Peter Luger? You can have it. Grand Central Oyster Bar? Good luck. The places featured on this show just happen to be institutions. They just happen to be old. Newer, more ... pragmatic enterprises couldn't or wouldn't do what they're doing. Most -- if not all -- of the places featured on this episode are dinosaurs, among the last of mostly extinct herds who, once long ago, ruled New York's concrete jungle. But these remaining eateries, though perhaps no longer "culturally relevant," and certainly not "hip" -- and about as far from "trendy" or "hot" as anything could be, are in fact what make New York special. All are still great after all these years.

I contend they deserve love and respect from anyone serious about food or about having a good time. Good food is always "relevant." Manganaro's Grosseria and the awesome time warp of a French restaurant, Le Veau D'Or are businesses who would very likely be more profitable selling sneakers or tube socks or designer cupcakes. They hang on -- in a particularly unfriendly economic climate -- for the simple reason that they're owned by magnificently stubborn people who happen to own their buildings. Manganaro's is a bit of vintage Italian-America that people raised on a more al dente, post-Batali, Northern-inflected, lightly sauced, meatball-free, an Italian might not appreciate. But it's a vital step back in time, another world, and an essential one to remember and to cherish.

If you don't like the spaghetts with red sauce and meatballs in the back dining area at Manganaro's? If you don't "get it?" You're just not drinking enough red wine. There is better French food in New York these days than what they're serving at Le Veau D'Or. But if you can't have one of the kooky-great times of your life at this absolutely untouched by time frog pond -- with its delightfully irony-free, 60-year-old menu? Then you really have no true love for French food -- and certainly nothing resembling a heart. It's the bistro that time forgot -- a last link to a golden age of tableside carving, curly parsley as state of the art garnish and desserts seen last in the pages of the Larrousse Gastronomique. Snobs will no doubt carp that Katz's has been covered to death on TV and in films -- and they will groan (accurately enough) that every damn lazy-ass food writer from elsewhere, looking to cover the "real" New York (in an afternoon) will write about their few bites of pastrami at this downtown institution, make a few oblique and obligatory "When Harry Met Sally" references and move on. But there's a reason Marco Pierre White, for instance, loves the place -- and why so many people keep going back: not JUST because they "don't make 'em like that anymore" -- but because it's damn good pastrami. Period.

The herring and smoked and cured fish they sell at Russ & Daughters would be just as desirable if the store were a spanking new gourmet shop -- instead of a century old institution which grew up from a street cart. The product speaks for itself. Russ & Daughters occupies that rare and tiny place on the mountaintop reserved for those who are not just the oldest and the last -- but also the best. I do make allowances for personal history, for the sentimental attachments and willful blindness that comes with growing up with a particular kind of food. At Hop Kee in Chinatown, I was -- before moving on to the more delicious and authentic delights of the "phantom menu" (supposedly reserved for Chinese patrons) -- unable to resist the charms of the clunky, corn-starchy kwailo classics I first encountered as a kid. It had been a long, long time since I'd had an egg roll, or won ton soup, or a scary-bright sweet and sour pork -- and by this time, after having eaten all over China, Hong Kong, Singapore and Taiwan -- that old style "not really Chinese" stuff had become genuinely exotic again. For those of you less inclined to nostalgia, I highly recommend the whole flounder and the crabs.

The show closes talking about the changing face of drinking in New York with the dangerously talented, equally dangerous to know Nick Tosches. He's written some of the greatest biographies ever (on Dean Martin, Sonny Liston, Jerry Lee Lewis) among other good works, all of which which I strongly urge you to check out. "Legend" is not an inappropriate word to use when describing Tosches. His book "Hand of Dante" is, I think, the only novel I've ever seen published with a cautionary band and parental advisory outside the jacket.

And while I'm referring you elsewhere, may I suggest clicking on the "Meet The Crew" feature on this site? Getting to know a little about the incredible mix of talented people who produce, direct, shoot and edit NO RESERVATIONS will, I think, explain a lot about why it's so different from every other food or travel show. The "Crew Blog" and "Ask the Crew" sections are also of interest to anyone wanting to understand the highs, and lows and technical arcania of the Chanko Experience.

Lastly, I want to thank Augusto Elefano for getting my sorry ass to finally make the trip to the Philippines. I would not have done it without his final push. He and his family were lovely to me and my crew -- and the fact that they were a bit shy with cameras jammed in their faces -- if anything -- speaks well of them. I'd rather a shy, thoughtful guy, telling me something real about himself than an "expert" professional anytime. Thanks as well, to Claude, Ivan and special shout out to MarketMan -- whose preparations for the Cebu lechon extravaganza made the filming of Apocalypse Now look quick and easy.

I'm all too aware of the fact that the country is made up of over seven THOUSAND islands and that I visited exactly two of them. The food is intensely regional ... I mean, even the difference between the food in Manila and Pampanga -- only a couple of hours away --is striking. So I missed ... a lot.

I'm very aware of how many Filipino fans we have -- and how enthusiastic they are about us (finally) covering their country. I wanted very badly to do a good job on this one. But I fear there's no way we got it "right."

