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you know you must be a real vanguard of dining when the man next to you in line at the deli comments upon your breakfast selection as “hardcore.” my usual routine involves turkey bacon, tomato and mayo on whole wheat toast, hardly anything fantastic or exciting. if i’m feeling particularly daring, i’ll spring for a few hash browns that have been previously deep fried and left to sit in their own fishy flavored grease. (as gross as that sounds, it’s actually comforting!)

but no, today, due to the brisk temperature in nyc, i was inspired to get something far more bracing. stomach yearning for greatness, i, nay, it ordered a plate of yellow rice and roast pork, also known as pernil. there’s nothing more delicious than a slow roasted cut of pork, garlicky with tender meat. but the best part is the skin. i may be the most disgusting person ever to ask for “extra skin,” but the dominican men behind the counter applaud me for it. crunchy, large, substantial bites of fire kissed flesh melt down to something nearly intangible, leaving nothing but a delicious and salty reminder along your teeth.

right now i’m sitting here at work, my fingers slick with fat, my face lubricated with a smile. nothing could be more perfect…well, aside for the fact that i’m meeting friends for lunch at shake shack!

oh, it’s bad, my addiction to this spicy Korean version of ramen noodles – potato starchy, thick and bracing; what could be more soothing on a rainy november day? throw in a raw egg left to poach in the bright orange broth or some cubed tofu, maybe some straw mushroom and baby corn and you have a legitimate meal right there! i have a secret – something i learned from my sister’s ex, a very bad Korean boy who went to prison later for kidnapping some girl (false charges, actually): use as little water as possible so that the spice packet makes more of a sauce than a soup. oh yeah, you’ll pay for it later with ring sting and a burning butt but (!!!) life is too short to live on bland fettucine alfredo alone.

can’t stop won’t stop

or something

the venerable nyc institution that is snack shack, a humble stand located in madison square park, has been much ballyhooed and for good reason: amazing burgers and milkshakes and the rabid NYC pigeons that have no shame in their game. upon learning that this was still open on friday, i immediately recruited another mouth and we booked it south from our midtown work offices to find no lines in the brisk november winds. our wait was a laughable two minutes, those two minutes tacked on by a twat of a mother, wielding a caterwauling baby in a carriage who deftly cut ahead of us in line, pretending she didn’t know what the “b line” is. hey, stupid: if you’re going to avoid reading the copy on a condom, at least read the 100+ placards festooning the park advertising how you cannot get burgers or shakes on the express line: sodas only!

of course she ordered both.

but whatever, waiting a few extra seconds in the grand scheme of life was well worth it for the delicious, juicy slabs of meat tucked between sweet, buttery rolls and cheese. my tomatoes were beautiful and red, obviously ripe, not the wet styrofoam offerings that ring cheap salads. oh no. as i bit into my double cheeseburger, i realized that i was sampling a mouthful of heaven, second only perhaps to in & out (4×4 animal style, no onions, please!) in the fast food burger realm.

my only quibble? the “no trans fat” fries that tasted like reconstituted potatoes. sure, i had them with molten cheese but it didn’t salvage the mealiness of subpar fries. yes, virginia: momma is indeed afraid velveeta wolf. sated, happy, burger fattened, we wandered down fifth avenue in a haze of heart attack and grease. it’s what my doctor wants, i’m certain.

you ever have a meal that is so bad that you want to vomit and start all over? i’m seriously considering making like a chubby 18 year old girl and shoving two fingers down my throat after a horrendous brunch at lodge. we wanted to go to relish but alas, i live on the wrong side of bedford. damn you, NYC marathon, damn you! instead, we went to lodge, an eatery that has been failing as of late. never again will i extol its virtues. sean, if you are reading this, i’m sorry. you still owe me a burger, but let’s make sure it’s at dumont.

i ordered a burger rare, with gruyere and mushrooms. what arrived was an overcooked puck of meat with the wizened mushrooms inexplicably on a separate plate. oh, and when i asked for home fries, the server actually asked, “you know they’re not french fries, right?” what next, he will return and say, “you know, the burger is made of a cow, not a banana, right?”

my companion’s coffee was burnt, as was his steak. how do you ruin home fries? oversalt them and undercook the onions and peppers so that everything tastes like metal. i had to douse an entire bottle of tabasco onto everything but even that and a healthy spatter of ketchup could not rescue this failure.

i know, anthony bourdain says that brunch is a big fat joke and the food is usually rehashed leftovers (seafood fritatta is a bad idea) and the kitchen staff is full of hungover B-team line cooks. i know, the man is a professional. i know, he is right. why do i keep subjecting myself to “brunch” when i could have just gone to the supermarket and made something fresh and lovely at home? i don’t even mind doing dishes.

when we left, one of the staff said “enjoy the rest of your day” to my companion. his reply was, “i’m taking the first step in ensuring that…by leaving.”

