Admiralable.

We finally made it out to The Admiral in West Asheville (Haywood Road), and it was only fitting that we did so on Veterans Day. The last time I saw a building like that, Tom Hanks was hurling a grenade into it. It's a little cinder-block bunker off the side of the road. It has no parking. There's one way in, one way out. The interior consists of one wall of booths, another wall split half-bar, half-open kitchen, and a no-man's land middle just big enough to squeeze in a row of tables, including an original, still operational Pac Man table.

Given the surroundings, you might consider the ambition of the menu something of a joke: Oysters on the half shell, PEI mussels, foie gras, sweetbreads, duck breast. It may be the most impressive menu in all of Asheville. And from what I ate, the cooks can pull it off. Grilled romaine salad was a warm, smoky riff on a Caesar salad. A celeriac bisque was voluptuous on a cold November evening. The duck breast was cooked perfectly. I can't remember what the sauce was other than good. The TW had a nice piece of grouper.

I am looking forward to going back for the skirt steak or the quail or those sweetbreads, served as a "sandwich" with a fried egg and a few other layers. We skipped dessert but I hear they do a mean Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding.

The prices run about $10 for generously-portioned small plates and $20 for big hunk of protein and complementary sides entrees. It was packed on a Wednesday night and service was slow. The bar beckons with classic and hipster cocktails to pass the time.

Boston Panic!

Since I know you are all like me, you started your day with some sun salutations and then you read the New York Times and then chatted in the eGullet forums before making your way to marathonguide.com where you freaked out when you saw this:

Boston Marathon - Closed/Paris Marathon - Closed Two major marathons have
closed registration for their races five months before race day - continuing the
trend of earlier and earlier registration closures by the most popular races.
The Paris Marathon has closed its registration at 37,000 and the Boston Marathon
has closed its general registration, but still has charity and other spots
available as it reaches for its number of 25,000 registrants by race
day.

Boston Marathon registration closed on November 13, 2009 for the April 19,
2010 race (157 days early), compared to January 25, 2009 for the April 20, 2009
race (85 days early). We know many who were caught unaware by the earlier
closing and many who were still hoping to qualify via races later in the year.
According to the race website, the event will accept 25,000 registrants - the
same as the stated number for 2008 (which yielded nearly 23,000 finishers).
MarathonGuide.com did a quick analysis of the numbers and here are some facts
about the registrants on the day open registration closed: By Country: USA
(84%), Canada (12%), UK (1%), Mexico (1%) Largest States: MA (8%), CA (8%), NY
(6%), ON (6%), IL (6%) Average Age: Overall - 42.2; Female - 39.4 (43%), Male
44.4 (57%).

Holy cats! What about Lance? Is he in that number? Rest assured that I sent my registration in as soon as I returned from Chicago. Barring injury, I'll be there. Looks like it's going to be a sausage fest.

A Real Chest Thumper.

I did a real chest-thumper of a run on Wednesday. I was coming off a Tuesday track session where I did 12 x 200s and my legs were a little rubbery. It was a blustery day -- gray, 40s, plenty of wind, cloudy -- but I had a mid-week, mid-range run on the schedule. And you know the drill. You do what the schedule tells you to do. So I double-downed and did the hardest 8-miler in my neighborhood, the Town Mountain climb. It's between 4 and 5 miles of climbing before you crest the ridge, and it has to do wonders for leg strength. It just has to. I saw one other runner about 1/2 mile from the top, she was coming down, and we gave each other knowing looks of commiseration. Tough conditions and tough route, but I did it. As I neared my driveway, I felt a chest hair follicle burst through the skin. I think that gives me 9. I pounded my chest twice and pointed to a squirrel.

Something healthy.

