Danny, Tom and Nathan

Holy GOD what a FOOD FEST we had today. My foodie partner-in-crime Mr. Daniel Jackson and I woke up late on a lazy Saturday morning and just knew - it was a brunch morning. While Danny walked the pup I scoped out the neighborhood offerings - Melt looked okay; Flatbush Farm, overpriced; Rosewater sounded INCREDIBLE but a little too chi-chi for our taste (this was definitely a greasy-spoon kind of morning), and 2nd Street Cafe, my old standby, to my great dismay, has (gasp) CLOSED! Things are not looking good...

But then I remembered that the godliest of all diners (and rumored setting of that old Suzanne Vega song "Tom's Diner", FYI).... is a mere 8 blocks from my house. BINGO!!

We stroll up to Tom's and as usual, there is quite a line snaking out the front door (Saturday morning is primetime, as they are mysteriously closed on Sundays), but Tom's is famous for taking care of their customers, even BEFORE they sit down - within 30 seconds of getting in line we were greeted with two tall glasses of ice water; a minute later, and assortment of cookies to choose from; a few minutes after that, fresh orange slices. And once the line moved inside, the freebies got exponentially better - little samples of their famous pork sausages, french fries with a delectably smoky chipotle mayo, and whole cups of coffee, milk and sugar optional... for FREE! I love this place. The line moved quickly and within 15 minutes we had a cozy window seat with a prime view of the kitchen, where we could greedily watch order after decadent order make its way out into the raucous dining room. Time to direct a few of those delicacies towards OUR table...

Tom's is famous for their flavored butters - strawberry, cinnamon-sugar, and lime - so we knew we HAD to get some sort of sweet doughy delight to sop it up with (I mean, do you think we give a shit about our cholesterol? PLEASE...), plus something savory to round out the meal... 

We settled on the decadent, somewhat improvised banana-blueberry-walnut pancakes (the blueberries were our idea; creative, I know..) with a side of their fantastically snappy pork sausage, and for savory, a veggie omelette (which we slathered with more of that addictive chipotle mayo... cholesterol? Never heard of it...) with a heaping side of cheese grits... PERFECTION.

And just to push the whole thing over the top, Danny threw in a big fat chocolate milkshake at the last minute - and one of those colossal, diner-style shakes too, that comes with not only a full glass, but an additional metal cup brimming with the stuff. It's almost too much... almost. ;-)

Needless to say, we were absolutely crippled for several hours... and yet, we had planned to make and appearance at the Siren Music Festival in Coney Island, so by god, we were gonna do it! We loaded our fat asses onto the N train and emerged at the Coney Island boardwalk, sauna-like one one of the hottest days we've seen all summer, and marveled at the utter American-ness that is Coney Island: gluttony, consumerism, and pre-fab fun. Whee!

Two beers, one police summons (yes, we somehow managed to get a ticket for our discreetly wrapped, "open containers" of beer... despite the fact that we were SURROUNDED by belligerent tourists with giant neon "souvenir cups" overflowing with toxic sex-on-the-mai-tai-coladas that just screamed "I'm an alcoholic beverage!!!", but no; our innocent, not-yet-sipped Coors were somehow more incriminating... I don't want to talk about it), and five-plus bands later, we had managed to work up an appetite worthy of braving the wrap-around line at Nathan's.

I assumed I'd do my usual ketchup-and-mustard combo, but there discreetly stated at the bottom of the menu, I saw "sauerkraut and onions upon request"... delicious, underpublicized toppings for free? Um, yes please!! That, a few sips of Danny's lemonade and a fry or two from our friend Paul's basket who we picked up along the way, and we were ready to tuck our stuffed little bellies into BED.

'chokes, spokes, and keystrokes

Oh man, WHAT a night.

Danny got us tickets to see one of our favorite bands, Ratatat, play in Williamsburg yesterday and as we both don't get off work until around 6:30 and the show technically started at 8, we were just planning on grabbing a quick, L-train-adjacent bite (maybe a little Whole Foods, maybe a little falafel at Maoz...), but as we were walking eastward on 14th St. we came across Artichoke Pizza, a place we had been seeing all summer on our frequent visits to Beauty Bar, but it's always had a line out the door, forcing us to settle on a subpar (but FREE) pie at the Crocodile Lounge across the street.

This time, however, the line was more manageable (less drunk people, presumably) and we were less impatient (due to our sobriety, presumably), so we decided to take the plunge.

