Arrow Haircuts

All the King's horses, all the King's men, and all the King's product can't save this tragic mess of a haircut...

I saw my first barber in 1974. He was a bearish man named Lauren--a gruff, gravelly-voiced barber with white stubble-beard and white Cubavera shirt, who always joked that he'd cut my ear off and feed it to his cat if I wasn't still while I was in his chair. Of course, the threat kept me in line, and I was always rewarded with a Dum Dum sucker for my obedience. His shop was in the basement of the strip mall my father started his law practice in--the old Bella Vista Mall (now Grand Mall), in Grand Blanc, Michigan. It had three steel barber chairs...though Lauren was the only barber ever in residence. scissors and combs sat in glass jars of blue Barbasol, and clippers rested under the UV glow on the shelf. Mirrors lined facing walls, creating a cool "infinity" effect if you angled them just right. The air was always heavy with pipe and cigar smoke, and there was always one or the other sitting in an ashtray, its ember patiently glowing as it waited for him to take a puff. Next to them, he'd rigged an AM car stereo to take power from the wall and play over speakers. To this day, when I hear the old CBS radio news sounder (dun-dun-DUN-dun-nana-bleepbleepbleepbleep...), I can flash back to that shop. When I have a Dum Dum sucker, I always think of him. It felt like my first trip into a male-identified space. Even then, I always felt a little older when my father (mom never took us there) would take my brother and I got our hair cut--like I was being slowly initiated into the fraternity of manhood.

Lauren wasn't a "designer" or a "stylist." He was an old school barber, cut from the cloth of the men from the Greatest Generation--Hemingway with shears...and a cat with allegedly curious eating habits.

When I went to Arrow for the first time, I was awash in nostalgia. It looked like the barber shop that I remembered from my youth. As I first looked about, I almost expected to see Lauren spin around in one of the chairs, putting his newspaper down and pipe in the ashtray as he asked me if I was going to be good, or if his cat was going to get a bonus in its evening Tender Vittles. The floors were stone, the walls finished with raw wood and metal sheeting. A faint hint of talc laced the air. A man offered me a beer...or bottle of water if I wasn't feeling like alcohol.

I had three haircuts at Arrow last year before deciding to make yet another middle-age-driven attempt to regrow the ponytail of my younger years, only to have lost patience in the dreaded "awkward phase" and head to the barber to get it cut. I knew I was going back to Arrow.

I know myself well enough to handle styling decisions confidently. I have a long face, almost rectangular. I need something to break it up at the top or bottom, and over the years, I had a certain cut that worked for me--one with just enough of an outward taper at the top to break the rectangular shape up. I even carry pictures of it in my phone, to show to stylists. Sadly, my most recent visit to Arrow has left me with a Kid-and-Play style "eraserhead" hairdo that only Arsenio Hall might envy.

Arrow still has the sign out front, reading "walk-ins welcome!" Mind you, when one of my partners went out there last Saturday, he was turned away because they were booked up...for the whole weekend. When I went in, the man at the tablet looked at me, then his tablet, then back to me, before giving his tablet a final scrutinous gaze and telling me that he might be able to take me in half an hour, if I was willing to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve introduced himself. I can only say that I got a bad vibe from the start. I guess that happens when his introduction was appended with "well, my 3:00 was a no-show, so I guess I can take you."

I'm now wishing that he hadn't done me the favor.

Now I'm sure you're thinking "but the stylist had to look at the pictures before he started." Arrow has high ratings here. Everyone on Yelp raves about them. I can tell you that he begrudgingly took my phone...after even asking in shock "you've got something you want *me* to look at?" I can tell you that he swiped through a few. I can tell you that as he was starting to buzz the top of my head--the taper point--when I asked if he was leaving enough hair for the outward taper, he assured me that he was on point with the pictures.

He put clippers to my head and started shearing. I asked which guard he was using. When I asked for a shorter guard, he almost took offense to it, like the act of taking the #2 off and replacing it with a #1/2 for the back and sides was like asking Jose Eber to wash a client's hair and get towels.

Granted, as he was cutting, he talked to his "bro" who came in to rebook an appointment (I can only assume the one I'd taken after his no-show). He talked to Aaron, the gentleman who checks people in. He pretty much talked to everyone BUT me. Once my glasses were off, and I couldn't even see what he was doing, I could just as well have been a practice head at a barbering school. Of course once I had my glasses back, when he was completely done (I guess barbers don't stop in the middle of a job to see if the client approves anymore. Even Lauren stopped threatening me with feline voreaphilie long enough to ask questions about the style and length as he worked), and he saw that I was unhappy that I looked like an extra from the last House Party sequel, then he started talking.

