Promises, Promises

Well hello there. I know I've been elusive and the entire internet was on the verge of collapse without my blog. I'm sorry, dear reader. BUT GREAT NEWS - I'm finished with graduate school! Well, almost... I still have unpaid fieldworks until December-ish, meaning any hopes of this blog becoming classy will have to wait until AT LEAST next calendar year.

Because right now this is the amount of class I have.

Class being inversely related to money borrowed from the government and parents.

But hooray me! I'm not worried at all.
Anyway, here is a run down of some posts I **promise** over the next few weeks:

• Extra Virgin
• Red Farm
• Sofrito
• Apiary
• Big Gay Ice Cream
• Nomville: A Tribute to Nashville
• Stone Park Cafe
• Smorgasburg
• Big Apple BBQ 2012
• much more .... well maybe

Speaking ze Smorgasburg, I ran into the most AMAZING greeting card maker yesterday at a flea market on N 7th in Williamsburg. I think everyone should take a peek at her website (her being Sam) : supergrEATgreetings.com. I'm obsessed with her cards (and a little bit with Sam) and hope you will be too.

So stay tuned and SUBSCRIBE!

I'm Going Going Back Back to Back Forty FORTAYYYY

What up home slices? I know, I've been neglectful as per usual. In my defense I was stuck in a few extra days Florida due to the hurricane.... two months ago..... err yea...


Anyway, jumping to something completely different, fall might not be my favorite season, however it is a great time of year for brunch. Yes, I'm sure that I've written that about every other time of year, but just roll with it. While Manhattan is a large borough, my favorite 'hood for a cup of coffee and something delicious on a Sunday at high noon is the East Village/LES. Maybe it's just my favorite area in general because I fit in with the ironic twentysomethings that teeter the line between hipster and awkwardly amazing. Ray-bans, Vampire Weekend, and MK watches anyone?


Unfortunately, there's a lot of hungry hipsters, hippies, homies, happies, and hippos in the EV. After once being told that the wait for Clinton St. Baking Co. was "hours" - no not an hour, not two hours, just "hours"- I decided I needed a plan. I suddenly had an epiphany - why put your name on one list when you can put it on two? So that's what I did. First stop, as always, was Prune. Hour and a half wait? No biggie, I had already planned to run the 15 or so blocks to Back Forty and attempt to get in there. I may not be religious but God/Buddha/Allah/Tom Cruise must have known the extent of my hunger because at 12:15pm on a Sunday I was able to get a table for two RIGHT AWAY. No, I'm not kidding. I couldn't believe it either.


Scanning the menu caused a little confusion - do I want eggs? No no, maybe a burger? Maybe some doughnuts? why does EVERYTHING sound so good? PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER WOMAN! I took a deep breath and was finally able to find exactly what I was looking for: Brisket with a yucca hash. Amazing, and also a nice deviation from the usual corn pancake pairing. Focusing my energy on rearranging my utensils, I anxiously waited for the first bite. Delicious. The brisket fell apart with the touch of my fork. Perfectly fried eggs sat atop the dish, longing to be blended into the brisket, yucca, bread and red onion mixture. Each bite was divine. Chris had ordered the soft scrambled eggs and romesco with peas, sweet corn, ricotta, and bread. Perfectly cooked eggs with a balance of sweet and salty from the corn, peas and ricotta. It was delicious, but mine was better.


And for that, Back Forty, I thank you. Even though I know next week you'll probably have at least an hour wait and I'll be forced to run around the EV.

'Tis the Voice of the Lobster

Lewis Carroll has nothing on me.... well maybe a famed writing career, mathematical conquests, and a myth about pedophiliac suggestions in his literature. But, I am better off than Lewis Carroll. You may at this point be asking for a sense of relevancy and be thinking "what the fuck". Let me explain:
I live in the present. I am able to eat at Ed's Lobster Bar. Lewis Carroll does and is not. Therefore, I am better. A simple axiom.

After scouring Michelin's Bib Gourmand list, lobster seemed the be a perfect treat on a hot summer day. Since I'm not white enough to have a summer house in Maine, Ed's would have to do. A small storefront across from the 6 train, the restaurant has a 1950's soda bar feel to the decor - pristine, homey, and inviting. The menu consists of various shellfish items, with a section dedicated to all things lobster. Yum.