Honestly, the trademark artichoke slice was a little too intense for my taste (essentially a thick layer of creamy spinach-artichoke dip slathered over resultingly floppy pizza crust, dotted with a few chunks of artichoke hearts for good measure; it REALLY needed some acidity to cut the richness, and in all honesty, it was so soggy I would have rather just had some plain ol' crispy pizza dough to dip into a bowl of the topping; the parts were really worth more than the whole, in my opinion).

The plain slice, however (though I will choose to call it the Margherita slice, as it is so much more than "plain" would suggest), was really phenomenal. The crust, unhindered by a enormous load of sloppy goo, is hard to describe - almost as if you crossed your average chewy-yet-crispy New York-style thin crust with a slice of thick, spongy focaccia - very tasty. That, plus good, tangy tomatoes, good-quality mozzarella (and not an obscene amount, either), several fragrant basil slices artfully strewn, and a generous sprinkling of parmesan before braving the bajillion-degree oven where all parts merged beautifully into one crispy, salty, tangy, gooey whole.

Perhaps the whole experience was made more memorable by the quintessentially New York manner in which those slices were eaten - folded in half, stealing bites while barreling down subway stairs, vying for hand space on an overstuffed L train, and finally, traipsing down Bedford Av in an effort to make the pre-show happy hour at the Music Hall of Williamsburg's downstairs bar.



Full of anticipation (and cheese...), we made in time for a few $3 Blue Points, vodka-grapefruits, and a truly FANTASTIC show. I ♥ NY.

J train to Paris...

So I FINALLY got around to taking Danny to one of my favorite little oases in all of New York....

...in BUSHWICK, of all places.

Ok, so some may try to call it "South Williamsburg", but let's face it - it's Bushwick. But really, that only adds to its charm. Tucked in a teeny flatiron building right underneath the JMZ overpass, Moto is SERIOUSLY easy to miss (save for a full-sized bicycle suspended from the side of the building...), but once you step through that heavy metal door, you are instantly transported to what feels like 1920s Paris - complete with live jazz every night.



In the past I've only been for the diverse wines and the occasional dessert (including the LEGENDARY, light-as-air, grilled cinnamon-sugar doughnuts; they positively MELT in your mouth. Oooh lawdy...) but I've always watched enviously as nearby couples tucked into some rather enticing savory dishes, and tonight we finally got the chance to sit down for full-on DINNER at Moto... and boy, were we glad we did. 

We started with a simple tomato soup... or so we thought. It arrived with a crunchy, goat-cheese-slathered crouton, which, drowned in the tangy soup, elevated the whole experience to towering heights of deliciousness. 

Next came a venerable platter of Greek meze: slivered rounds of cucumbers, radishes, and salami, scattered with kalamata olives and sprinkled with fruity olive oil, cracked black pepper, and topped off with meaty slabs of fresh feta cheese. Perfection.

And finally, garlic-steamed mussels with roasted fennel - nowhere near Alchemy's plump jewels of ocean-y succulence, but damn good in their own right.

Our high spirits (or at least mine) were rapidly snuffed when we noticed (right around dessert time, which made it even worse), that right there on the chalkboard, in loud, angry letters (ok, not really.... but it felt like it!), read "no doughnuts tonight - sorry!"... I'm not gonna lie, my motivation for taking Danny all the way to Bushwick for dinner was really 50% ambiance, 50% doughnuts, so this news was truly unfortunate... but we pulled ourselves together (... and ordered another round for good measure - Sicilian red for me and Stella for him), and settled on an equally decadent - but entirely different - rich chocolate pudding, topped off with the thickest whipped cream I've ever had, and a sprig of mint to brighten things up. Delicious.

By this point the live jazz band had started playing; we lingered over our beverages and soaked in the scenery before walking out the door and being teleported back to the gritty reality of Bushwick after dark.

... TWO scoops?

Well, we had yet another ice cream tasting today, this time from neighborhood favorite Odeon's summer ice cream cart.... which was freakin' GOOD. Way better than Quality Meats in my humble opinion, as they were all organic and much lighter tasting...

All I am going to say is if you ever find yourself in Tribeca, get your ass to West Broadway and order a heaping scoop of banana-vanilla wafer. I was actually quoted in the article as calling it simply "awesome", and it really, REALLY was.

They also had a spearmint-chocolate chip which had the same light, herby flavor as the peppermint at John Andrews... but the texture didn't even touch J.A.s' silky-smooth creaminess - I mean, come on, it's John Andrews for christ's sake - it's untouchable.

BUT, I'd definitely settle for a cup of Odeon's mint in a pinch (i.e. when I don't have three hours to drive to Massachusetts...)

