. But once you put one of these things in your mouth...Cue the fireworks.

I had pork & chive pot stickers while we waited for vegetable. Burned the inside of my mouth on the first one. Still, the pork was earthy while the chives kept it clean and fresh. Next was the sesame pancake with vegetables. A first.

Burned my mouth again but it was so new and different I didn't mind the skin hanging off the roof of my mouth. If the pot sticker is an explosion of slippery wet fun then the pancake is the warm towel for clean up. A nutty softness with scallions and I don't know what all.

After the pancake, I order a bag of 50 dumplings and am told my order of vegetable pot stickers is ready. $11 all in. The Golf Foxtrot and I head out to finish the vegetable pot stickers because I can no longer stand the close confines of the dining room and the constant in and out of at least 30 customers in 10 minutes.

We find a place to sit in the middle of traffic. NYC will put benches anywhere. Probably because they were just made, the vegetable pot stickers will have you holding onto the headboard. Amazing taste with the dumpling wrap a perfect al dente. Can you say that about a dumpling? I just did.

Prosperity is one of those NYC places people love to talk about. It's a mischianza of taste, place, wonder, confusion and it don't cost much. Just like sex.

The Friday Belt: 'Billy & Avery'

Me: What'll you have to drink?

She: I don't know. I do know whenever I drink champagne I want to take off my clothes.

Bartender: I'm sorry madam. We're out of everything but champagne.

Years ago 'Billy' was my go to rose champagne. At $45 in a wine store and $90 in a bar, it was tremendous value for the money. Today, you'll pay between $75 and $85 retail. Still, I think it's a great value...with the understanding: You do not drink it by yourself.

NV Billecart Salmon Rose is as close to vintage Louise Rose as you can get without paying upwards of $250. It is clean and bright and it tastes like sex. Roll it in your mouth and feel the cold escape while the bubbles break warm over your tongue. A fat plop of triple cream cheese on crusty French bread is perfect before dinner. Do this right and there shouldn't be any dinner.

I need a cold shower. I usually run a non-alcoholic beverage with a beltless trouser but Avery Lucas designed this canvas pant for me. It's rustic in that it's canvas fabric but the cut is dressy. The leg tapers from the knee to a 8" wide opening and while I'm not crazy about the pockets -- they're growing on me.

Avery included a button fly which, many will tell you, helps with the line of the pant. I can't tell the difference. I do know that if things are going well with the champagne -- a button fly will slow you down. Not that that's a bad thing.

Winning & Losing

Q. Golf-wise, what are your expectations this week?
TIGER WOODS: Nothing's changed, going to go out there and try to win this thing. Recently Trad Dad reminded me of Little League baseball tryouts when I was 11. Coaches, who always had their own sons on the team, were interested in winning. And these memories are some of my earliest about life not being very fair. I did manage to play on a Pony League team (2nd base and short stop) but we lost almost every game. Still, I got to play. At 15 I was the assistant coach of a Shakey's Pizza team. We came in second to last but we ate well.

I was lucky I got to play. If someone's gonna win - someone's gotta lose. I've always told my Little League stories proudly and wore 'Loser' as a badge of honor. But never have I been so curious about winners as the recent events surrounding Tiger Woods.

Winning, a old friend tells me, is directly related to power. Wall Street sure likes to win and win big. Michael Jordan appears to be addicted to the charge of winning at the card table. I guess winning in Vegas must be like winning on the court. And what about winning women? I reckon they stand as the ultimate prize.

The April 12th feature of New York Magazine, The Half-Hooker Economy, dovetails nicely with the Vanity Fair feature on Tiger. Bottle girls, who claim not to be prostitutes, sell $30 bottles of hooch for $800 and may or may not sleep with the customer. And of course there are 'winners' among the bottle girls. So I was thinking, is all of this really about an addiction to sex? Or, is it an addiction to winning? Fortunately, like drugs, I never did enough winning to get hooked. But America sure does love a winner.

American Beauty

American Beauty by Henrich Kemerling

I was walking down 5th Avenue, something in NYC they have yet to charge you for, and was looking at retailer's windows and I kept thinking, "Who would ever buy that?" And then I remembered when I was 12 or so and Bridgette Bardot was hot, the Monkees were cool and my Campbell's Tomato soup shorts were keen. Pretty much because somebody said so. I still have no idea who - - but you were considered a bone head if you didn't agree.

We all do it in our youth. The trick is to grow out of it by 40. Watching the Emmys, I was amazed how all actresses blended into a sameness. I had a client once who extruded aluminum. I'm wondering...is there a Hollywood extrusion press? The faces and bodies remind me of a Marriott hotel room -- Void of any character less they offend.

Most of us simply do not trust our instincts. And we're terrified to say what we like unless it's backed up by a GQ article, a photo spread in Playboy or, the absolute worse, something on the Today Show. As you get older you'll trust your own instincts - - if only because you've been down that road so many times before.

This spells trouble for people who wanna sell us something. They need you to agree with them about a word I grew up with...cool. Is it cool? Is she cool? That's cool. I wanna be cool. Are you cool? Steve McQueen was cool. Wasn't he? I read a biography. Not so cool. And I don't believe McQueen wanted to be cool. All he wanted was a father...and that didn't work out.

A cultural self reliance is key to a well lived life. I see a lotta people in the wine store with a tear out card from the Wine Spectator asking, "It got a 92. It's gotta to be good. Right?" The WS is a good place to start - - it's not a good place to finish. All of this could be a bohemian outlook. The path less traveled. But I don't like paths or woods. I decided when I got out of the Army I was never gonna go camping again. I like the avenues. With lots of traffic. I walk down them and,

"so many things fill my head and then I let it go and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday."

It's Business Time

Summer is over. It's business time.

The Trad Museum

Some things don't change and thank goodness the Met in NYC has kept this exhibit going. I first saw these guys in the mid 80s and damned if they're not still at the Met. I remember walking into this room for the first time and seeing these four Knights and thinking , "Holy shit. " Probably not what the curator was after but it blew me away. Still does.

Is it Trad? I think it is. I mean it's the Met. And any Trad knows that if this stuff bores you there's always the Wine Bar where you can get a bottle of Claret for $40. That's a pretty good deal for a NYC museum. So sit at the bar, share a bottle of wine with a friend, cross your legs so everyone can see your socks and talk about the fact that none of this stuff would be here if people didn't have sex. You can't get more Trad than that.