"What do you want me to do?" And as you read that, emphasize the word "me," as if he thought he wasn't the guy who'd just been wielding the clippers and scissors for twenty minutes. I guess that Steve is the lost 70's era Hanna Barbera cartoon character--the guy who becomes possessed by the spirit of an incompetent barber when he holds the cursed clippers or something. Mudsy Muddlemore, the Funky Phantom, had a cursed clock. This guy must have channeled himself into barbering gear. Sure, we'll run with that, Steve. It wasn't you...

Dude-bro-Steve, you can't glue the hair back on. Honestly, what was my response supposed to be? What should it have been? "Hey, no, it's okay! You spent so much time interacting with everyone else in that shop BUT me you didn't even to see what I thought about the job you were doing? Now, I'm looking at 4-6 weeks of regrowing before we could possibly salvage this. Thanks, bro! Can I have that brewski now?"

I told him that it looked nothing like the pictures. So he defensively demanded to see my phone. After I showed him the third image, he shrugged it off in a condescending tone. "Hey, man, at least you're getting a freeeeeeeeeee haircut."

I'd rather have had a good haircut. I'd rather have had a stylist who paid some attention to me, instead of thinking that giving me "generic-dude-bro-white-guy-cut-#3" would garner him a fast and easy tip. I normally tip 25-30% on a haircut JUST because I want to look awesome leaving the chair. It takes me about two hours to make the money that would have gone into that cut and tip. Now I'm waiting a month to a month and a half before I can look at salvaging this.

I'd really rather have paid the money to look awesome instead of getting a bad cut. Really, Steve. I wanted to pay you. I wanted to tip you. Now, the only tip I can offer is: hope he doesn't draw your straw as a walk-in.

So I walked out with a bad haircut....and a certificate to come back for another one--marked "re-do" on the certificate. I wondered if that's how Rhianna felt when her phone rang and it was Chris Brown. "Hey come on now, I know that last one was bad, but this one will be better!"

Sadly, Arrow is becoming a victim of their success. "Walk-ins welcome" is now code for "make an appointment." The free water is gone, only beer now. The stylists seem to have less interest in working with the customer and more in just cranking out generic-white-guy haircuts.

I'd rather have a gruff old man who threatens to feed my body parts to his cat.

Pho Vietnam: Sorry, Hipsters, Party's Over. Everyone Knows About It Now....

At the tender age of 41, I finally stopped fighting and embraced the term “hipster.” Chunky glasses, love of vintage kitsch, obscure indie music, equally obscure indie film, Instagramming food, selfies, facial hair, Apple technology. I’m owning it. Granted, now that I own it, the hipsters will move on to something else. I guess we’re all going normcore. But until the lights officially go out on the party, there’s a little pho restaurant in Cary…but you probably haven’t heard of it.

…and it’s really a shame. Pho Vietnam’s not that much to look at on the outside. The building has seen happier, more well-maintained days. Parking doesn’t look like much (use the side lot, there are only four spots out front), and their placement on a blind curve means that you may need to make a U-turn to get to them because you’ll pass them the first time. But it’s worth it for the food.

I love good Vietnamese food. I first got hooked back in grad school, at the University of Central Florida. There’s a strip mall right outside the campus’ main gate, and in the strip mall is Miss Saigon. The name alone (remember, kids, this was the late 90s…it was still a hip reference then) brought me in to try the food. And soon, I was addicted to rice and vermicelli dishes, soups, and summer rolls.

…then the hipsters came along. When I saw Sriracha being referred to as “hipster catsup,” I knew there was an issue. Pho was the new cupcakes…as cupcakes were the new sliders…and sliders were the new….well, you get it. Then add in the Cary factor. For those not in the area, Cary, NC (an alleged acronym for Containment Area for Yankee Refugees) is the Raleigh area safe haven for over-educated, NPR-addled, Apple-addicted, super-special-snowflake WASPS. You can’t swing a meditating, yoga-posing vegan without hitting a Prius, wallpapered in bumper stickers that proclaim how wonderful and super-special they are.