I could really get used to this...

scoops?

Ah, the perks of working at New York Magazine really are endless, especially in the food department...

Today I got a random email that simply read "Lots of fresh ice cream at Joe's desk, come give us your reactions!" A.K.A. eat for free, AND be opinionated about it?? Awesome. I dashed over and sure enough, there before me were about 9 different cartons of ice cream, a tray of at least 6 toppings and sauces, and a plate of carbolicious garnishes (mini brownies, mini cookies, mini doughnuts...), all from a STEAK HOUSE of all places, Quality Meats.

They're trying out the whole gourmet-ice-cream-for-summer thing, but going the $6-per-tiny-cup route, which raises the critical bar, in my book - this shit better be freakin' SCRUMPTIOUS if I'm gonna plunk down $6 a scoop...

Chocolate was FABULOUS (brownie chunks in ice cream are, without exception, ALWAYS a good idea); pistachio was distinct (read: not overwhelmed by the taste of butterfat, as were many of the rest); cookies and cream and vanilla were indistinguishable (and so fatty-tasting I had this carnal urge to wipe the buttery film off my tongue after one bite). They made a creative attempt with coffee by throwing some doughnut chunks into the mix; unfortunately, frozen doughnuts are pretty much indistinguishable from styrofoam. Sad. There were some interesting-looking sorbets (apparently one was prickly pear? Hmm...), but honestly, when there's ice cream around, who in their right mind eats SORBET?

Ahhh... all in a day's work.

goin' up the country...

Oh, what a glorious weekend...

When Danny suggested we take a trip up to his house in the Hudson Valley for the weekend, I knew that he was REALLY suggesting a 2.5-hour drive upstate for one glorious meal at John Andrews, the AMAZING restaurant where Danny worked as a line cook for several years. Sure, the sunset hikes and pure relaxation were nice perks, but let's face it, we went for the food.

And baby, it was worth every minute of it. After a tour of Danny's idyllic kindergarten-through-high-school (Wood paneled classrooms? Mountain trails in the play yard? Specific studios for the weaving and sculpture and modern dance classes? You betcha...) and a walk down mile-long, rhodedendron-lined trail leading to a place called "Sunset Rock" to watch the sun go down over the Hudson Valley, we had worked up a significant enough appetite to warrant a romantic, 5-star meal at the foot of the Berkshires...

We were treated like family as soon as we arrived - our hostess (who is also, of course, one of Danny's best friends from high school) escorted us to a cozy little window table in the corner, and left us with the bible, er.. I mean, menu. We decided to skip wine (I KNOW, I know... sacrifices must be made...) to maximize our food-to-money ratio, and began formulating our plan of attack. After some deliberation (but not much - we make a killer ordering team), we settled on the most decadent, seafood-heavy meal possible. Let the gluttony begin...


Considering my longstanding craving for lobster (I'm talking a month-plus here, people...), I JUMPED on the lobster appetizer - dressed with slivered asparagus, chives and fresh mint, drizzled with olive oil and sweet pea coulis - and in an appropriately manly fashion, Danny went for the fried oyster salad dressed with a bold anchovy viniagrette; totally different, but equal in deliciousness.

We absolutely wolfed our first course, and nibbled (aka scarfed down) the delicious, house-made focaccia (drenched in olive oil, laced with rosemary and slathered with sweet onions and parmigiano-reggiano) in anticipation of the decadence to come...




The mains were a tough choice (who can pass up locally-farmed lamb? Or house-made swiss chard, ricotta and red pepper ravioli??), but we finally settled on a gorgeous pistachio-encrusted halibut fillet with fingerling potatoes and a distinctly nutty-tasting steamed spinach (must have been the pistachios, but I swear my first assiciation was Butterfinger candy...) and glorious gobs of that wonderful pea coulis. I couldn't resist the scallops (scallops are my weakness anyway, and barely cooked and soaked in butter like they are here, they are absolutely irresistible), accompanied by some deliciously garlicy spinach and a crispy-fried ravioli of cod and potato. Both were, in a word, divine.

You would think we would stop there, but honestly - this is John Andrews. Dessert is REQUIRED.


This was a real struggle - too many good things, too little unoccupied stomach real estate - so we decided to extract our favorite part of each of the fabulous desserts (which would OBVIOUSLY be the ice cream component) and order a trio of the day's house-made flavors: an ethereal peppermint (no, not like gum, or toothpaste, or even candy; this tasted like fresh cream laced with REAL, garden-fresh, herby MINT); an unexpectedly deep and complex wildflower honey (sweet and creamy at first, followed by a rich, almost smoky flavor that can only be associated with pure, amber honey); and of course, the irresistible VBCC (vanilla-banana-chocolate-chunk, the longstanding house specialty; and yes, it is just as spectacular as it sounds). And on top of all the deliciousness, the dessert was on the house, courtesy of all of Danny's homies in the kitchen - gotta love those hook-ups.


