Buffa's Buffet: 5 things on my mind

Ladies and gentlemen, the weekend!

Friday has arrived and I have a few things to say, so silence the phone and pay attention. I am only going to write this once.

Did you go to Edibles and Essentials one last time before they close up shop at nine o’clock tonight? If not, silence this article and go eat. Better yet, order 3-4 small plates and dive right back in. By the time my buffet is over, Matt Borchardt’s feast will begin.

Truly, he’s one of the best chefs in this city, if not the best. His food takes older recipes and helps them evolve, never fearing taste with each service, each of which felt personal and beyond.

When you go to a food joint enough times, a short hand is developed. Something that you do that signifies a whole lot. Every time I passed through those doors and found my place in line, a look to the kitchen to find a hustling and bustling Matt firing up plates would be met with a nod and a wink. The sly smile would follow.

Those are the things I’ll miss. My wife will miss them more. She lit up whenever we went, like great food replaced limitless penny slots. Matt’s lovely wife, Mary Beth, would set up shop at the counter on weekend nights. Hugs and smiles were exchanged, and a relationship was forged.

Nothing wild. Just a connection between patrons and restauranteurs. That’s the foundation of eating local. The food can be marvelous, but the people will always be better. Mark, Jen, Jess, Brandon, and the whole crew. That’s what you miss.

Will I miss the fried ribs, cherry smoked and breaded like Bobby Flay can only dream about? Yes! Will I dream about the seemingly endless stack of French fries that could fill three people in one order? Yes, but get a second order for the new true crime series on Netflix you’ll watch later.

The roast beef sandwich was a mainstay on the menu for a long time, beating anything The Hill could offer. Ciabatta protected, Havarti cheese, horseradish, lettuce as thinly slice as the beef; it was perfect. The flour on the bread could still be felt on the finger tips near the end of the meal.

The food is one thing. The good eggs are another. Cheers to a wonderful restaurant. Seven years strong, Borchardt departs to feed the good folks over at Ronald MacDonald House.

Thankfully, I just ate there. Let’s keep going with other stuff, such as the neighborhood St. Louis Blues.

Craig Berube and company have stunk it up. Point a finger. Use more than one finger. Make sure they all tip their beaks towards the entire roster. The Blues will not be a playoff team this year unless a miracle happens. Vladimir Tarasenko, Ryan O’Reilly, and Ivan Barbashev all have new homes.

St. Louis collected two first round picks from those transactions, which G.M. Doug Armstrong could use to leverage a big trade near the deadline, or even after the season finishes this summer. More players could before the buzzer sounds on in-season trades, except for Colton Parayko and Torey Krug.

How do you know a contract stinks like White Castles left out in the Forest Park sun? When it can’t be dealt. You bet your ass Dougie tried to wheel and deal those overpaid and/or declining defensemen. It couldn’t be done. The Blues aren’t rebuilding completely folks. There’s too many big contracts still out there to be doing that.

Tom Stillman wouldn’t be paying Parayko, Krug, Jordan Kyrou, Robert Thomas, and Jordan Binnington big money over a long period of time if he was going turn this operation into the Pittsburgh Pirates of hockey. The Blues swing a modest deal and use the offseason right, and 2023-24 carries a good shot.

They weren’t good enough this year. Next year is a different story. Chin up and drink some bourbon. Try John Wick’s preferred malt: Blantons.

The elusive and nearly impossible to kill hitman hits theaters with its fourth chapter on March 24. Unlike 98% of sequels, Mr. Wick’s adventures get better, and more action-savvy outrageous, with each entry. That’s a skill that most studios try badly to emulate, but fail to accomplish in the end.

What sets the Wick movies apart are the action choreography and stunt work from Keanu Reeves and a dedicated cast. We’re not just talking karate and heavy loads of Ju Jitsu; throw extensive gunplay and knife work to the “party” of this anti-hero.

He does a lot of killing for someone we’re supposed to root for, but they killed his fucking dog, so who really cares? If you do, well good for you.

On Wednesday, I concluded my “I have no clue” binge of Cinemax’s scruffy gem, Banshee. Television, or the movies, had never seen anything like it before its premiere in 2013. The action was Wick level or better, messier and tactical all at once. There was plenty of sex, too. For some, this was probably a stopping point.

Oh my, a husband and wife enjoying a good screw during the day. Good for them! A prison-torn couple having some sexy time after 15 years apart. It fit the aesthetic of Jonathan Tropper’s vision. Greg Yaitanes, Adam Targum, OC Madsen, Loni Peristere, and many other storytellers got to play.

The show knew when to cut and run. After a layered pleasure of a fourth and final season, where the surprises kept coming until the final fight, Banshee shut its doors with a story that Tropper always had in his head.

Show some self-respect and binge it on HBO Max.

Want something different? Bryan Cranston and Michael Stuhlbarg are astoundingly good in the Showtime series that you can catch on the soon-to-be merging Paramount Plus network. Crooked judges, deadly gangsters, ambitious cops, unfortunate events, and endless drama stacks up on this show, currently in its second season.

It’s more subtle, yet intense in its own right, than a Monday in Banshee, Pennsylvania.

One last thing. Eat good food. Smoke some fine herb. Find some peace in this fast-moving and unforgiving world. Steal a piece for yourself, and see how it far it takes you. Don’t let anyone tell you what you can or can’t do. Build your own walls.

Goodnight.