Not that I didn't have a great time. I did.

For one thing, I settled a karmic debt of sorts: Augusto Elefano, who'd argued so fervently for his country of ancestry on the previous season's FAN-atic special had been sent home short of the prize after a brutal interrogation at my hands. Impressed by his zeal and feeling guilty about smashing his hopes and dreams I felt that Cebu would be good to see through his eyes. So we packed him, his wife and baby daughter onto a plane -- and sent them off into TV Land.

What we did get right, I'm quite sure, was making sure that the amazing, porky delights of "sisig" got plenty of camera time. If you've never had this divine mosaic of pig parts, chopped and served sizzling and crisp on one side on a screaming hot platter, then you've yet to have one of the world's best beer drinking dishes. And speaking of pig? It can now be said that of all the whole roasted pigs I've had all over the world, the slow roasted lechon I had on Cebu was the best. This puts the standings in the Hierarchy of Pork as follows:

#1. Philippines

#2. Bali

#3. Puerto Rico

If nothing else, I hope that homesick Filipinos living abroad get a glimpse of some of the food and scenery they've no doubt been missing. And for viewers who weren't previously familiar with the wide and tasty spectrum of flavors available over there, I hope the sight of me shoving a lot of very tasty stuff into my maw provides -- if nothing else -- inspiration to look further.

Closer to home, I have a problem: My obsession with the HBO series "The Wire" is taking an unhealthy turn. I recently bought the DVD boxed set -- all 60 hours of the show -- as well as "The Corner" the previous six part mini-series by the same writer/producers. I'm rewatching them all from beginning to end and just can't stop. It's like if I watch them closely, I'll somehow figure out how writing can be so good -- how an ensemble of mostly little known actors and a mammoth, wildly ambitious progression of story arcs can make a whole city come vividly, tragically alive. It's funny, exciting, excrutiatingly sad and always, always feels real. I can't tear myself away.

Gotta go. Omar and Brother Monzon are making their move on Stringer Bell ... I love this part.

With Monday night's special, FOOD PORN, "encouraging such a concern" is exactly what we were going for. Just swap the word "food" for "sexual."

The old definition of "obscenity" was material which knowingly or intentionally inspires "prurient interest," which has "no redeeming or artistic value" and that was pretty much the plan here. To make the most obscene, graphic, explicit and content-free hour of television ever attempted -- without (technically) depicting sexual matters -- or even using profanity. It's something food programming has been dodging around the edges of since its inception -- and I thought: Why mess around?

The rules of food TV and the rules of porn are so strikingly similar, why not get STRAIGHT TO THE ACTION as they say on your On Demand menu in every major hotel chain. Forget about the "walk-in," to "set-up," the "story!" Who are we kidding? Food Net has built an empire by shrewdly and accurately anticipating that no one really cares how to make the damn dish or where it came from or why it was created. They just want to see some brightly colored close-ups of the stuff before it disappears into the face of somebody/anybody wearing a low-cut leotard.

Another area of interest to me and my evil co-conspirators at Zero Point Zero International was the subject of "standards and practices." Where is the line between acceptable and unacceptable for broadcast purposes? How far could we go -- if we avoided all classic profanity and any frank depictions of bodily or sexual functions? Well ...we found out on this episode, it turns out that the word or term itself doesn't have to be obscene. But if the lawyers, unfamiliar with an expression, look it up on Wikipedia and find it refers to an activity so disturbing as to frighten old people or small children, then it's out. We have certainly skirted this issue before with limited success. I generally use what I call the "Homer Simpson Rule": If Homer can say it -- on broadcast television -- in prime time -- then we should be able to cover the same territory at 10 PM with a parental advisory. Sadly, it turns out, not always so.

FOOD PORN is a revenge of sorts -- for everything that ever ended up on the cutting room floor. The filthiest, nastiest hour of television we could get away with. And yet -- utterly wholesome! We ain't doing nothin' that Giada, Rachael and Sandra ain't been doin' for years, officer!

It's also, honestly, a chronicle of the most outrageously over-the-top dishes we've ever seen or tasted. For the tiny fragment of our audience who are concerned with such details, look for ZPZ graphics genius Adam Lupsha playing the Boogie Nights-style horny soundman and executive producer Chris Collins as infamous director, "Tad Chanko." Maybe you know him from such films as "Butt Masters 7," "Lumberjack Facials 2" and "Norwegian Wood?" Okay. Maybe not.

It's also worth noting that chefs Eric Ripert, Alan Wong, Jose Andres, Martin Picard, David Chang and Terrance Brennan and chocolatier Alan Down showed enormous generosity and a real sense of humor by submitting to our cruel misuse of their names, reputations and good works

Thank you!