The TW picked me up for lunch yesterday, and I said: "Where do you want to go?" She replied: "I don't know. Something healthy." I said: "How about 12 Bones?" She said: "Word!" After all, is there anything healthier than blueberry-chipotle glazed pork ribs? Well, yes. In fact, just about anything else that is edible is healthier than ribs, healthier for your body. But how about your soul? Boy are they delicious and satisfying. It was a perfect day for a meal 12 Bones, about 60 degrees and sunny. We only waited about 10 minutes in the parking lot, Galatoires-style, before we were in the door, and we had our choice of tables inside or out. The meat at 12 Bones (the TW went with pulled pork instead of ribs, and I almost succumbed to the pull of a beef brisket cheese steak special) is superb, but their reputation could ring out on sides alone. The "Damn Good Corn Pudding" is just that. Buttered green beans and collards, cooked until every vitamin has evaporated but still dark green, taste the way a green vegetable should taste. Yum.

The Man Who Stared at Goats

These trail runners, they are like mountain goats. They just go and go and go straight up the side of the mountain. But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start earlier in the week. I'm on the local ultra-running email list and I get an invitation to join the Bent Creek Gobbler on Saturday morning. The Gobbler is a 16- or 32-mile, double figure-eight, informal trail run in Bent Creek Experimental Forest. I was scheduled to run 15 miles on Saturday, so what was one more mile I thought. I hadn't been in Bent Creek for over a year. I'm fit, I'm running well, I just ran the fastest marathon of my life. I can go run some world-class trails. Well, there's running and then there's trail running.

On every run, you learn a little about yourself. I learned on Saturday that I am not a trail runner. I love a hard-packed forest road. That I can handle. Maybe a well-groomed mountain bike trail as well. But that's my limit. I want my trail groomed, smoothed over, bikini waxed. I want to be able to plant my feet and move my legs the way I do on the road. I want the Disney trail experience.

I don't want 6-7 miles of the Shut In Trail. I don't want gnarled roots and sharp rocks hiding under leaves. I don't want little elves crouching on the side of the trail and lashing my shins with barbed sticks as I pass. I don't want to have to do a side-step or a shuffle or a pigeon-toe to propel myself forward. I don't want sections so steep that you have to walk. And there were stretches that I consider unrunnable. You ever take some of those super-steep escalators in the Atlanta airport or the DC Metro system? There are sections just like that, only instead of mechanized, moving steps it's slippery, dangerous single-track. And on the rare downhills, I don't want to have to brake with every step. I'm sure that with practice, trail running becomes more natural, and you figure out how to ascend and descend more economically. But I'm not sure I'm interested in figuring it out. I can tell you that, for the runner coming off the street, this is a completely different sport.

This was a different sport and, to make matters worse, I was completely out of my league. Here are some of the snippets of conversation you don't want to hear when you're heading out for 16 miles: "How'd you do at that 24-hour race? I came in second. Only took me 17 hours." Or "I did a 50K last weekend and have a 50K next weekend. This is just an easy run for me." Or my favorite: "Are you competitive? Well, I won Western States in 2005." That was Annette Bednosky's response to my question, because I could just look at her and tell that she was no joke, as I plodded along the forest road section of the course (when I was able to hold a conversation). Western States is a 100-Mile Endurance Run, probably the most recognized in the country. The kicker? She wasn't the best woman out there. That honor went to Anne Lundblad, fresh off her victory in the "24 Hours of Boulder" race where she beat all the women, all the men, and several dahl sheep. And there were men there who were faster than these women -- though not many. Somewhere between one guy saying "I feel like such a p***y for not doing a 100-miler yet" and hearing others talk about how much fun they had at the "Mountain Masochist 50 Miler," I realized I was in the wrong place. I spent the better part of my morning just staring at these mountain goats -- at least until they vanished from sight.

But despite being merely a road marathoner, everyone was super-nice to me and it was a gorgeous day to be outside. I got my miles in without injury. Being in Bent Creek reminded me how blessed I am to live here and how I should make a greater effort to run in the forests. So maybe I'll try to get out there more often -- but I'm going to stay on those gravel roads.