last night i tried to make a reservation at dressler, the chic, more upscale (read: expensive) offering from the owners at dumont, but it was booked solid through 10pm. this must be due to its recent earning of a michelin star, but from what i’ve heard, the food is also fantastic. so i’ll try again next week and not on a saturday night. luckily, i was able to book a table at aurora (through opentable.com), the italian restaurant on grand with a gorgeous backyard garden area, so i considered the night salvaged. i’ve been there twice, but it was three years ago, but from what i recall, the food was stellar.

i let my dining companion select the wine (“just make sure it’s red,” was my only comment) since i didn’t want to emasculate him. he did a bang on job, as it was perfect – crisp and dry with a clean finish. of course i don’t remember the name. last time i was wowed by a bottle of wine, it was at marlow & sons, where i drunkenly used my cell phone to snap a photo of it so that i could remember in the morning.

when did i become an adult? i actually ordered on my own an appetizer of seared liver. liver. the foodstuff i deemed “vile” as a child, especially in conjunction with onions. well, my palate has matured, since i wound up sopping up the delicious sauce with bread, and spearing every piece of liver possible and eating it atop grilled crostini. we almost ordered the sweetbreads and foie gras special, which now i’m wondering about with the intensity of a schoolgirl crush. fie, next time.

for an entree, i went with my usual selection: papardelle with lamb ragu. this is what i’d had when i’d eaten here prior, and i’d loved it. well, the recipe’s changed because the damn thing was riddled with onions. yes, i know, for such a gastronome, i should revere the stupid weed, but i don’t. it’s psychological at this point, since i’ve found myself enjoying things like onion rings or french onion soup (probably because of the gruyere), but it sure isn’t a whim. while i can tolerate onions cooked into things, and consider it a much needed staple in many dishes like new england clam chowder and chili, raw onions are odious and to be treated with disdain. suffice to say, i wound up scraping the sauce (thin, and not very generous on the lamb) off the noodles and eating that.

my companion’s ravioli looked lovely, and it was served with a roasted beet puree in the center, which i helped myself to. i’d once likened the flavor of beets to “like licking the inside of a tin can,” but again, this was before the great development of taste buds. warm, sweet, savory and with a hint of butter, there is something soul-bracing about beets. it’s not just crimson stain on your lips.

for dessert, we finished a plate of pannacotta, but it was nothing exceptional. i don’t mean to sound harsh, since the experience and company were lovely, and the atmosphere relaxed (though very adult, like grandparents with money style, and tattooed kids were not the norm), but the food was not as stellar as i recall it from my previous visits. alas. i’m sure i’ll be back though, but how soon i can’t tell since baci & abbracci is across the street from my apartment.

mangia!

Anonymous 11/03/07(Sat)20:28 No.7649941

Someone post that comic where Link sticks Navi in his urethra. You know the one.

and i didn’t get laid. yes, this is the penultimate first world problem. the ultimate? it probably involves something like your iPhone not connecting to the internet fast enough to check your ebay auctions or something equally inane. wait, how about your fantasy football team is losing because some dude from the patriots has a broken leg? yeah that works too.

but let’s revert back to the topic of dinner, yeah? it was at my old standby, a lovely and efficient italian joint on grand street between bedford and driggs, baci & abbracci (this translates from italian to “kiss and hug” or something equally romantic). i have to say, the best paparedelle au ragu d’agnello (lamb ragu over wide noodles) is available here: moist, tender and succulent pieces of lamb in a reduced fresh tomato sauce – it’s reminiscent of osso buco, minus the marrow. but like a fool, i decided to stray from my usual dish and instead went with the farfalle with seafood and artichokes. it wasn’t bad; it just wasn’t great. lesson learned: stick to the usual.

my dining companion finished his beet gnocchi in under five minutes, and somehow also polished off a basket of the free bread, and an additional order of salt & pepper focaccia. and three beers. he sniffed at the salad served in a basket made of parmesan cheese, claiming it “oily,” and obligingly ate the slivers of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto and taleggio (incidentally, my favorite cheese ever because it smells like homeless man’s feet). he thought it odd i offered him the tips, since those are usually the most prized part of asparagus spears, but i am a weird little bird and prefer the stems.

i’m pleased enough with dinner, but i’ve learned a very painful lesson: eating after 10pm will yield in bloating of the belly. if you see me out and about today, be sure to stare grimly at my abdomen and please don’t ask when i am due. thank you.

there is nothing more comforting to me than a hot bowl of spicy soft tofu; apparently this is a common belief since many asian cultures have their variation. koreans have a fantastically bracing and intensely flavored soft tofu and seafood stew called soondubu chigae, and it is best served in a stone pot that is atop a little bunsen burner-like flame that keeps it constantly hot. the chinese? well, there’s mapo tofu, which has a rich brown sauce and is served with peas and carrots. and let’s not forget szechuan style tofu, usually seasoned with garlic, preserved and fermented soy beans, and lots and lots of red chilies. spooned over a bowl of jasmine rice, there is nothing more satisfying than the conmingling of the soft and creamy texture of the tofu, the spice and heat of the sauce, and the firm rice.

i usually crave this when it is cold or rainy out. you can have your macaroni & cheese or mashed potatoes. me, just give me a pot of spicy hot tofu and i’ll shut up and all my ailments will melt away.