We thanked our gracious hosts and chefs, hobbled to the car, slapped ourselves to stay awake on the interstate drive home (John Andrews is technically in Massachusetts), and crawled into bed, $100 poorer, but infinitely happy.

...and a giant peach?

Ok, so I keep hearing about this new place called James that recently opened up to rave reviews (nymag, DailyCandy, etc...) right on my old block on St. Marks AVENUE (not to be confused with Place) and Carlton Ave. (which is a mere 3 blocks from my CURRENT block...) and I'm oh, so curious. I took a walk down memory lane today with Lulu just to scope out the scenery and check out the menu and the place looks lovely, and the menu, delicious. I'm making a point to get here in the near future... I'll keep you posted!

turning it gold...

How to turn an unassuming Monday night at home into a Lucullan celebration of shellfish, alcohol and carbohydrates? Stop by Alchemy in Park Slope for their Mussel Mondays deal - a dozen mussels for $5. No, seriously. Then blow all that money you saved on one of their glorious house cocktails and an order of their otherworldy french fries. (Yes, french fries can be otherworldly. If you don't believe me, you don't deserve them.)

In our mission to build up an arsenal of reliably delicious dinner spots within a 1-block radius of our house (call us painfully lazy, but we've already found several exceptional standbys - Peperoncino, Convivium Osteria...), Mom and I stopped by Alchemy the other day and were thoroughly impressed (let's just say our meal included grilled AND smoked pork, sweet-potato-gorgonzola gratin, and a obscenely decadent, bacon-studded mac and cheese. Um, YES PLEASE!?!), so we decided to take advantage of their Mussel Mondays deal. My boyfriend came to meet us and he did the honors of ordering a dozen of each preparation (a more traditional garlic/butter/white wine potion of LOVE, and a zesty tomato-cilantro sauce that we sopped up with pretty much everything in sight - if the waiter hadn't brought over some extra bread I was worried that we might have resorted to our napkins...), and Mom and I made sure that each of our dishes included a hefty helping of fries to dredge in those heavenly mussel juices (fish and chips for her; a gutload of a chicken sandwich for me - with arugula, pickled onions, big ol' slabs of bacon and a gloriously garlic-y mayo...).

And boy, are cocktails a highlight here. Mine involved gin, pear puree, and.. rosemary?!? Um, hell yes. These people do NOT fuck around. Mom got a margarita featuring muddled strawberries and jalapeno-infused tequila... SERIOUSLY spicy and freakin' delicious. Danny got something with Maker's Mark... obviously. There was something leafy in there too, looked like mint... Once mine arrived I was too engrossed to pay attention to pretty much anything else (I swear I'm not an alcoholic...)

All in all, an unexpectedly delicious Monday night. Can't wait til next Monday..... cheers!

2 weeks in heaven.

Oh my god. They finally posted the dates and participating restaurants for NYC's Summer Restaurant Week. Come August 1st I will be the fattest, poorest girl in New York... but quite possible the happiest. See you at Le Cirque!

cheese+beer=LOVE

HOW have I never heard of this place before? A fabulously oozy, buttery grilled cheese and creamy tomato soup with just a little bit of a kick, together for just 6 freakin' dollars? Accompanied by pretty much ANY beer you could ever wish for (they literally have over 30 beers ON TAP, plus hundreds of bottles)? And instead of being impatient with my crippling brew indecision, our bartender offered me tastes of the two I was deciding between – a rich, dark stout with hints of raspberry and chocolate, and a totally bitch-drink version of beer, a Woodchuck pear cider (guess which one I went with.... duhhh – it was just so light and crisp, and had such a nice hint of sweetness.. I couldn't resist, OKAY??)


Tonight was basically the (unofficial) commencement of our summer of bar-hopping, and I really don't think we could have found a better place than Blind Tiger – GREAT music (which nonetheless got drowned out by the steady roar of jovial voices), even better prices, and just such a great low-key, unpretentious vibe all around. After a few more rounds we got hungry again (I mean who doesn't?) and were very happy to get to order another (dirt cheap) delicacy off the chalkboard menu behind us – this time we got a chipotle chicken quesadilla full of roasted serranos and oozy cheese (this place is big on their cheese – also on the menu is a cheese plate featuring weekly selections from the famed Murray's Cheese Shop down the street) that easily sated all 5 of us, for a cool $9. I'm looking forward to many more nights like these...

once upon 8th St...

