The Girl Who Ate Everything

Friiied chicken

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather eat at McDonald's."

Thank you, Roy Rogers fried chicken from a rest stop off the New Jersey Turnpike, for giving me such a thought. You suck. And you're overpriced. But when I'm at a rest stop at lunch time and don't know when I'm going to eat again, I take what I can. And given the choice between Nathan's, Arthur Treachers, and Roy Rogers, I somehow went with your undelicious, greasy fried chicken. Why? Whhyyyyy?

POTATO!!

At least your fries were fine. Crisp. Potato-y. I should've just eaten those. If only I were vegetarian.

Get off my damn lawn.

Don't worry—it's just a BB gun. The only thing it harmed while in my possession was the cat food bowl on the table across the lawn.

How did last Friday morning turn into BB gun target practice? Since Tristan had left earlier to go to the dentist, we were left without our leader and didn't know what to do with ourselves. Luckily, Katie brought a BB gun. Suddenly, our purpose was clear—that purpose being, "Shoot the cat food bowl." Later, we added, "shoot the beer bottles and cans." Katie, Dan, Ryan, Lihan, Lee Anne, and I passed the gun around as we waited for Tristan to return and give us another purpose that didn't involve shooting things.

KOREAN HOUSE!

Few things excite Tristan as much as a trip to his favorite restaurant in Charlottesville, Korean House. Except maybe giving him a jar of kimchi.

When you first walk into the restaurant, it doesn't look like much: one giant, sparsely decorated room with an open kitchen featuring a small television in the corner playing Korean soap operas, partially furnished with orange chairs that look like they came from a high school cafeteria. But it's easy to like once the adorable Korean grandmother gently puts her loving hand on your shoulder, takes your order, and heaps food upon your table. ...Or maybe that's just me because familial love is so lacking in my life.

Serious Eats interns (and Raphael) in action!

Serious Eats is looking for interns in New York City as we go into the new school year and lose our current interns to Institutions of Higher Learning. People have contacted me through this blog about internships, so here's your chance! WE NEED YOU! Because if you intern for us, you make my life easier! Yay? Yay. Also, you like, learn stuff, and eat stuff.

Sorry for the low post count lately; I've been busy and my brain hasn't been up to the challenge of writing cohesive entries. (This is the same reason I'm way behind on my emails. I am cowering in shame.) I'll get back on the Virginia Trip 2008 Extravaganza soon!

We sparkle.

If I'm gonna sleep outside in a tent, I better get the whole package: campfire, sparklers, marshmallows, and glow sticks. All of which provide excellent nighttime photography opportunities, except for the marshmallows, which are just gooey and delicious.

Paul provided the sparklers—thin, metal sticks with erratic fire-throwing capabilities. We found out that if you stick an entire box in the fire, it doesn't explode; it just melts in a shriveling manner, like a dying soul that turns into nothingness. That was kind of disappointing.

I like my marshmallows carbonized—stick it in the fire until it becomes a tiny torch, then let it burn in inescapable flaming doom for a few seconds. Result: a blackened crisp, super-fine shell—like a dry, dead leaf—filled with molten sticky, sweet, white goo. I think I ate three before I started to feel gross.

And then came the light sticks, those marvelous tubes of bright fluorescent chemicals...oh, what things you can do with long exposure photography. Here are some highlights:

Polyface

After leaving the Louisa County Agricultural Fair, Tristan, Lihan, Lee Anne and I drove to Swoope to visit Polyface Farm. Ever since Tristan and I read Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma we've talked about visiting the farm, which is the subject of about 50% of the book. Once upon a time we would've also wanted to bring back some of the farm's grass-fed meat (the farm only raises livestock...and grass), but Tristan's interest in eating naturally raised meat gradually waned the longer he followed a vegan diet (well, more like vegetarian for this trip, but don't hold that against him) until he didn't want meat at all. Which is completely fine. And we forgot to bring a cooler.

Sigh...this isn't my house.

Out of all the kitchens I've ever been in, the Jones' family kitchen is my favorite. It's not just where food is cooked and kitchenware is stored—it has its own warm personality. And hanging baskets. And a pantry stocked from floor to ceiling with everything you could ever need. And a gazillion drawers also full of everything you could ever need, but isn't edible. It's a place you want to hang out in, not just cook. And it's clean.

I wanted pizza; Amy wanted hiking. Jason, our mutual New Haven friend, was up for doing both.

But the sweating and labored breathing that comes from physical exertion (doesn't take much in my case) started before I even left New York. The rerouted J train from my Brooklyn apartment to Manhattan caused me run for the Metro-North train just minutes before it was to pull out of Grand Central. I ran/power walked towards the front of the train, skipping the crowded cars, until I realized the whole train was crowded—obviously, since it was going to leave in about 30 seconds.

I plopped my butt somewhere. Not in the same car as Amy, although that would've been convenient.

"Are you okay?" she asked on the phone. "Do you want to come up to my car?"

"I...uh...tired. ...Breathing funnily. I'll wait a bit." My words may have been more coherent than that, but not by much. And I wouldn't even blame that on the heaving, constricted breathing; I'm frequently incoherent even with normal oxygen intake.

And that's the most exercise I will ever get in a morning. I could never run like that in a controlled setting—it's the motivation to not have to wait another hour for the next train that gives my body that extra special boost, the magical thing that keeps me from crashing into walls or tourists as I try to find the correct platform. Who needs a gym membership when you can feel the burn, heart rate-increasing stress, and relief of barely catching a train? I feel like just repeating, "OH SHIT I'M NOT GONNA MAKE IT," over and over in my head burns more calories than a calmer thought, like, "That's a nice teapot."

...Yeah, I'm really out of shape.

And then we ate a lot

BAR

The first place that Jason took Amy and me to was Bar, home of the glorious mashed potato and bacon pizza and their own micro-brewed beers. The last time I came across Bar a few months ago it looked like had exceeded its legal capacity by about 200%. People may have been sitting on top of each other; it was hard to tell what was going on as all I could see was a dark, wriggling mass of human bodies.

But on this delightful Saturday afternoon, there was no one. Almost. Not surprisingly since school wasn't in session and if I were a New Haven-ite, I'd still be latched to my bed.

BEEF NOODLES, THEY HAVE EMOTIONS

When I heard about Happy Beef Noodle House from the New York Times' feature on Flushing eats, I thought, "AHHH AHAHAHA GMMFFUHL," which roughly translates to, "I have to go there." Beef noodle soup is easily my favorite Chinese noodle dish, something I devoured many times in Taiwan, and here was my chance to eat a happy version of it. Hell, I'd probably go anywhere with the word "Happy" in the name: Happy Burger House; Happy Pizza House; Happy Pig Parts House; Happy Colonoscopy House. See, it always works.

ATTACK

Jeremiah and Olia joined me on my beef noodle soup quest. Here's what we attempted to devour: