It’s 12:30 AM Friday morning July 18 and I find myself in Gelsenkirchen, Germany.

Gelsenkirchen.

Home of… um, home of nothing that I know of and I’m too lazy to Google it. Take my word for it, it’s quiet. Even the pub in the hotel was dead except for the one drunk guy that stared at us for a minute and then burped AT us. Seriously, he burped at us like he was throwing something at us. Then he grabbed the waitress’s ass and yelled a lot.

Still, it’s very quiet here; too quiet after the raucous insanity that was Sligo, Ireland.

If you’ve ever read this column before then you probably know I have an affinity for the black stuff. A pint of Guinness in Ireland is as close to perfection on earth as it gets. It can’t be done better. It can’t be improved upon. The only anomalies are the temperature (sometimes it can be too cold) and the pour (most places don’t do it right). A proper pour is to fill the glass about three quarters of the way and then let it settle (when it’s solid black with a creamy head) and then fill the rest of the way slowly so the head just makes a slight dome over the top edge of the glass. It should take about two minutes. Then it takes another minute to settle. As far as I have experienced, the two anomalies I mentioned don’t exist in Ireland.

My first proper Guinness was in 1986 at the Gresham Hotel in Dublin. I went straight to the bar with my bags and ordered from the barman. I didn’t know anything about pouring Guinness then so when he stopped pouring three quarters of the way I thought he was fucking with me, the stupid American. I waited a minute and then ignorantly asked him if there was a problem with the tap and he said, “Sonny, a proper pour takes at least two minutes.” He wasn’t being condescending, and I didn’t take it that way. I sat there all afternoon and drank, probably over compensating for my faux pas and to this day I go have a Guinness at the Gresham every time I am in Dublin.

I had been looking forward to two days off in Dublin since we got these Pearl tour dates supporting Meat Loaf. Days off are like precious stones and to have two days in Dublin is like winning the lottery. The plan was we would stay in Sligo for the show in Bundoran, which is on the west coast and then drive to Dublin to spend two days bowing to the Phil Lynott statue outside the Bruxelles Pub, Guinness in hand. Ah, the best laid plans…

The show in Bundoran got postponed a day due to technical problems with the tent/stage. Basically the whole thing was gonna come crashing down and the promoter needed another day to get it right. The weather was fierce, raining sideways and this circus tent was not going to hold up. They were also going to try and squeeze 6000 people into a space that maybe held 3000. The whole thing was a mess and on top of it we lost our days in Dublin. Wah, wah. Cry for me; it’s such a sad story.

I’m not one to dwell on the negative and it was my first time on the west coast of Ireland so Sligo it was!! The Guinness fight had begun.

We ended up spending three nights in the hotel bar, each night progressively better (or worse) drinking the black stuff. It was a 72-hour cacophony of Guinness and whisky (Powers and Jameson Black Tooth Grins!) and bad singing and swords and metal and fish and chips and more Guinness.

When I woke up today to fly to Germany I was in a zone, in some strange yet familiar and friendly place. I felt like I was walking backwards when I was going forwards. Everything was a little out of focus and for a moment everything was right with the world. Maybe it was the sea air of the beautiful west coast, or maybe it was being in such close proximity to the mighty Ben Bulben (it’s a huge mountain/rock with a head like the Juggernaut), or maybe it was from my dinner the night before that had three different kinds of potatoes (mashed, fried and a side of mashed) on the plate, or maybe it was the really drunk and pissed off guy that I drank with who told me his opinions of Americans had changed for the better after spending some time with us, or maybe it was being with friends and sharing it all.

Maybe it was all of that or maybe it was the Guinness.

It is good for you. The ad says so. Truth in advertising is a wonderful thing.

Getcha’ pull!!

Cheers,
Scott




Scott Ian plays guitar for revolutionary metal band Anthrax and also for Pearl.

Artwork credit: Shepard Fairey

Previously on Food Coma... In-N-Out good, Olive Garden bad. Tiny little birds tortured for the gastronomic pleasure of the rich elite and some old Popes. Truffles are angel poop. Drunk on Amaro with Mario and Tom. The Oceanic Six have been revealed.

I have been traveling the world since we last met, out in the territories, your ever faithful servant, your gentleman at arms, hopscotching the globe, looking for the best the world has to offer! Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another pulse-pounding edition of Food Coma.

