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.