The Girl Who Ate Everything

A Week of Korea Food In Mah Belly, Starting with Arirang and Patbingsu

2009-07-03T04:30:26Z

This entry mostly took place on May 18. ...Yup.

: Hey, it's..kimchi.

The week after I got back from that trip I took to Seoul, you know, way back when (i.e., May), all I wanted was Korean food. You think I would've been sick of it. But. No. I may have been tired of kimchi by the time I left Seoul, but when I got back to New York City I longed for patbingsu and sujebi and rice cakes and fun little dishes of pickled fermented things. Which is how I ended up going to Koreatown three times in one week.

First stop was Arirang, a new-ish (an age that can be counted in months) restaurant that specializes in sujebi (torn noodles) and kalguksu (knife-cut noodles). While boohoo-ing to Emily about how awesome Seoul was and how much it sucked to not be there anymore, she suggested we try Arirang. My heart let out a little squeal of excitement (imagine the sound of air being slowly let out of a balloon; it's a bit more pathetic than that); THE KOREAN MAGIC BEGAT BY NOODLES COULD CONTINUE.

I've actually been to Arirang twice since mid-May, which is rare for a place that isn't within walking distance of my office. You should go there too. Here's how to do it.

: Do not go to the EYELASH EXTENSION floor.

First, find it. It's on the third floor of 32 West 32nd Street and easy to miss unless you know to look for this door. Or maybe you're already familiar with this door because you extend your eyelashes. I won't judge. (...Maybe I will.)

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Another sign.

You might also spot the sign above the awning for NY Kom Tang Soot Bul Kal Bi. But probably not.

: Mandy, Caroline, and Lee Anne: NOODLE POSSE.

Second (or pre-first), have at least two people with you. Or four. One bowl of noodles can feed at least two people, and bathe a very small kitten. When I ate in a group of five (Emily, Mandy, Caroline, and Lee Anne), we were stuffed just by splitting two bowls of noodles and one seafood pancake. Later when I ate in a group of three (Jessica and Kathy), we shared a bowl of noodles and a seafood pancake with lots of pancake to spare. And you know how my friends and I roll; we're Asian women who can pack it in.

: Pancake, get in my mouth.

Third, order food. Specifically, start with the seafood pancake (pajun), one of the best versions of this dish I've ever had (the other being from Organic Tofu House). It's a hearty round of crispy and chewy goodness full of chopped green onions and seafood bits, mostly cuttlefish, methinks.

: Condiments!

Dip it in a mix of vinegar and soy sauce, found in your personal woven Condiments Basket, for extra deliciousness.

: DOUGH CHUNK, HI!

AND GET NOODLES. We went with kaljebe, or a kalguksu/sujebi mix. I prefer sujebi—I love the pockets of chewiness in the fat dough chunks—but the kalguksu is good too.

Soups, in order of increasing deliciousness:

: Kimchi..eee..uh.

Kimchi: It's not bad. But not as good as the other two soups I tried. So...that's...not a ringing endorsement.

: Seafood..in there.

Seafood: I likey. Underneath that pile of raw spinach was a mass of noodles swimming in a briney soup with cuttlefish, clam, shrimp, and other various bits of sea life.

: Chicken!

Chicken: This rich broth made me question what the hell kind of chicken I've been eating my whole life. It's. So. Very. Chickeny. At least, what I think chicken is supposed to taste like considering that most of the chicken I eat doesn't really taste like anything. Or it tastes like everything. IT SIMULTANEOUSLY TASTES LIKE NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.

But this soup of distilled chicken squeezin's is nothing like that. Just try it and tell me if it makes little fireworks go off in your brain (the parts that sense "chickenness"); I can't be the only one. The prospect of getting this dish again, along with the seafood pancake, is what pulls me back to Arirang. I think about it with longing, like a past love, but instead of sickening depression, the memories fill me with warm happiness! Yay!!!@#!@#eeuh [sobs in a corner].

: That patbingsu is thinking, "Fuuuckmeeeeee I'm dead," in patbingsu language.