Dateline London 24/3/2008: The Crown Pub
British beer is better than American beer. Is there anyone that this is news to? Bottom line, a properly pulled/poured pint of Fuller’s or any number of British lagers or ales is better than anything we drink here in the states. Of course a Guinness in Dublin is king shit of fuck mountain, and those crazy Belgian monks are universally known as the best conjurers of the hop, but I wasn’t just in Dublin or Belgium; I was in England, damn it, and the quality of the brew was fantastic. Here in the states you have to seek out specialty beer bars like Father’s Office here in Los Angeles, or DBA in New York City, to drink anything even close to what they’re serving in the local pub. Yes, there are fine micro/local breweries making amazing stuff here in the U.S. No argument. What I’m saying is, the average pint in the UK is just so much better than the crap Americans accept. I’m not going to go into a whole tirade against Anheuser-Busch and tell you why their product tastes like watery ass. I’m just going to tell you that 99% of beer is done wrong here and you should find out for yourself. Spend the extra $3 on a six-pack of something good. You deserve it. I’ll even recommend a great U.S. made ale for all you patriots: Arrogant Bastard Ale from Stone Brewing in San Diego. Big, bold, delicious and it’ll get you drunk a lot quicker than the pee you’re used to.

Dateline London 26/3/2008: Andy and Eric’s room at the K West
Post-show (on tour with Pearl opening for Velvet Revolver, for more on that go to www.myspace.com/pearl) meal at Tayyab’s in White Chapel. Possibly the best Indian food I’ve ever had. How can lentils taste this good? The fried paneer was addictive. The seekh kabab was the best I ever had. I’ve never had dry beef before and I don’t know where to find it in LA!!!! Even the basic chicken curry had a flavorful heat that gave my taste buds boners. God-damn-it the food was so good I’m pissed off. And for £10 that’s CHEAP for London.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the catering on the Velvet Revolver tour. Usually, in Europe bands will travel with catering and in general, UK caterers are good. It’s easy to get really fat on a UK/Euro tour when you’ve got someone cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner for you and then even making you sandwiches for the bus after the show. The VR caterers were a company called Eat Your Hearts Out and every meal was terrific. The Mulligatawny soup was amazing. Never had it? Go get Indian food right now. And Banoffee pie. Holy shit. Graham cracker crust, bananas, toffee and whipped cream. Go fuck yourself.

Dateline London 27/3/2008 in the wee hours
The K West hotel has vending machines with beer, airplane size liquor bottles and snacks. What will these Brits think of next????????

Dateline Los Angeles 4/1/2008
Jet-lagged but happy to be home. The tour was amazing, sold-out and Slash, Duff, Matt and Dave were so kind to us. I didn’t get to see Scott but I hope he’s good and that Velvet Revolver and STP both move onwards and upwards.

Ate at Craft, Tom Colicchio’s LA branch of the NYC steakhouse classic. I wanted to eat here when it first opened but I quickly lost interest thinking it was going to be a cold, biz-oriented power lunch kind of place (it’s practically in CAA’s lobby). I couldn’t have been more wrong. The dining room was warm, nicely lit and felt great. Everyone was really friendly (Maybe they know I write a food column? Yeah, I wish) and the food was excellent. The smoked trout appetizer was perfect and the steak was great. I always judge a steakhouse by the NY Strip and this was perfectly cooked and full of flavor. I’ll be back.

Dateline Los Angeles 4/2/2008
Went to Lucques which was recently named top LA restaurant in Los Angeles Magazine. I like Lucques but I didn’t think it was the best place in town. I hadn’t been in a few years (last time I was there, Pearl and I had dinner with Roger Daltrey and The Edge sat at the next table and it was quite a night, but that’s a story for another time) so I figured I’d revisit. It was definitely not the best restaurant in town. Citrus Avocado salad to start was eh. Not enough avocado so it was more like a fruit salad that someone dropped some avocado into. The salmon was cooked well but was swimming in butter and was bland. Not sure how they cooked the flavor out of it. Maybe they were having an off night. Not sure if I’ll be back.

Dateline Chicago 4/3/2008
In Chicago writing with Anthrax. Nine songs done. We’re really getting close to making the record. I’m very happy with where we’re at creatively. Fucking Metal.

