Olive You, Part Two--A few weeks ago I put out a call for information on a new Northeast Heights martini bar called Olive (Montgomery and Eubank). A reader hit me back with a quick breakdown. "Wonderful" martinis in a "nice enough" atmosphere. Think black leather couches and mood lamp lighting, a nice bar area and a pool table in back. One caveat: There's no grub on the grounds, though according to my source, the waitstaff will happily score you some popcorn from Lucky's Lounge (it’s next door) if you ask. "I would recommend at least one fairly decent snack to be offered. [But I was] definitely impressed enough to hope they add just a few touches to come up to an even higher classiness!" If I ever make it up there, it'll probably be on a Wednesday night, when DJ Entactogen and Ill Kid are around for funky soul, hip-hop and down-tempo sets.

The first perfumed peach of the season. The taste of a homegrown tomato. There's just no comparison. For people who love food, few moments in life rival the simple pleasure of biting into a still-warm fruit off a tree or farmer's truck bed. It's the closest thing to magic I know of.

Remember that scene in Point Break when John McGinley’s character (Ben) walks Keanu Reeves’ character—who could forget Johnny Utah?—down the hall and tells him, “You know nothing. In fact, you know less than nothing. If you knew that you knew nothing, then that would be something, but you don’t.” That’s how I feel about chain pizza places.

Nursing It Back

Little Sir Dan, sat with his hands, aloft over keyboard with a frown. Along came his boss, and with a crumpled note he did toss, asking “Hey, we doing a Chowtown?!”

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