After Arirang you can go to Koryodang for dessert, specifically patbingsu, the Korean version of "shaved ice with loads of toppings and fruit and ice cream and stuff, because if it were just a bowl of ice, that would suck." It's the only patbingsu I've had in New York City, which by default makes it the best. Overall though, I'd call it one of the best shaved ice desserts I've ever had (keep in mind that I've never had shave ice in Hawaii). Unlike the others, Koryodang's is so finely shaved that it melts evenly and smoothly, as opposed to being unappealingly crunchy clumps. The toppings are quite generous, my favorites being the soft lil' mochi nubs and the sweet red beans. The only downside is that one bowl is something like $8, which is a lot compared to...well, Asia, and other similar desserts in the city. But at least you can feed two people with one bowl.

: The Fruity.

Out of the two bowls we tried—red bean and fruit—red bean was the winner. The might-be-cherry-flavored syrup in the fruit bowl made everything too sweet.

Addresses

Arirang
32 W 32nd St
New York, NY 10001

Koryodang
31 W 32 St
New York, NY 10001

Iceland, Day 7: Last Bits of Iceland, Penguins, and Boiled Sheep's Head

2009-06-29T08:09:50Z

HOLY CRAP, LAST POST ABOUT ICELAND. Only two months after I finished my vacation. Yeeeah. This post originally took place on April 24. Check out my other posts about Iceland if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

: Bye...leftovers.

It was time to say goodbye to Iceland...starting with the leftovers in our fridge. Some of it was donated by Melkorka a few nights before, but the neglected bottle of orange juice was completely our doing. Oops.

: MAYO!

We left behind or threw out everything except for this container of Gunnars mayonnaise. I felt that it was much too charmingly cute and quaint to be destined for the landfill. So now it's sitting on my shelf. Without the mayonnaise, of course. (It's the loveliest container of mayonnaise I've ever seen; if you ever find a nicer one I want you to show it to me, and then we can have a DUEL.)

This was the cafe/coffee shop that we went to just about every day for Greg's morning cup of coffee, but I never got anything from there. I did, however, become well acquainted with its Bible-themed wares.

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Cute mural.

GOD, WHAT IS UP WITH THESE AWESOME MURALS? One moment you're just dawdling about and then something like this shoots into your view. The poem reads:

Just look at how the mountains
so very mighty be
shart as razors at the top they span the land + sea
but don't forget that though majestic spires capped with snow
From each and every single grain of sand is where they grow

I'm quite fond of the fuzzy orange mound with stick legs and nobbly horns. Besides the shimmering mountaintop.

: Ice cream.

We quickly stopped into Sandholt (previously visited on day 5) where I picked up a danish for the road and a scoop of their Earl Grey ice cream with little crunchy chocolate bits. The texture was very smooth, creamy, and not airy, although it tasted (deceptively) light. Overall, it was excellent—think of the sort of ice cream you might get at a upscale restaurant, but conveniently made at the same place that also churns out shelves of irresistible pastries.

And then, one of the best parts of our trip happened during out last moments in Reykjavik. Aside from seeing some of the First Day of Summer celebrations, we also came upon Dead Week, the period before high school students take their final exams for graduation. How do they celebrate?

: Yeah, it happens.

By dressing up in costumes and taking to the streets while shouting the names of their favorite football players (among other things that we couldn't understand) and wielding cans of beer (keep in mind this was happening before noon). Most of the costumes we saw were Cookie Monsters and penguins, but there were some other ones dabbled in there. Not many others though; there were just a few main groups, which made us wonder where the hell they got all these costumes. Does the school provide them? How many costume suppliers are there in Iceland anyway?

It would've been fun to join in the festivities, but we had all left our full-body penguin suits at home. Oops. If you visit Reykjavik around the First Day of Summer, be sure to pack your own costume.

: Hai.

I got my photos with some rowdy penguin-men.

: HUUUZZZAAH!

As did Diana. :)

: Oo, refund!

We got our tax refunds at the tourist center at the end of ?. It's all good as long as you put it in the right box at the airport (or you could just do it all at the airport, but we wanted to get it done ahead of time).

For lunch, we drove to the bus station to eat at their cafeteria, Fljótt og Gott, for the sole purpose of getting...

: The hat makes him styling.

Sheep's head. But without the hat. Or the eyes. Or the grin. And not 2-D.

: Yeah, that makes more sense.

Ah...you see where this is going?

: There it is.

Yup, that's more like it. For 1400 kroner (about $11) the bisected singed and boiled sheep's head ("svid" in Icelandic) comes with scoops of mashed potato and mashed turnip.

: Um...yeah.

Here's another photo featuring Greg. Because we love him.

: Nom nom.

While having a nice chat with one of the employees, he told us how to eat the head: you've got the cheek meat, and the tongue, and...the...um, yeah. There's not much between the skin and the bone. Anything aside from the cheek meat and tongue is just flavorless skin (it's not seasoned). Icelanders don't eat the brain, as far as I know. It only takes about a minute to eat the parts worth eating.

: Haha, Greg, ur funny.

The best part was easily the tongue. Unfortunately, by this point I forget what it tasted like. Tender and meaty? Yeah! Duh. I also like beef tongue; there's nothing odd about it. But I hate duck tongue; it taste like the globby bits of chicken fat that make me gag, made even worse by a core of bone. So it's a hard, inedible chip covered in vomitous meat. Eff. That. Eddie Lin knows what I'm talking about.

The sheep's head wasn't bad. Nothing particularly great or offensive. It's just the way it's served that's atypical. Aforementioned employee told us that back when Iceland was dirt poor kids would repurpose the bones as toys. Those were some creative kids.

: Non-sheep.

There's plenty of other stuff to choose from if you don't want to stick your fork into a sheep's skull. Diana went for the buffet/salad bar-type thing, which also came with soup.

: I see lots of eggs.

And there are cold salad things. (The photo was taken in a mirror. In case that looks confusing.)

: HAGKAUP!!

The last place we wanted to check out before going to the airport was Hagkaup, a hypermarket chain that's something like Target if Target were designed by Icelanders and and thus looked way cooler.

: Nice.

Here's part of the food section, for example. So spacious and clean.

: Skyr!

And a wall of skyr. Beautiful skyr.

: Moar!

And Icelandic chocolate treats.

: My teeth hurt.

And candy!

And a few random things I felt were worthy of taking a photo of...

: I love this bottle.

Pylsusinnep, aka Icelandic hot dog mustard! How awesome is that running hot dog dude? I bought a bottle that I have yet to use. Maybe I'll get to break it out for the Independence Day weekend.

: YESSSS

CRONIONS! I love these things for two reasons: They're delicious fried-to-a-crisp bits of onion, and they're called CRONIONS. This is what contributed to the awesomeness of Icelandic hot dogs. I brought a pack back home and sprinkled it on pretty much anything I cooked, which mostly entailed "rice" and "vegetables." It made everything taste 500% better—maybe even 550%. Thankfully, my local Whole Foods sells it (not under the name Cronions though; it's a Danish brand) so now I will NEVER BE WITHOUT MY CRONIONY GOODNESS.

: Pizza sauce, only to be used on pizza, or else.

Is it ketchup? I didn't try it.

: Heh.

DING. PONG. !

: Also heh.

On the way to the airport we passed the Gunnar's mayonnaise factory! Holy shizz! My excitement was so great that Greg whipped the car around into the factory's parking lot so I could get a closer look.

: Take II.

And there it is. I'd hang that in my room.

I was relieved when, after making a wrong turn into the residential area of Keflavik and refilling our gas tank, we finally got to Keflavik Airport. Mostly because I really had to pee.

So I did. And all was good with the world.

: Greg noms.

Greg wasn't allowed to take his container of skyr past the security checkpoint, but he was allowed to eat it before leaving the checkpoint. Here he is enjoying his last taste of skyr on Icelandic soil.

: Plop.

Diana plopped our tax refund envelopes into the little tax refund box. This could be you!

: Me, Diana, and Greg.

While we were waiting on the jet bridge to board the plane, we realized, "SHIT WE DON'T HAVE A PHOTO OF THE THREE OF US." So we took this final self-portrait. Although we look happy, we're actually dying on the inside because we don't want to go home. Writhing. Pain. We mask it well.

: Some sort of sandwich.

When I was subjected to buying a sandwich (BBQ pork with cheese) on the airplane, I really, really wished I had bough a sandwich from Hlölla Bátar. Let that be a lesson to the rest of you: pack a sandwich on your carry-on!

And that's the end of this hopefully educational / entertaining / Icelandic tourism-generating journey. We made it. It only took two freakin' months.

Iceland, Day 6, Part II: Icelandic Fish and Chips, and a Final Meat Log

2009-06-24T08:16:45Z

This entry originally took place on April 23, meaning that I am not officially two months behind. TWO. MONTHS. Anyhoo, I have just one more post about Iceland after this. Pinky swear. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory because, like me, you've probably forgotten a lot already.

: Icelandic Fish and Chips

We ate dinner at Icelandic Fish and Chips per Sarah's recommendation, besides that I always have an underlying craving for that beloved food group: deep fried things. (It's the purple section on the right! ...Haha, no it's not. I don't know what the hell that is. "Purple food.") Fried meat. Fried carbs. Fried sugar. Fried ice cream. Fried batter. Frying is the magical process that can turn anything into a crispier, tastier, and less healthy version of its original self. And since I'm not a doctor nor a nutritionist, I have no problem endorsing the dumping of foodstuffs into vats of gurgling oil.

In a world where people like to deep fry anything—because dammit, we humans just like exercising our rights to create extravagantly disgusting dishes that no one would ever actually want to eat—Icelandic Fish and Chips is taking a healthier approach to deep fried fish and potato sticks. Their batter is made of spelt and barley, they bake their fries instead of fry them, and their dipping sauces are made of skyr, the beloved Icelandic yogurt/really soft yogurt-like cheese. Judging from the packed dining room that Thursday night, Icelandic people are loving it.

: FOOD.

Greg, Diana, and I split three orders of fish, three sides, a vegetable dish, and a bunch of desserts. On retrospect, I don't know why we ordered so much. Granted, we ate just about everything, either out of hunger or because "it was there; why wouldn't I eat it?"

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Plaice

Here's a fish. Plaice to be exact. I think we only ordered two kinds: plaice and wolf fish (other types of fish had already run out).

: MORE?

By golly, it's another.

: Another!

AND ANOTHER.

Their menu says that the spelt and barley give the batter a unique lightness and crispness, which you can almost see in these close up photos. As advertised, the batter provided a light and crisp casing for the moist, tender fish within without falling apart or getting soggy.

: Innards! How they glisten!

Plaice was unanimously declared the favorite, not that wolf fish was bad. There was something about the plaice that just tasted...better. Of course, I can't tell you what that is. Because I forget.

: Skyronnaise!

It's easier for me to remember the skyronnaise, which are pretty much like mayo-based sauces but with a slight hint of tang. Since we're indecisive and wanted to try everything we ordered the eight-flavor sampler: basil and garlic; cilantry and lime, coconut and curry; tartar, toasted peppers and chilli; honey and mustard; tzatziki; and mango chutney. The clear winner of the bunch was the cilantro and lime for its bright herbal and citrus flavors—if you just get one sauce, get that one. And if you don't like cilantro or lime, then...that blows.

: Baked fries...oh no.

Baked potatoes aren't bad, but baked potatoes posing as fries doesn't quite work. Although I understand the "healthy" angle here, I still say...no. I think they should just deep fry the suckers and embrace the "Chips" part of their name. The healthier batter for the fish works great—I think it tastes better than a lot of other fried fish—but baked potato sticks aren't going to match up to the fried version. Then again, that may not have been the major problem—that the salt was missing was another negative. But I semi-accept that as part of the healthy angle. We also had plenty of skyronnaise to flavor the fries with.

: Onion rings and fried vegetable nubs.

The onion rings and fried vegetables side dish also suffered from sodium deficiency. While they were alright, I wouldn't recommend getting either; stick with the fish. If you really want fries the baked potato sticks will do (you need some sort of starchy component anyway). Slather it all in cilantro lime skyronnaise and you're good to go.

Just like the main dishes, the desserts are also prepared with healthfulness in mind. They make baked goods out of spelt, and use unrefined sugar and agave nectar as sweeteners.

: Carrot cake

We tried four desserts (they give you the option of ordering half-slices of cake, so we did) although by this point I really only remember the carrot cake made of spelt, raw sugar, and agave nectar. I thought it was fine—moist and spiced and featuring thin layers of frosting.

: Biscotti

I don't remember if there was anything special about the biscotti, but I think it may have been softer than what I was expecting.

: Date cake

Date cake probably has...DATES IN IT. And what looks like chopped nuts. And is that coconut? Memory fail.