Ate at Blackbird. Fucking amazing. If Los Angeles Magazine named this restaurant as best restaurant in LA, I’d agree. It was a perfect meal. I even asked for a menu so I could get it right here. The only thing I can’t remember is the first amuse. It was whitefish in some delicious sauce.

Appetizer: Salad of endives with crispy potatoes, basil, dijon, pancetta, and poached egg.

Amuse: Crispy confit of suckling pig with braised endive, crab apples, sweet potato mustard and pork rind.

Entrée: Grilled California sturgeon with sauerkraut gnocchi, Anjou pear and celery root puree.

Amuse: Grapefruit sorbet.

Dessert: Roasted pineapple with brioche ice cream, hibiscus and cinnamon toast.

All this and booze for $80. If it was NY or LA it would’ve been $150. It sounds pretty fancy-pants but all the flavors were very down home, American style cooking. Awesome.

I’m off to Costa Rica tomorrow for a week. My belly is excited.

Cheers,
Scott

P.S. If you’re not watching "Battlestar Galactica," you’re an idiot.

www.myspace.com/scottian
www.nonelouder.com/scottian
http://blogs.scifi.com/battlestar/scottian/

Scott Ian plays guitar for revolutionary metal band Anthrax and also for Pearl.

Artwork credit: Shepard Fairey

Bill O'Reilly is out of his god-damned mind. Of course, we already knew this, perhaps to the point where it's commonplace and his particular brand of crazy just becomes white noise in the background. Every so often, however, he says something that makes me sit up and say, "What the fuck, Bill?"

Remember Will Ferrell's viral video masterpiece The Landlord? Surely you must. It goes something like this:

See, I knew you knew it; everyone on the Internet saw it approximately two hundred eons ago. Hell, it's almost time to retire it to the fond nostalgia folder with Little Superstar at this point. Bill O'Reilly, on the other hand, just saw it last week, and boy is he ever mad. So mad, in fact, that he had to make it one of the subjects of his show, serving a steaming pile of no-spin justice to that dastardly child abusing huckster-tyrant Will Ferrell.

Wait, what?!

Yes. O'Reilly is all about the children (as can be seen in his book The O'Reilly Factor For Kids, which I highly recommend picking up—no, not buying, just physically picking up and leafing through for a couple minutes—as it is pure comedy gold), and he truly believes that Will Ferrell and his sin-tastic cohorts have put little Pearl in physical and mental danger through exposure to beer and mild swearing. To use his words, he believes that the two-minute skit is "exploitation," and a source of lasting "damage" to its two-year-old star. Last Friday, he discussed it with Geraldo Rivera, who quite frankly told him to chill the hell out.

Seriously, when even Geraldo thinks you're a histrionic moron, it might be time to reevaluate your outlook on life. But not O'Reilly, who, refusing to save his wrath for more important issues, went out to try and find the one psychologist on Earth who would even halfway back up his claims.

Oh, no! A Texas child psychologist! But sadly for O'Reilly, the psychologist he chose was not entirely insane, and while she did cater to him slightly with bits about neuron pathways being connected between swear words and comedy, on the whole she took a fairly logical and thoughtful approach to the situation. So, naturally, it was a very short conversation.

At the heart of this matter is censorship in the name of child protection. How much do we need to protect small children from beer and bitches? Will the hour spent working on the infamous YouTube clip prove pivotal in Pearl eventually becoming an alcoholic with a mouth like a gutter? If O'Reilly were to call Child Protective Services on the entirety of Funny or Die, like he seems to really want to do, would Pearl's new foster home offer a more nurturing and curse-free environment that will no doubt lead to a more wholesome childhood than if she were to face continued exposure to lighthearted PG language?

Wait, I think I know the answer to all of those questions: shut the hell up, O'Reilly.

A.) It's not like they had the girl smoking; children swearing is a cognitive dissonance that is hilarious, fun for the whole family (maybe), and ultimately harmless. B.) As far as what the future holds: if you're going to swear like a longshoreman, you're going to swear like a longshoreman and that's all there is to it, so why should it matter if you learn the vernacular when you're two years old or twelve? C.) Oh please, like the majority of O'Reilly fans have never exposed their children to beer. And for D., I would like to paraphrase Geraldo Rivera (oh god, of all people): perhaps, Bill, there are more important things in this world to worry about.

Bitch.