Some may find it hard to decide between the shelly choices, but I knew immediately what I wanted - a lobster roll. Not ordering one would have been like leaving half a pint of beer unfinished. You just don't do that.

While lobster rolls are some of my favorite goodies, I haven't had one that satiated me quite the way James Hook & Co in Boston had.... that is, until now. One thing was for sure - SIZE MATTERS. Ed's was great AND there's enough to fill you - unlike some other great lobster rolls that are meagerly sized and leave you frustrated, wanting more. The roll was buttered and crisped to perfection. The lobster meat was ample. Vinegar soaked pickles and a side of fries accompanied the roll. The pickles were a nice acidic cut to the fattiness of the lobster roll. I also tried some of my friend's lobster pot pie, which was basically flakey pastry in lobster bisque awesomeness. A little salty but sooooo yummy.

Since the waiter/bartender was super nice, I trusted his dessert suggestion. We had an ice cream sandwich which was basically homemade vanilla ice cream on the same buttered roll used for the lobster roll. Yes mom, ice cream on a buttered roll. While it may not have been the healthiest thing I've eaten, it definitely was delicious.

Now reader, I do my research. I've seen some mixed reviews online about the lobster rolls, but TRUST ME. I'd almost never let you down.

Challenge Accepted.

Each year, I await the day that I wake up with a present so marvelous and enticing, the previous night's sleep is interrupted. No, I'm not talking about Christmas. I gave up on Santa around age 3 (the guy in the red suit at our holiday dinner looked a little too much like my father). No, no.. not my birthday... I'm talking about the release of the NYC Michelin Guide.

While I would love to eat wagyu beef and a rack of lamb at Le Bernardin, I have to keep myself on somewhat of a budget. Never to fear reader, Michelin loves all types of people, including poor hippies who want to work with children like myself. Enter: Michelin Bib Gourmand.

Never heard of it? Well I am EXTREMELY sorry. Putting it lightly, your life must suck.

Bib Gourmand is Michelin's list of delicious restaurants that average $40 or less per meal. Now that I have some time off from school, I've decided to try some restaurants on the list. I know I'm a flakey blogger but I will try to keep you posted on my adventures.

Emphasis on the "try" -- I need to improve my Words with Friends skills.

Brunch: A Modern Marvel

On random Sundays, I force my boyfriend to take me to brunch so I can eat eggs and some of whatever he ordered at 1pm to nurse my hangover. Brunch is one of the best creations modern man has ever constructed. Some other things in the category with brunch naturally include the wheel, the internet, the light bulb, and Toddlers and Tiaras. Obviously.

This past Sunday began no different than any other brunch Sunday. I woke from my dream of sugar plums (with a side of cornbread hash) dancing in my head, planned to annoy Chris until he woke up, and pondered how I wanted my eggs. Did I even want eggs? Maybe I'd go for more the "unch" side. Or maybe I'd get some french toast. Who knows! That's the crazy thing about brunch, you could have anything you want. Oh brunch....

Now, I do owe you a brunch themed week so I can banter about all of the glorious things I have eaten early Sunday afternoons but right now, I'm just going to focus on my most recent endeavor: Cookshop.

You might be thinking "what an adorable name!" as I did. That's because Cookshop is a happy place and happy places are named happy names. Some of you may remember my Five Points mishap. Since I wanted to redeem myself and Cookshop is also owned by Marc Meyer, Vicki Freeman and Chris Paraskevaides, I felt that this was my chance.

After scanning the menu and having a mini-crisis about what to order - eggs or french toast OH THE PRESSURE! - I decided on the Cookshop Scramble (caramelized onions, creme fraiche, chives, and pork sausage with a buttermilk biscuit) and Chris ordered walnut-raisin french toast with vanilla-mascarpone cream, toasted almonds, and strawberries. "They had me at mascarpone," he joked. Comments like that are why we're together. Adorable.

While I acted interested in our conversation, all I really could focus on was taking that first bite. After all, it is my favorite of the bites. And then it came. Delicious. Though I probably could have put some of the scramble on the biscuit and eat it like a sandwich, I choose to cut it up and mix it in the goodness. Best decision I'd made in days. Naturally, I asked Chris for some of his food while trying to look as innocent as possible. It worked and the french toast was also freaking delicious.