: Skyr

You can't go wrong with skyr and berries. Thick yogurty cheese with tangy fruit bits. And you don't really have to fiddle with it to make it "healthy"—just don't dump hot fudge and whipped cream on it.

: Empty.

What was once a crowded dining room was empty by the time we left. Oops; perhaps we lingered too long. They didn't make any effort to get rid of us though, which was nice.

: Light blue.

We strolled back to the hotel under a vivid dark blue sky, our last taste of Iceland's late setting sun in the spring. But not without stopping by one last place.

: Snack time!

HELLO, HOT DOG! While we wouldn't have gone out of our ways to visit famous hot dog shack Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur (we had gone there on our second day in Iceland), we weren't going to pass it up when it was right in our path. The warm glow from the window pulled us in. Along with meat logs.

: One more.

Greg and I exercise some sort of moderation by sharing one hot dog with everything—chopped raw onions, remoulade, ketchup, mustard, and—the best part—fried onions. The fried onions give it that crunchy kick that elevates "soft meat tube" to "soft meat tube with little bits of cronch." The combination of soft and crunchy is one of the greatest marriages I can think of. I bought a little tub of fried onions the following morning (it shall appear in my next post) and when I got back home would put it on anything I cooked. Rice looking drab? Shove some fried onions on top—now it is AWESOME.

: Holy shizz.

Look at that concentration! The colors! The lens flare! That's how you eat a hot dog in Iceland.

...Alas, this photo makes Greg's hot dog-eating look way more intense than it actually was. But it was still special for being the last hot dog we'd eat in Iceland. Good-bye, beloved Icelandic processed meat product.

Iceland, Day 6, Part I: Snow, Nature, and Lamb Stew

2009-06-19T06:24:25Z

This entry originally took place on April 23. I've just got two more posts to do and then I'm done with Iceland!—and we can get back to my boring life in New York City. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

April 23 was a national holiday in Iceland: The First Day of Summer. What summer? The summer that took place way back when Icelanders only recognized two seasons, but today feels like you're still stuck in winter, or a cold form of spring. This holiday takes place on the first Thursday after April 18 and, from what I witnessed, gives the whole city of Reykjavik reason to treat the previous Wednesday night like a Saturday night: BOOZIN' 'N TALKIN' LOUDLY UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP.

Melkorka told us it usually snowed on the "first day of summer." "Snow? It hasn't snowed all week," I thought. That's not gonna hap-

: View from our hotel.

...And then it snowed that night. The weather works in mysterious ways in Iceland. Iceland knows of that thing called "normal weather" and just poops all over it. Figurative poop.

: Hello, snow.

The next day Greg and I ventured back into nature to cover the popular Golden Circle path while Diana stayed in the city center to meet up with a friend. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow that was mostly gone by the time we got to our destination of...

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WELCOME!

Þingvellir (pronounced like "thingvellir," but with, ye know, Icelandic feeling), the original site of parliamentary assembly and proceedings established in 930, and what is today a national park.

: Earth is moving...oo.

Here is where you'll notice fault lines caused by the continental drift between the North American and Eurasian plates. (That light brown crack in the photo. Yup.)

: Cute buildings.

And there are cute buildings. You'll see those scattered about every so often.

: Rocky.

And you might be surrounded by rocks and...stuff. Earth. It's everywhere.

: I like moss.

Go further down the path and you'll be met with much mossy-plops-on-rocks action. And lichen. But I'm more a fan of the moss—the way it caps the rocks like fuzzy hats. Or patches of carpet. It's saying, "Sit on me; I'll cushion your butt!"

: Mm, rocks.

So I did.

: I love me some squidgy path action.

We came across a path to a little waterfall whose name I don't know. But I imagine it's the only one with this squidgy path that prevents you from having to touch the lumpy ground.

: Yay, gravity.

The waterfall was quite small. Still looks neat though.

: Erupt, dammit!

But not as neat as a geyser, or as Greg likes to call it, "Earth's steaming butthole." Sounds about right to me. The steaming earth butthole in question was Strokkur in Haukadalur, which conveniently shoots out a plume of boiling hot water every five to ten minutes.

: Steamy...

The hole is steaming. You know what that means! A giant blister of water heaved above the geyser's opening and...