After a joyous evening of curried tofu, scallion pancakes and mojitos at Gobo in the village with one of my best (vegan) friends from LA, Lizzie and her boyfriend Dave, Danny and I took the long way home, strolling across 8th street back to his house on the OTHER St. Marks Place (what are the odds that we would BOTH live on St. Marks Place, but in different boroughs??).

And to our greatest delight, there on the corner of 8th St. and University Pl. sat the glorious, the fabled... The Dessert Truck. I've never been but have always wanted to, and since D and I had eaten little vegan nothingnesses for dinner, we felt fully justified in ordering a little cup of goat cheese cheesecake topped with sea salt caramel and wild blackberries... which was pretty much one of the most complex, delicious desserts that I've had in a long, LONG time... and from a truck, no less. The goat cheese gave it an unexpected tang, which complemented the tart-sweet blackberries, and the caramel simultaneously mellowed and intensified the whole experience. Our restraint in holding off until we had found ourselves a cozy streetlit bench in Washington Square Park was admirable, and totally worth it, as the moment we sat down, a little group of hippie-folk started playing the Beatles' "Yesterday" on their acoustic guitar - and we tucked into our creamy delight under the stars.

Va. Bene.

So all my neighbors and even my mom keep raving about this little Italian restaurant down the block called Peperoncino... I've walked past it regularly for a couple of years now but have never gone in - to be honest it seemed pretty indistinguishable from the hundreds of other "rustic, cozy" pizza-and-pasta joints that line 5th Ave. However, there was one key difference - it's about 30 yards from my front door. And ever since they started writing up their daily specials on a little chalkboard out front, I've been going out of my way to pass it every day, often dragging my poor dog past the wafting scent of grilled meat and hot pizza, to see what's cooking - fried artichokes, stuffed portabellos, risottos of every style and flavor, and many items featuring seafood and shellfish, a delicacy I was deprived of during my time in Tuscany (it's rather inland, you know) and thus have a special spot in my heart for.... So finally, one lazy evening, Danny and I caved and decided to give it a go....

And damn, had we sold it short. Right away they sat us down with a basket of warm bread and a scrumptious sun dried tomato-roasted chili olive oil dipping sauce, which was so delicious we felt like we were stealing. We didn't even get the chance to look over the menu before the waiter arrived and listed special after mouthwatering special... we took a look over the actual menu, which sounded equally delicious, but we were already sold, and ordered the two pasta specials that had us drooling from the start - I obviously went for my old standby, linguini con frutti di mare, but this one set the standard, as they used fresh linguini neri (pasta infused with squid ink, giving it a deep, almost black color and rich, salty flavor), topped with some sweet crushed tomatoes and fruity olive oil, and lots of plump, juicy clams, mussels, calamari, and even a few halved langoustines... and for the boy, the proportionally heartier, house-made shredded beef tortelli (a.k.a. bigass tortellini) with prosciutto and spring peas in a light cream sauce (I can't lie, I definitely pulled a little order-management with this one.. "Ooh, the linguini neri and tortelli both sound so good... why don't we just get both and share them?"... classic. You know you love me...).

After enjoying every glorious second of it, we could have easily stopped there... but of course, they had to bring over the dessert menu. Those bastards. We tried to order the night's special, torta di mela, or apple cake, which we ate all the time in Italy and were so excited to have found in the states, but alas - the couple before us ordered the last slice of the night. THOSE bastards. So we settled (HAH. Settled. Yeah right) for a delicious tiramisu... which was gone in about .2 seconds. Fat and happy, we hobbled home (all .5 blocks of it) and collapsed onto the couch. I see this becoming a habit veery very soon...

And so it begins...

Well, well, well... it has only taken me a mere TWO MONTHS to start my SUMMER food blog... guess i was just too busy doing things to actually get to writing about them... but really, it's rather fitting, is it not?

But ANYWAY, we're finally in business. I missed writing about my trials and tribulations (and bouts of culinary euphoria) last fall in Italy, and figured there was no better place to start it up again than good ol' NYC - land of endless good times (and good meals!) to be had. Forgive me for inconsistencies with dates, etc... I may be simultaneously filling in holes from May while keeping you posted on what's going on right now, so bear with me.

Enough disclaimers - onward, in my quest to live richly... on the cheap....!