One Great Birthday Cake

It has been almost a month since I baked a cake for the TW's birthday party, but despite the slippage of time, I wanted to post the recipe. It comes from Dorie Greenspan's "Baking: From My Home to Yours." It's a traditional bake sale special. Easy to make, it comes out moist and delicious and not too sweet. This is a reliable go-to for a no-frills, crowd-pleasing chocolate cake.

Cocoa Buttermilk Chocolate Cake

For the Cake:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 large egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, melted and cooled (optional)

For the Chocolate-Malt Buttercream

• 6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
• 1/3 cup (packed) light brown sugar
• 1/4 cup malted milk powder
• 1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/4 cup boiling water
• 2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted, butter, at room temperature
• Pinch of salt
• 3/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 2 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted

Getting Ready to Bake: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter two 9-x-2-inch round cake pans, dust the insides with flour, tap out the excess and line the bottoms with rounds of parchment or wax paper. Put the pans on a baking sheet.

To Make the Cake: Whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt.

Working with a stand mixer, preferably fitted with a paddle attachment, or with a hand mixer in a large bowl, beat the butter on medium speed until soft and creamy. Add the sugar and beat for about 2 minutes, until it is thoroughly blended into the butter. Add the eggs one at a time, then the yolks one by one, beating for 1 minute after each addition and scraping down the sides and bottom of the bowl as needed. Beat in the vanilla. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the dry ingredients alternately with the buttermilk; add the dry ingredients in 3 portions and the buttermilk in 2 (begin and end with the dry ingredients); mix only until each new batch is blended into the batter. Scrape down the bowl and, if you want, add the melted chocolate, folding it in with a rubber spatula. Divide the batter between the cake pans.

Bake for 26 to 30 minutes, or until the cakes feel springy to the touch and start to pull away from the sides of the pans. Transfer the cakes to racks and cool for about 5 minutes, then run a knife around the sides of the cakes, unmold them and peel off the paper liners. Invert and cool to room temperature right side up. (Once the layers are cooled, they can be wrapped airtight and left at room temperature overnight or kept frozen for up to 2 months.)

To Make the Buttercream: Melt the chocolate with half the brown sugar in a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. Remove from the heat.

Whisk the malt powder and cocoa together in a small bowl, pour over 3 tablespoons of the boiling water and whisk until smooth. Whisking the melted chocolate gently, gradually pour in the hot malt-cocoa mixture and stir to blend—it should be dark, smooth and glossy; set aside.

Working with the stand mixer, preferably fitted with the paddle attachment, or with a hand mixer in a large bowl, beat the butter on medium speed until soft and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the remaining brown sugar and beat for 2 to 3 minutes more, until well blended. Beat in the salt and vanilla extract, then reduce the mixer speed to low. Scrape in the chocolate mixture and mix until smooth. Still working on low speed, gradually add the confectioners' sugar. When all the sugar is in, increase the mixer speed to medium and beat for a couple of minutes. Lower the speed and add the remaining tablespoon of boiling water, then increase the speed and give the frosting another quick spin. It will be light and should be thick enough to use immediately. If it doesn't hold its shape, beat it just a bit more.

To Assemble the Cake: Place one layer top side up on a cardboard round or a cake plate protected by strips of wax or parchment paper. Frost the top of the layer, and cover with the second layer, top side down. Frost the sides and top of the cake, either smoothing the buttercream for a sleek look or using a spatula, knife or spoon to swirl it for a more exuberant look.

Refrigerate the cake for at least 1 hour (or for up to 1 day, if that's more convenient) to set the frosting, then bring it to room temperature before serving.

Asheville Chow: Tod's Tasties

Tod's Tasties, the red-roofed cafe with the peculiar name, occupies the corner of Montford and Pearson, just past the Chamber of Commerce and across from the former location of Pisgah Legal Services. I have run by there for months and wondered what kind of action was going on inside. And then I got a tip that the food was really good. I could have gone for any meal -- they serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I went for lunch. Tod's is tiny -- two rooms. One room has a counter and a tight counter and grill. The other room has a family-style table and a gas-station style refrigerator stocked with beer and soft drinks. Wine bottles, a self-serve station, and a narrow bar fill the remaining wall space. Because this is Asheville, they have found a way to tuck some kegs of local beer behind the counter. Most of the seating is outside. I think they have a canvas apparatus they can unfurl. They will need something or they'll never survive the winter without a robust takeout trade. And that would be unfortunate, for Tod's is better than you would expect.