: Kablooey. ...Is not the sound it makes.

FOOSH.

: Eeeuh.

The water quickly drained back into the bowels of the earth. Something about seeing the water flood back into the hole seemed...unsettling. What was down there? How far did it go? How excrutiatingly painful would it be to fall in that hole? Yeah.

: It no workie.

Next to Strokkur is the more famous Geysir, but as it erupts very infrequently, we didn't get to see anything. If not for the sign, I would've assumed it was another non-descript steaming earth hole.

: Pools of hot water.

There were also pools of beautiful blue water. If I had had my polarizing filter, I could've gotten a better photo of what was under the water. ...Oh well.

: Gullfoss...kaffi.

The final stop on our nature crawl was Gullfoss, a frighteningly massive waterfall. But first, we wanted food.

: Or...music?

Aside from food though, the Gullfoss tourist center conveniently sold albums by Iceland's national treasures, Bjork and Sigur Ros. (I used to be big fans of both artists, although these days not so much. Favorite Bjork album is Homogenic; favorite Sigur Ros album is Ágætis byrjun. I think my affinity for these albums has to do with when I listened to them though; if I listened to them now I'm not sure they'd have the same value. On that note, if you haven't listened to either of these albums, YOU SHOULD DO THAT NOOOOW, unless you don't like massively beautiful music. Hell, it's mostly because of them that I wanted to visit Iceland in the first place.)

: Not IKEA.

We got some soup and settled into the IKEA-ed cafeteria. I don't imagine that many tourist centers have a dining area that looks like this.

: Lamb stew!

Greg and I got the same dish: the (semi) famous lamb stew.

: Another view. Cos...why not.

Unfortunately for Greg, the woman behind the counter didn't ladle in as much "stuff from the bottom" as she did for me. Hence, I got more meatstuffs than he did. Aw. I shared my bounty of lamb chunks though, lest put Greg on the path to malnourishment.

The soup wasn't as great as we were hoping for, but it was satisfying enough. The lamb chunks had a good amount of lamb funk (ye know...lamb funk) and we even got some vegetables in our system from all the chopped celery, cabbage, potato, and carrot. Of course, lots of bread helped.

: SHITTONS OF WATER

And then, the thing we had all been water for: LOTS AND LOTS OF FALLING WATER. Like. Lots. A lot. It's loud. It's misty. It makes you think about death. Or maybe that was just me. "That would be a terrible way to die," was my general train of thought while looking at the nonstop rush of water over the edge...and then the next edge...and into those rocks...some particles hurled into the air as mist, the rest still a-flowing, never to be seen again. Well, not by me; by someone else, yeah. And the secondary train of thought: "Oo, it looks cool."

: WATER.

SO MUCH WATER, OH GOD, JUST LOOK...er, it carries much more weight if you're actually there. Yeah. Well. I do what I can.

: Bad idea.

I quite liked the warning signs they posted around the falls. They didn't necessarily look like afterthoughts, but considering the dangers that surrounded us, they were quite little. I mean, the actual sign is only a smidge wider than the skinny post it's attached to. "Do not walk into this crevice or you will be carried away by a rush of water—that white stuff that keeps moving over there and making all that 'foosh' noise—plunge about 30 meters into a river, get crushed by all sorts of competing forces that I can't explain because I didn't pay enough attention in my physics class, but are assuredly lethal, and then...ur ded. And you're pretty much done for because God knows you ignored the sign and now he thinks you're an idiot who doesn't deserve forgiveness."

Yup, that's what that sign says. In my mind.

: Blobs.

Here's another fun warning sign the size of a thumbnail. This message is easier to figure out: "Beware of evenly spaced blobs rolling down the cliff."

: Road. Empty.

Then it was back to long stretches of snow-coated nothingness as we returned to Reykjavik. For eating! More about that in Part II.

Random note that I didn't know where else to put: Yuizaki asked for Spain food recommendations in that forum I unfortunately neglcet, but it's THERE, for stuff like this. If you have any recs, please share; thanks!

Recent New York City Eats and a Scary Hostess

2009-06-18T06:33:18Z

Lately I've been going to bed at around 3 a.m. or later. Why? Because the Internet is another boundless dimension where all I do is waste time as my muscles atrophy and my eyesight worsens and my brain cells die.