I kind of wanted to hug the waitress, demand I meet the chef, and cry to him about how thankful my taste buds were... but you know, that's not socially acceptable.

Not yet anyway.

PS Cookshop is right across from the 20th st entrance to the Highline. Food and fun!

Ευχαριστώ, Pylos

You caught me. I lied to you, reader. I know I promised more frequent posts but I still made you wait.... patience is a virtue. I was clearly testing your authenticity as a human.

Now, as some of you may not know, I love all things Greek. From their affinity for the olive to my friend Constantine's ridiculously beautiful hair - the Greeks could teach us Americans a thing or two about living the good life. So when my friend shared that we were going to Pylos for her birthday, I was ecstatic... maybe a little too much. These are new friends, I should try to hide the odd side of me. But Pylos? COME ON! Ever since my sister moved to the East Village, I've been waiting for the day I'd eat at Pylos. I was excited.

I met my friends - and besides for the self-loathing woman next to us out for her anniversary with the husband she clearly abhorred - all was perfect. Once our Greek friend arrived, we were ready to order. Think I'd go without a Greek? Yea, okay. Now, I cannot stress how effing delicious each morsel was. For appetizers, we shared a little of everything with one another since we all were gaga over the dishes. My personal favorites were the anginares moussaka (artichoke moussaka) and soutzoukakia smyrneika (awesome meatball things, yea don't try to pronounce it - that's why we invited a Greek). As per my friend's suggestion, I ordered the arni kotsi me meli, gigantes skordalia kai psiti tomata, which roughly translates into huge lamb shank awesomeness with bean puree and ridiculous roasted tomatoes. So maybe I added an adjective or two. You get the point.

I had to leave dinner early to visit my newly engaged friend and oogle her ring. I was a little sad.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The Day I Broke My Own Heart

Oh reader... Reader, reader, reader. Some times even the smartest of people, like myself, make the biggest mistakes. Not since one of the few times I faked a "go with the flow" attitude which led to me and my friends missing our flight to New Orleans have I been so disappointed in myself - in case you're wondering, we made it on the next flight and it was awesome.



Last Friday, I decided to meet my boyfriend for dinner after I coerced my sister into picking up a dress for me and was going to "meet her" to help her travel home. Obviously I needed to eat before I could help her carry my packages. Chris and I wandered into Five Points after ogling the menu on menupages. Thank (insert name of respective Higher Power here), for smart phones! As we debated whether or not to sit inside or out, something wonderful happened...... I smelled something amazing and instantly I smiled. White truffles. I'd always recognize that smell.

We sat down at one of the tables by the bar and glanced at the menu. Potato and truffle pizza? Why did that sound familiar? Did I really want pizza? Could I even eat something that heavy and still fit into the dress that I had to track down in two states and three boroughs? No.... I was no longer intrigued by the truffle dish, my mind had jumped to another entrée that sounded awesome. We ordered the frito misto for an appetizer, Chris had the spinach pizza with crescenza cheese, pecorino cheese, and garlic confit, and I ordered the homemade semolina spaghetti, with littleneck clams, white wine, and chili. I was excited. Semolina is basically my middle name and I LOVE clams.

Then it happened - I felt regret... the same regret I felt when I decided not to buy myself a Fendi while in Sicily back in 2005. I knew I'd never let myself down. The food came and it was delicious. The fritto misto had different veggies, shellfish, and cod. We ate, talked, and laughed, but I still felt a little saddened by my decision. Chris was supportive; it was difficult for him to turn down truffles too. I assured myself that it wasn't like I missed shaved black truffle... it was white truffle oil... totally different..

Our entrées arrived and they were delicious. The broth that the clams had been cooked in was a perfect compliment to the semolina pasta that tasted as if they stole a nonna and only let her eat if she sat in the back and made pasta all day. The waiter then came over to talk to us about desserts. Fine, Five Points. You and your fantastic food win. I'll stop my whining and enjoy my salted caramel gelato.

Five Points
31 Great Jones St
(between Lafayette St & Bowery)