You can get a burger cooked to order without being arrested. I had a lamb burger (from Hickory Nut Gap) medium-rare, and it was cooked perfectly and tasted great. It came on a fresh roll with shoe-string fries and a pickle. The pickle was fantastic -- I bet it was house-made. VO2Max had a triple-cheese grilled cheese. It was well-executed, cheesy but contained, buttery but not greasy. At lunch, you can also get cold sandwiches, soup, salads, a few other things. Tater tots are an option. I can't wait to go back to this place and try more tasties.

Mid-Week, Mid-Day.

I slipped out on Wednesday for an oldie but goodie -- the Town Mountain Ridge run. This is an 8-miler from my house that takes me up 4 slow, muscle-building miles to the top of Town Mountain, then back down for 4 scorching, turnover-improving miles. It was a crunchy run. Leaf season is over and most of the leaves are steadily falling to the ground. Although the color is now muted and fading rapidly, looking down on the city of Asheville and at the mountains beyond remains stirring.

Au Revoir, Happy French Man.

I didn't want to write -- I didn't want to believe it -- but Paris Bakery has closed. Sometime in the late summer, they posted a sign that indicated they were on vacation. It is now clear that the vacation is permanent. What a loss. And what a surprise. I didn't see it coming, but I don't speak French or surly. To be honest, I always ordered in fear at the Paris Bakery, worried that the Happy French Man would brain me with a rolling pin for mispronouncing brioche. But it was worth it, for the croissants were definitive. His product was superlative and I thought he had a steady business, so maybe he just tired of baking all night, every night, seven nights a week. If he has retired, I hope he hates it and returns to the kitchen soon.

Visiting the Source

What better way to spend a crisp Saturday than seeing where your bacon comes from? Hickory Nut Gap Farms, about 20 minutes from downtown, is a remarkable story -- a success for both farm economics and the locavore movement. Hickory Nut Gap raises pigs humanely and organically, on hillside pastures in a setting that would make a Florida developer salivate. It looks like a great life for a pig. Sure, they eventually go to the abettoir, but until then, they can luxuriate in the shadow of Chimney Rock.

The meat is everywhere you want it -- farmers' markets, local grocery stores, restaurants, and cafes. They even serve the hot dogs at McCormick Field. You will know them by their taste ("hotdoggier") and color (tan, not red). And there is a serious tail-to-snout ethic going on at Hickory Nut Gap. At the Greenlife Grocery, you can get all manner of cut -- loins, chops, and roast, but also bacon, ribs, hocks, bratwurst, chorizo, and belly. It's all natural in color, as marbled as the Capital, and tastes great.

Hickory Nut Gap also raises grassfed beef, lamb, and pastured chickens. It's all excellent, but the pork is the star.

That hog had a wicked itch.

Meb!

How do you spell motivation? M-E-B! How about Meb Keflezighi's performance in today's New York City Marathon? Just 1st place, just a dagger in the heart of Kenya Nation, just the first American to win the race since 1982. And he was wearing the black arm warmers, gloves, and skull cap popularized by yours truly. He led 5 other Americans who placed in the top 10 overall. I don't know if you saw it on Universal live or the NBC re-broadcast, but it was riveting. I hadn't cried over something I saw on TV that much since Kenard shot Omar in the back.

Watching Meb crank it through Central Park was just the motivation I needed to get back to business. It's been three weeks of easy running and hard eating and drinking since Chicago, and it's time to get serious again. I'm looking at 12 weeks to a breakthrough 10K at the Hot Chocolate, then another 12 weeks to Boston. Let's start running.

October By the Numbers

I took 11 rest days in October. Sue me.