Actually, it's not all the Internet's fault. I've been fiddling with LSDJ a lot lately and it's one of the biggest time sucks to ever grace my computer. I treat this fiddling process as a learning experience, but in my mind, when I'm learning something that has no use outside of "fun hobby," it goes into the steaming pile of "wasting time." I don't waste time by doing nothing/mindless activities; I consider "wasted time" as anything that isn't TGWAE, work, food, housekeeping, or photo-related. Like fiddling with LSDJ and updating my manatee blog.

On the bright side, I'm never bored. On the dim side, I'm not sure I'm ever teaching myself anything useful that the rest of humanity could actually benefit from. All I can hope for is that the manatee blog brightens someone's day. Someone's very sad, boring day that can only be redeemed by the power of photos and words about the lumbering, tubby sea cow.

Oh well. Hey, how's it going? Okay.

Before I get to my story about the Scary Hostess, here are some posts I've done lately for Serious Eats New York. Despite the ongoing posts about Iceland in which I've managed to stretch a one-week trip into two months of posts, I actually do live in New York City and, since I'm not a robot, eat food here as well. It's a lot easier to write posts for Serious Eats instead of my blog because 1) it's my full time job which means 2) I can actually write stuff during the day while at the office and 3) they give me deadlines.

: Cafe Kashkar

Lambsplosion of Uyghur Food at Cafe Kashkar in Brighton Beach: I'll have to write about this epic day on TGWAE at some point, but basically, I went to Brighton Beach with Diana, Greg, Kathy, and Edd for the purposes of helping Diana on her photoshoot and frolicking in that fun substance we call "sand." We followed our beach romping with dinner at Cafe Kashkar because Kathy and I had eaten there before and really liked it. It's still good. (If you're wondering if this trip also include the carrot cake from M&I, they had unfortunately run out by the time we got there. SAD.)

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Eeeeuh yum!

Budae Jjigae from Pocha 32 in Koreatown: Pocha 32, a divey bar/restaurant decorated mostly with bottle caps and fish nets, seems to be a good place to go if you miss South Korea. Their menu features huge ass bowls of street food meant to be shared between you and your posse of Korean food-loving friends. Carol brought me there so we could get the budae jjigae, or army base stew, a spicy broth filled with hot dogs, Spam (or some other processed pork product), ramyun (ramen), cheese, rice cakes, slices of pork, cabbage, tofu chunks, carrots, watercress, and...god, I don't know. Stuff. Stuff that all came together quite well. I'd eat it again.

: NOODLES...oodles of them.

Sujebi and Seafood Pancakes at Arirang in Koreatown: Sujebi, torn noodle soup, was one of my favorite dishes in Korea. Luckily, it wasn't long after I got back to NYC that I get to fulfill a sujebi craving. My favorite version at Arirang so far is the chicken soup (over the kimchi and the seafood). And don't think of eating there without also getting a seafood pancake. It's one of the best things ever. Ever. Also make sure to eat there with at least two people because portions are freakin' huge.

: Mm...opaque.

Seolleongtang, Ox Bone Broth, from Gahm Mi Oak: The people have spoken, and they say Gahm Mi Oak has some solid seolleongtang, but perhaps more importantly, awesome kimchi. Seolleongtang is a Korean dish of noodles and rice in ox bone broth that you salt to taste or else you'll wonder, "Why the hell is this soup so bland?" Add salt and you shall unlock its minerally secrets. A pile of scallions doesn't hurt either.

But there was something about their radish kimchi that made a lightbulb pop over my head, coupled with a "ding" sound, and maybe an angelic glow. It was tasty. It was, "Uh so I'm going to shove more of this in my mouth now and I don't know why, I just can't stop myself," tasty. Before, I would eat kimchi merely because it was there; this time, I was driven by a force that I didn't recognize. I have since identified that force as "kimchi craving"—felt by millions around the world, and now it has come to me.

And now that Scary Hostess Thing

My blog is generally free of negativity and bad things a-happening, as is my life. Eating experiences are mostly positive, or at least neutral. That's why I don't talk about crappy food or horrifically bad service; I'm lucky to say that I rarely come across either.