In the bad old days of the culture wars, when the "Forces of Darkness" had aligned against the "Forces of Goodness and Light," Chicago was a key battleground and an early, crucial loss for the good guys. Foie gras had been declared illegal and the ensuing ripples of fear spread cross country. Gutless, craven punks everywhere deserted their comrades like Vichy shopkeepers while animal "activists" terrorized chefs' families and children, vandalized businesses, and strong-armed retailers. But even though chefs like Wolfgang Puck -- for instance -- suddenly discovered their preference for fluffy cute ducks over their fellow chefs or their traditions and headed for the lifeboats, a few lone heroes stood tall, proudly extending a stiff middle finger at the advancing horde.
Doug Sohn, owner/proprietor of Chicago's magnificent emporium of all things meat in tube-form (basically a lunchtime freakin' Hot Dog joint) was just such a hero. After Chicago alderman Joe Moore slipped his own proverbial weiner into the body politic, ramming through legislation forbidding the sale of foie in the city, Sohn created an homage of sorts, the "Joe Moore" dog, a duck, foie gras and Sauternes sausage topped with truffled foie gras and Dijon mustard sauce, selling it in flagrant, open defiance of the law. It was the opening shot of what turned out to be a winning strategy: making the anti-foie gras forces look just so utterly ridiculous that the law was eventually overturned and balance returned to the universe.

(For a detailed account of this epic struggle, with a full accounting of who was good, bad, principled, hypocritical, cowardly or heroic when the chips were down, read Chicago Tribune reporter Mark Caro's excellent and illuminating "The Foie Gras Wars" (Simon and Schuster 2009).

I'm ambivelent about a lot of places, but I am unrestrained in my love for Chicago. Only Chicago could convince me that the New York hot dog was not, in fact, anywhere near the apex of the hot dog arts.(The Chicago Red Hot deserves that honor) . Two respectably old school baseball teams, great, great bars, a tradition of unapproachably good and important music, its own, truly imposing style of architecture, an attitude both big city wise-ass and heartland lack of bullshit, a city open to the bestand most excessive/creative of new, experimental cooking styles, loaded with great chefs (many of whom are pals), it's simply another place I'll use any excuse to visit. Tonight's episode was just such an excuse.

And did I mention all the fantastic looking films shot in Chicago? (See Michael Mann's "Thief", Haskell Wexler's "Medium Cool" et al). I suspect I'll be hearing the "But what about...?" and the "How could you feature Chicago and not go to...." complaints from enthusiastic locals. I already received one e-mail, incredulous that I didn't go to Pizzeria Uno (!!). To which I replied, "What show have YOU been watching? Clearly, not mine." I guess the best thing I could say is that this show is about a slice or two of MY Chicago. Not yours. And speaking of slices? Sorry, but generally speaking, your pizza blows. The generic "deep dish" stuff? At worst, it's "tomato/cheese pie"--or maybe "egg-less tomato quiche"--or "pizza for people who just aren't fat enough". But pizza? Deep dish is pizza like Olive Garden is Italian.

But I ate something truly delicious on camera at Burt's. I don't know that I'd call it "pizza". Whatever Burt's selling? It's something.... special. Some kind of crusty, tomatoey, cheesy....casserole or something--with delightfully fresh toppings. The crust is what really sets it apart from the rest. And Burt, of course, is exactly the sort of rugged, go-your own way individual I like to see succeed anywhere. If you're planning a visit to Chicago, go buy whatever that stuff is he's making. It's great.

On NO RESERVATIONS, we try and NOT do a lot of high end, expensive restaurants. Exceptions--generally speaking--are when they're just too damn good or unique to ignore. Doing a Napa Valley show, for instance, and NOT visiting the French Laundry would be ignoring the elephant in the room (and one of the best restaurants in the world). Likewise, L20's Laurent Gras is a chef of terrifying talent. Every minute of the last couple of years that he's been without a base of operations, his fellow chefs have been holding their breath, waiting for him to land somewhere. Let's put it this way: When Eric Ripert heard we were going to shoot at Laurent's new restaurant in Chicago, he immediately volunteered himself as third wheel at dinner. Flew out and stayed over on his own dime. So when you see the scene at L20 and ask yourself the quite reasonable question, "What the hell is Eric Ripert doing on a Chicago show?" the answer is "eating really, really well." And it's not just another fancy meal. It's something really special.

I've long been a huge fan of Paul Kahan's restaurants, Blackbird and Avec. We visited neither on the show, instead dragooning Paul and his whole posse of talented chefs into whipping up a backyard barbeque. We'd been in danger of being a little light on the "pork factor" on this show. Paul set us right.

I do regret all the places I love in Chicago that we didn't get to feature on the show. As much as I like the Rainbow Club, Pippin's, Matchbox, Green Mill, I don't know how interesting it would be watching me just drinking (again) on television. The cost of allowing any recognizable music on the show precludes most live preformances or even ambient jukeboxes. I like and support Ric Tramonto (another hero of the Foie Gras battles) and enjoy his restaurants but he's not on the show either. Missed the famous "Italian Beef" but we've been on something of a beef sandwich jag lately--in Baltimore and Buffalo and that might have been a beef too far.

In our defense, we have introduced the Southside delicacy, the "Mother In Law Sandwich" to the world--something even most Chicagoans I know were completely unaware of. It is a truly magnificent mutation of which the city can be truly proud. Screw Pizzeria Uno. All Hail Fat Johnnie's!