You can call me Mr. October. On the 11th day of the 10th month of the 9th year of running, I finally ran a Boston-Qualifying time. I'd say that's enough excitement for one month. The rest of the month was either taper or recovery, making for a low mileage but high reward 31 days.

• Total Miles: 126
  
• Road Miles: 116
  
• Treadmiles: 10
  
• Average weekly mileage: 30 +/-
  
• "Quality" workouts: 1
  
• Longest long run: 26.2 miles
  
• Races: 1 (Chicago Marathon, 3:13:25)
  
• Race miles: 26.2
  
• Bike miles: 0
• Rest days: 11
  

Haute Burrito

Codorniz el Oklahoma Barbeque, Atun en Mole Negro, Arroz Negro a la Tumbada, Cochinita Pabil, Camote Dos Estilos, Tostadas de Atun y Erizo, Mollejas de Ternana, Mole Verde, Cachetes de halibut con Flores de Calabaza, Mole de Olla, Mesquite, Peras, Manzana. Right? Right.

It's true -- you can sing the tasting menu at Topolobampo to the tune of REM's "It's the End of the World." On our third trip to Chicago, we finally paid homage to Rick Bayless, who has been doing the haute Mexican thing with culinary and socio-anthropological accuracy for a long time. It's hard not to like Rick Bayless if you've seen him on TV, and it's clear when you walk into his restaurant that Chicagoans (and tourists like us) are loving him to death. Topolobampo is his "fancy" restaurant, but it shares the same building as the more casual, no reservations Frontera Grill and, more importantly, the Frontera Grill Bar. The bar had a tantalizing list of tequilas and traditional margaritas, but alas the crowd was three-deep on this Friday night and we were unable to order a drink while we stood and waited for our table.

Once we entered the more tranquil Topolobampo, we wasted no time in ordering a pair of dueling tasting menus. The TW had the Top Chef Master Finale Tasting, which included hickory-smoked quail, seared Hawaiian ahi tuna, a lobster-squid-mussels-octopus-and-chorizo dish, suckling pig, and a sweet potato tart for dessert. I had the Adventurer's Tasting, which included tuna and sea urchin, sweetbreads, Halibut cheeks, short ribs, and a mesquite-bean cake. Everything was superb. The thing about Topolobampo is that every sauce, every broth, every mole is so delicious, so full of richness and depth, that I licked every dish clean (mine and the TW's), with the house-made tortillas playing the role of my tongue.

The only blemish on the meal was the "wine incident," where they charged us $60 for two half-glasses of Chianti, a wine that was good but not that good. I felt we were duped and told the TW that Rick was going to hear about it. And he did -- I sent him this letter when we returned home.

Dear Chef Bayless: For years my wife and I have wanted to eat at your restaurant and we finally did on Friday, October 9, 2009. We came to Chicago to run the marathon and arrived two days early so we could eat at Topolobampo. We were not disappointed. Anne had the Top Chef tasting menu and I had the Adventurer's tasting menu. Both were excellent and world-class. We loved the presentation, the flavor profiles, and the textures and colors on every plate. And your pastry chef -- wow! He or she nearly stole the show. We liked the atmosphere in Topolobampo and the fact that the meal was so reasonably priced. A five-course tasting menu, plus "snacks" along the way, for $85 struck us as a bargain. We did encounter one snag in the meal and I call it to your attention because, having watched you on television and read your books, it seemed anathema to the Rick Bayless style. We had a pushy and snobby female waitress. And that was tolerable, hardly a hanging offense, until we asked for a glass of wine. We had not ordered the wine pairings with the tasting menus, so mid-way through the meal, we asked her if she could recommend a single glass of wine to pair with our third and fourth courses. She suggested a wine that was part of the pairing: a 1997 Terreno Chianti Classico Riserva, Tuscany, Italy. I did not have the wine list with me by that point, and did not think to ask her the price. As with most our meals at restaurants of this caliber, we put our trust in the kitchen and the front of the house. I assumed it would be $12 - $20 per glass. We each got a ½ glass of the wine and it was lovely. But when I received the final bill, I discovered that it had cost us $60. When I asked the waitress if this was accurate, she snidely replied: "Yes. Hope you liked it." I have to say, Chef Bayless, that the price (to say nothing of her response to my question) shocked me. $60 for two ½ glass pours seemed far out of proportion, cost-wise, from everything else on the menu. The entire paired flight, after all, was only $50. In hindsight, we could have paid for that, shared all five wines, and still had cab fare to get back to our hotel. I suppose I should blame myself for not specifically asking the cost, but again, I had put my trust in our waitress. We are no strangers to spending a disproportionate amount of our disposable income for two tickets to culinary paradise, but I have to tell you, I have never encountered a $30 glass of wine, not even at The French Laundry or Per Se. We ate at L20 and Alinea before we left town, and did not encounter a $30 glass there either. I suppose I could have made more of an issue at the time, but we are non-confrontational people, and the only thing I wanted to confront aggressively that night were your sweetbreads. But I did want to bring it to your attention because, as I said before, it seemed inappropriate and at odds with everything you represent on television and in your books. Rest assured, however, that it will not dissuade us from returning to Topolobampo, and we are already planning our next trip to Chicago. We both ran great for the marathon and we must assume that your mole had something to do with it. Thank you.

