Siiike, who am I kidding??
IT’S NOT HAVING TO WEAR ANY PANTS!!!
Though some of us definitely should…
Seriously. Skip the pre-packaged joy. And wear some pants.
1 week ago
I love NYMag’s Grub Street. And by love, I mean I LOVE NYMag’s Grub Street. It’s one of my standard reads every single day. Today they posted a contest to win two tickets to this year’s “New York Taste” event which features sample bites from over 40 NYC restaurants. First off, it amazes me how some people can’t follow simple rules, because there are already two comments/submissions on the post.
Regardless, the rules were to EMAIL “What bite you would serve from yoru own cooking repertoire at New York Taste. Genuine ability has little to do with it - one of the best bites we make involves only red potatoes, butter and dry Italian dressing”.
Below is my humble submission for what has long been one of my favorite “bites”!
“Dear Grub Street -
It’s simple & Southern, but so am I!
The best bite by far is little more than yellow, stone-ground grits cooked creamy. Top it with a little grated cheddar cheese and crumbled pieces of crispy bacon. Take a spoon-full and shmear it atop a piece of your favorite whole-grain wheat toast (buttered of course), and there you have it!
The texture and flavor is what makes this bite. Grits (when prepared correctly) are velvety and virtually tasteless without heaps of butter and salt. So, it’s the cheese and bacon that really add to this. Overall it’s a warm and satisfying meal.
I think a lot of people associate grits with shrimp and don’t realize there are other scrumptious ways to enjoy them!
Also, don’t forget the wheat toast! It’s the only saving grace for a semi-nutritional value in the meal. ;)”
*Okay, okay, so the simple part was a bit of an exagerration*
1 week ago
…as they were piled quite high atop our Poularde Rôtie en Cocotte. I couldn’t help but laugh at the scenario, but must confess that the combination of champagne, sake, white and red wine attributed to my glee. My father, sister, and myself were seated overlooking Columbus Circle and the SouthWest corner of Central Park in all it’s glory.
The meager words I piece together fail miserably in capturing the apple-cider brown butter emulsion with our Agnolotti. The impossibility of me relaying the texture of the viscous yet velvety Santa Barbara Sea Urchin and the salty decadence of White Sturgeon Caviar is as unequivocal as I was drunk. Drunk with the joy of my company and the over-stimulation of a thousand nameless senses.
I learned there is no such thing as too much Hudson Valley Duck Foie Gras. Spread across toasted Brioche as a god-like butter only to be topped with our choice of six different sea salts with origins ranging from Nepal to Hawaii. Thank you plate tectonics and the backs of yaks for delivering such fantasies to my lips.
Though each wine pairing triggered the most indescribable mind spasm of perfection in it’s own moment of time, I will say that our table unanimously elected the Furst Lowenstein Hallgarten Schonhell Riesling as our favorite. That’s all I have to say about that.
We closed with the prized “coffee and doughnuts” whose visions are quite often found dancing about in my head. It is hands down the best thing I have.ever.tasted.
Today I find myself sedated and euphoric, and quite fearful of tasting my first bite of “real” food - for the suspicion that my tongue would most assuredly burst into flames.
3 weeks ago
It’s no secret that the only thing I’ve ever collected is stress. No dolls. No stamp collections. No post cards. (this list alone is proof that I haven’t the slightest idea of what a person might hold on to) I never had a “binky”, stuffed animal or shred of blanket held onto for ridiculous sentimental reasons from birth.
The reasons for holding onto the past in this manner baffles me. Why do people inherently hold on to the familiar? The old? The childhood, specifically? Is it because there was little responsibility? It certainly can’t be because it was easy. Whatever your age, the challenges presented to you at that moment in time don’t necessarily differ from the level of challenge you face at any other age - do they?
Is it because of the memories? One might say that you hold onto something physical or otherwise because of the associated memories. This makes me wonder, do I boil down to a bundle of memories? Is the core of my mind, body and soul wrapped up in everything I’ve ever done? If a person’s entire being is made up of the past alone, one would think it difficult to move forward in many aspects of life.
Since most of us are predispositioned to preserve our precious past, I am inclined to presume that those bold enough to relinquish such restrictions would rise like the sun, absorbing the morning dew.
3 weeks ago
I waited on the sidewalk of Avenue A and 9th street for at least half an hour. The antique shop was closed, but kept me company with its small, crowded details from familiar places of long ago. After deliberately avoiding a youthful-looking British beggar, I found myself loitering next to a late-night coffee shop littered with those of us who take their coffee at midnight.
The man sitting alone at one of the sidewalk tables seemed far more interested in his surroundings than the stack of papers before him. We made eye contact several times, and I was not too surprised when he asked me to watch his stack of papers as he slipped off to the restroom.
Upon his return, I felt obliged and half-bored enough to exchange words regarding the evening, the coffee shop, and subsequently, the stack of papers.
He was reading a screen play, that he described as pleasantly humorous, despite it’s initially disturbing description.
Eventually my sister joined us, and we lingered for a bit more with an awkward introduction I didn’t quite feel entitled to. She had brought me a designer “nutter butter” cookie. It is an over-sized, savory dessert you would assume contains a week’s worth of sugar and butter.
We shared a few bites with my new acquaintance before parting ways into the (once again) anonymous night.
1 month ago
Last night I watched “Grey Gardens”: the tale of Edith Bouvier Beale (Senior & Junior). A mother and daughter, (relatives of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis) who lived an unarguably bazaar lifestyle in their East Hampton estate for many years. With their once inordinate funds reduced to a $300-a-month trust, the women resorted to scraping by with little more than cat food and ice cream. Their home became dilapidated and over-run with raccoons. When the sons of Edith Sr. came with the suggestion to sell the estate and move South, they were met with her staunch opposition. She simply had too much pride and devotion to leave.
Though their living conditions were beyond peculiar and replusive, my initial shock was met with curious admiration at the sheer single-mindedness of it all.
1 month ago