So a pho restaurant in Cary just seemed like the perfect storm of self-important hipster WASPiness that tries my patience like a First Friday on the opening day of a Wes Anderson film. The first rule of anger management: avoid your triggers. But there are certain risks to be taken in the name of food…

I made a few visits over the course of the review. Ideally, it was to get a wide sampling of the menu…but really? I’m a glutton at heart. I love Vietnamese food. The food is good. This was my own perfect storm.

Service is solid and attentive. Each time I went there, I was tended to quickly. When I ordered takeaway, the person taking my order offered me water and a place to sit while I waited. When I went to dine in, I was seated quickly. Each time, I saw several Vietnamese people eating there. Minority test: passed.

On visit one, my first takeaway, I got an order of summer rolls and a pork sandwich. Summer rolls can be tricky. I’ve had them where the rice paper has been overmoistened. I’ve had them where the roll itself is over stuffed. I’ve had them where the roll is really just a container for rice vermicelli and a few shrimp. Pho Vietnam’s summer rolls go heavier on the lettuce, with a little rice vermicelli in the wrap, giving them a cool, fresh taste. Over the course of my visits (hey…I had to order them each time. Consistency, you know?), the sauce ranged from having too much hoisin to a perfect blend of peanut and hoisin.

The sandwich was a pleasant surprise: roast pork. The bread was tough and chewy, nice and crisp. The pork was well cooked and the vegetables were fresh.  There was a sliver of jalapeno in the sandwich that added some nice heat. But while Vietnamese sandwiches taste good, they’re really not why most people go out for Vietnamese…

…so I went back for a vermicelli dish…and more summer rolls, my second takeaway. Chicken and lemongrass delivered in both portion and taste. The takeaway container was huge. The chicken was cooked well. The sauce wasn’t overwhelmed by either the lemongrass, the vegetables, or the chicken itself.

Finally, I had the chance to sit in the dining room. I’ve never had good luck with takeaway pho. It’s never ended well—always a huge mess. So when I decided to go back for pho, I wanted to try it in the dining room. As before, the service was fast. The tables had racks with sauces and spoons. The pho was exceptionally hot, so I put some leaves, sprouts, and sriracha in the bowl while I waited for it to cool. Even with the sriracha, the spice in the pho was pretty mellow. I guess that it’s a nice blank canvas to work with.

…and of course, there just had to be a table of Milennials on lunch break, gushing over the food as they instagrammed pictures on their iPhones. Somehow, it all felt right in a strange but stereotypical way.

I was really impressed with Pho Vietnam. Again, the exterior looks a bit run down and it’s easy to miss from the street, but it’s worth the trip out for the food and the service.

Tom Yum Thai: They're Sexy and They Know It...

The Urbanspoon app is a cruel driving force.

I've been trying to limit my lunch outings to the Cary area, if only because it's close to home. Moreover, I've discovered that I've occasionally had to shake the app more than once (any by "more than once," I mean five, six, or seven times) to find a place that I've not already seen, or a bakery or other dessert place that's not really lunch fare. However, after a several spins, I pulled Tom Yum Thai.

I'd been familiar with them for a while now. Last year, a group of us were looking for a place for Sunday lunch and went there...only to find that they're closed for lunch on Sundays. So I was looking for an excuse to get out there again. The fact that the rooster statues are an Ingress portal was sheer coincidence. ;)

Admittedly, I wasn't really up to a dine-in experience, so I ordered takeaway. There were a few dining tables outside the restaurant, and the inside was darkly lit--relying mostly on outside light from the windows--but tastefully decorated. Unlike other Asian eateries that feel the need to pour as much gold, jade, red plastic Buddhas, and other cliches into the decor, Tom Yum turns the volume down (it's there, but not garish) on the cliche and plays up the style and elegance. Hardwood flooring, dark woods, white table linens, and white flower pots with warm-colored arrangements give the dining room a sharp, sophisticated appearance--and they know it. "The place to see and be seen!" boasts their website. Tom Yum's speed was exceptional. It took eleven minutes from the time I stepped out of my car until I was stepping back in to it with food in hand.

The lunch menu was a bit confusing. The menu on their website said that lunch specials came with soup and a spring roll. When I got there, the spring roll had been covered up with tape. When I ordered, the waiter said that the lunch special came not with soup, but a spring roll. Looking at the menu, I was looking forward to the Tom Yum soup, but it could wait until another time. Sure...I can be flexible.

The fresh spring rolls had a nice taste to them. The cilantro, sprouts, and sausage in particular played into the plum sauce. However, the fact that the rolls were sliced made eating them difficult and frustrating. I don't think I had a single one that didn't either break apart in my chopsticks or leave half of their contents in the tub of sauce. They just didn't warrant the $6 for the appetizer.