Recovery Dough

It has been a few weeks since the marathon, and I have spent my time scooping sugar cookie dough out of a No. 2 tub's worth of the stuff, which VO2Max and I mixed some time ago. You scoop it out with a tablespoon and put it on a Sil-Pat-lined cookie sheet, then press then down with a glass coated in sugar. Then you pop it in the oven for 7 1/2 minutes, no more or less, and the cookies come out just barely done, hot and chewy and melting on your tongue like the Holy Host only sweeter and with more calories. I think it's time I set a new running goal -- before it's too late.

If In Chicago, IL: L2O

It is hard to describe the understated luxury of L2O, Laurent Gras's seafood-centric Lincoln Park temple -- should I say aquarium -- waiting like a parallel universe behind a non-descript door in the Belden Stratford building. Leather chairs, wood-paneled walls, ebony tables, it's all rather simple, but the overall effect, the way your Aberol-laced Gimlet glows in the glass like back-lit salmon roe, is unparalleled. And then you start eating the seafood, which is so fresh that some of it came with a Cajun and his cane pole still attached. If it was any fresher, it would have been served by Patrick Duffy.

When we were there, we did the Autumn tasting menu, which included: Kinmedai, Tuna, Tofu, Shimaaji, Uni, Lobster, Matsutake, Halibut, Coho Salmon, Pork Belly, Hiramasa, Raspberry, and Praline.

I had never heard of half the fish, but loved every dish except for the Hiramasa, which was a cook-your-own dish where you dipped seafood into a steaming broth, like that scene in "Lost in Translation." It's not that it was bad, it just didn't sing like the other courses. The other courses were 3-4 bite marvels, especially the "finding Nemo. " Just making sure you are paying attention. The uni-and-lobster preparation was one of the best dishes I have ever eaten. That course alone was worth the hefty tab at the end of the meal, but the others were also excellent. each was impeccably prepared and plated, a little jewel box of ocean flavor. Jerome Robbins could not have choreographed more seamless service. The aforementioned gimlet was the best cocktail I have had since the TW's "frond song" at Cyrus.

Had we gone a la carte, we could have had foie gras served in a "bird's nest" of bee pollen cotton candy or any of a number of other artistic dishes. We could have also taken the "Tete a Tete" route, where the chef pairs two flavors, and only two flavors, in each course. Peekytoe Crab and Foie Gras. Scallop and Yuzu. Peanut Butter and Jelly. Sonny and Cher. I thought the concept a tet offensive.

For luxury without attitude and seafood with a Franco-Asian-contemporary flair in a room that positively glimmers, and with the caveat that I have never eaten at La Bernardin, I can say that I don't think you can do better than L2O.