Now...Tom Yum's got a little bit of swagger to them. I like swagger. Not only do they bill themselves as they place to see and be seen, but their spices run medium, hot, and "Thai" hot...because regular hot just isn't hot enough. I decided to try the Pad Thai, if only because it’s a common dish that I can use as a baseline—the way I use General Tso’s Chicken as a baseline dish when I check out a new Chinese takeaway place. Having seen from other reviews that the chef is liberal with her spicing, I played it safe and went for the medium option, and I was glad I did. For $8, the portion was decent and the heat was present during and after a bite—but it wasn’t overpowering, nor did it have me scrambling for water after each bite. The noodles weren’t overdone and mushy, and the chicken tasted like white meat cuts. The spring roll was standard. Not bad, but not special, really.  Soup would have been better, I suspect.

Admittedly, based on lunch reactions, Tom Yum was decent for the entrée. The appetizer and side item left a lot to be desired, but I didn’t go there for appetizers and sides. Also, given that they seem to play a bit more upscale in terms of atmosphere and decor, I suspect I’ll stop by to dine in for dinner some night. Still, for a fast lunch order of Pad Thai, Tom Yum Thai hit the mark.

Havana Grill: Delivery from a bad roll on Urbanspoon

I wanted a cigarette after seeing Chef...
but I bought a Panini maker..

So I saw Jon Favreau's Chef two months ago. Let’s be honest, the film was as much a food porn film (I mean honestly…the scene where Favreau’s Carl Casper made the grilled cheese sandwich only needed a slow bow-chick-a groove in the background as he pushed the bread around the grill) as it was a travel narrative. …And the fact that I bought a Panini press after seeing it (no, seriously...right from the theater to Target) is irrelevant...for the most part.

Don’t judge me…

Casper mounts his comeback by starting a food truck, featuring Cuban sandwiches, so I fell victim to some subliminal programming of my own as I fired up the Urbanspoon app and went looking for a lunch place yesterday. Originally, after my disappointing visit to Los Tres Maguyres, I wanted to hit another Mexican place. I had this whole idea of a review series—the Mexican standoff. Imagine, a series of reviews of Mexican places in town. So I went hunting in Urbanspoon—Cary, Mexican, one dollar sign—and found La Casa de Las Encilhadas.

Sorry, folks, restaurant's closed. The
app should have told ya...

Remember that scene in National Lampoon’s Vacation when the Griswolds arrive at Wally World…only to find it closed? Sadly, no one told Urbanspoon that La Casa de Las Encilhadas had closed…and not as in “not open today” closed, but empty-building, sale-sign-in-the-parking-lot, vinyl-couches-next-to-the-dumpster closed. There wasn't even a moose out front I could punch. I guess, though, I stood in for the bespectacled fat guy, I suppose.

Fat man + hunger + food denial = A rather…urgent spin on Urbanspoon. Enter Havana Grill…and that little voice in my head that said “hey…we never did have a Cuban sandwich after we saw Chef.” I was there five minutes later.

Havana Grill is nestled just outside downtown Cary—part indoor, part outdoor, with a food truck parked in the back. From the parking lot, I could hear the blasting of brass instruments and Spanish vocals. Walking inside, I saw a Hispanic couple at one of the tables. Minority test: passed. The restaurant seems divided into three main areas: the service/ordering area, a small indoor dining area, and a larger outdoor dining area. The indoor dining area was a bit warm, especially for summer, but I wrote it off as part of the Cuban theming—a humid, subtropical environment to accompany the food.

The restaurant is designed for fast service—with a hot line for sides and a kitchen in the back. The menu was considerably expansive, but I ran on instinct: Cuban sandwich with fries and a soft drink. About five minutes later, I had food. The fries were decent, but it’s hard to mess fries up. The real star was the sandwich.

I actually had to wait a few minutes for the sandwich to cool down before I could handle it. I had no problem with this. Hot food (and the wait to cool) is always better than cold food from a kitchen. The cheese had melted off the bun and onto the wax paper. At the risk of going into ignorant American mode, let’s be honest: the Cuban is a pressed ham and cheese sandwich with a little more pork, crusty bread and pickles.

This little piggy's going in mah belleh...

…but ham and cheese sandwiches are awesome…and I love pickles.

Havana Grill didn’t disappoint. The pickle and mustard provided just the right bite to play off the ham and swiss, and the bread was toasted and firm, but not overdone. The sandwich was served with a garnish of fried onions on top…which I wasn’t quite sure what to do with. The cheese had melted and solidified around the bread, mixing with the butter from the toasting process. For my first Cuban, it met every expectation set by its predecessor on the big screen.

With the sandwich gone, I decided to indulge the urge for tres leches cake that Los Tres Meguyres had denied me the day before. Now again, Havana Grill looks to be a fast-service place, so the cake had been pre-sliced and served in a Styrofoam bowl with cellophane covering it. While this might give a moment to pause…anything that lets the cake marinate in sweetened milk more is just fine for me.  The cake was well-soaked, but it wasn’t mushy or overly soggy. Likewise, I found it really sweet (I made the comment via social media that my ‘beetus got the ‘beetus from it), but it might be too sweet for some.

Havana Grill stepped in to save me from the disappointment or a bad Urbanspoon roll. The food was exceptional (and I’ll be back some time, to try other things), the price was decent ($5 for my Cuban), and the tres leches cake could put an elephant into a sugar coma.

Los Tres Magueyes: "Service? We Don't Need No Stinking Service!"

Once upon a time, I was trying to write a doctoral dissertation. And like many would-be writers before me, I chose a coffee shop to blankly stare at the screen of my Macbook Pro--Caribou Coffee in Cary. For almost a month, I drove down, found a seat in the store, spread out my research, and tried to think of an idea that would please my dissertation advisor (spoiler alert: none of them did). Across the street was Los Tres Magueyes. So a few months ago, a friend suggested dinner there on a Saturday night.

Now here’s the thing about fat guys (gay “bear” types especially): we travel in packs—large, hairy sleuths. So imagine several fat guys walking into a restaurant with three tables and the rest of the seating as booths. The hostess wanted to put us in a corner booth…one that would have made me channel my inner Lilias Folan to slide into…and I was the smallest of the guys in the party.

…So we went elsewhere for dinner.

However, I wanted to get some fodder to write about. Since I’m trying to break out of patterns, I’ve learned about Urbanspoon’s “shake” feature. Imagine a fat man’s dream slot machine. Select an area of the city, select a genre/category, select a price range…and shake—random selections. I locked in for a one-dollar sign restaurant in Cary, and Los Tres Magueyes came up. Why not?

The space is small and cramped. I wasn’t just having a bad memory from hunger when I went in yesterday. Seating is mostly booths, with a few free-standing tables. The décor…is colorful…if by “colorful” you mean that Disney World’s Enchanted Tiki Room and a Chi-Chi’s had a tacky baby. Mexican art blends with bright colors and parrots in a sensory assault that makes you wonder if there’s not LSD in the salsa.

I was seated fast, and a waitress had a menu in front of me within moments of my arrival…as well as a demand for my order. I barely had time to look at the menu (much less find the lunch specials) before she wanted my order. After bartering for a moment of time, I settled in on the fajita burrito and turned my attention to the chips and salsa.

When I do ethnic food, I try to use some kind of dish as a baseline—a means to compare restaurants fairly. With Mexican places, salsa (or if I’m looking to agitate my colon, queso) is usually my baseline. And I’ll give Los Tres Magueyes this—the salsa is decent. It’s largely a tomato puree with onions, cilantro, and spices, but at least it’s fresh and not the soupy, cooked stuff. The fajita burrito was also good. Obviously, the meat was pre cooked, to make lunch service faster, but the spicing was solid, and it didn’t taste like it was in a warmer all afternoon. They’re at least taking measures to keep it moist. The burrito is served “wet” style, with queso and a red sauce poured over it. The rice was average. There was a little hint of tomato and spices in it, but nothing special. At the same time, it wasn’t bad.

I was about ready to order a tres leches cake when my waitress walked by with a fresh drink and my check. Before I could even order the cake, she walked out the door facing the street. So I waited….and waited… After five minutes, it was obvious that she wasn’t out on a smoke break, and my meal was over. Not a good way to conclude the experience.  This was further compounded when the guy at the register acted like checking me out was a chore that interrupted him from other things.

In spite of a lukewarm first impression, I went back to Los Tres Magueyes on a whim, and I’m largely ambivalent here. The food’s okay, the décor looks like a Mexican Willy Wonka film, but the human factor is just lacking. From my waitress leaving in mid-meal to the surly cashier, poor service just brings anything they could bring to the table.