Since I like this wave of happy thoughts, I wasn't sure if I should air my grievances about an atypical experience I had at PDT on Tuesday. But maybe that's why I should blog about it; because it was atypical. And then you can regale me with similar stories. It goes a lil' something like this.

Ed (Serious Eats founder, my boss, cool guy who likes pizza, etc) wanted us to visit PDT, the cocktail lounge tucked inside Crif Dogs, so we could eat and photograph their hot dogs for a "Cool Hot Dogs and Stuff in NYC" post. (For those unfamiliar with PDT, they serve hot dogs from Crif Dogs, but some with special toppings you can't get at Crif Dogs.) Neither of us had been to PDT before so we weren't sure what it would be like trying to get in.

"Can you make a reservation?" asked Ed as we were preparing to leave the office.

I called, asked the hostess (soon to be Scary Hostess) for a reservation at 7 p.m. and was told they were booked for the night. Okay...understandable, but...oh, crap. I "hmm"-ed and turned to Ed to tell them it was booked while awaiting further instructions.

"Is there any chance we can get in if we just show..." I started.

And then there was a distinct click. And a ringtone. In most other situations I might think I got disconnected—cell phones do that—but I was 99% sure that this was a hang up. Did she think I was rude? Did she already deem me unworthy of deserving any attention after five seconds of conversation? I don't know. It didn't seem like a good omen, but I didn't really have a choice; Ed wanted those hot dogs.

He called them right away, inquired if we could get in just by showing up, and we were off.

About half an hour later we made it to PDT with Kathy joining us since she lived nearby. Scary Hostess let us in since we fell into the three-person-maximum for bar seating. She was clear about the three person maximum, perhaps in case we were thinking of sneaking more people in. (We weren't.)

"Is there any chance we could just get hot dogs?" Ed asked. We knew the answer was probably "no," but it didn't hurt to ask.

"No, you have to buy cocktails; this is a cocktail lounge." And this was the weirdest part (a feeling shared by the three of us, at least): she repeated "This is a cocktail lounge," like a broken record, three times (or so), each time sternly with the sense that she was taking to idiots. Or something. It was kind of noisy in there and it's hard for me to explain. I think each of us was about ready to explode from the disdainful tone, but the explosion was outranked by thinking, "WTF?" and being hungry for hot dogs.

She said we would have to buy cocktails if we wanted hot dogs. Understandable. I'm not saying I'm against this policy; it's just that we were as far removed from the Danny Meyer school of thought as possible. Maybe Scary Hostess was having a bad day, or had to deal with lots of ignorant customers and didn't see the point in trying to be polite to get her point across. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that's naive. Another person would just say that she was drunk with power, or use more colorful language.

We sat. Ed realized we could get by just by getting beers for $5 each. (I wouldn't say we were trying to be cheap; Ed and I just don't like alcoholic drinks. Obviously, we shouldn't be at a cocktail bar, but we weren't there to linger.) And then, unexpectedly, one of his friends who works at the bar appeared and right away, the iron fist of rudeness was lifted and replaced with happy rainbows and kittens because he was the nicest guy ever and made sure we were taken good care of.

"Get them these beers...and those hot dogs...and tater tots. Anything else?"

The thing is, Nice Guy would've been nice to anyone. Of course, you'd probably going to be more hospitable to your friends, but for the most part, everyone else who worked at PDT seemed to fit into the Nice Person category. We just got unlucky with Scary Hostess, who isn't there every day. Of course, after being told who Ed was, Scary Hostess turned into Hospitable Hostess. I think she apologized to Ed when we left.

I'm not saying that we deserved special treatment; I'm saying that no one, assuming they aren't assholes or anything, should have to be treated that poorly no matter where they go. You could ask why Ed didn't try to arrange some kind of hot dog shoot in advance. For one thing, he wouldn't want to announce his arrival or possibly get special treatment, and I'd think he'd want to see what the average person would go through if they wanted to go to PDT. I don't think our experience was even average, though—just unfortunate. There was nothing wrong with PDT's cocktail-and-food policy; it was just the way it was...um...explained to us. And other stuff. If I liked cocktails I'd go back to PDT (it's known as one of the best cocktail lounges in NYC, with the extra plush of having good hot dogs and tater tots), but I don't so I probably never will.

I think it was the first time I ever experienced just how big of a difference it could make to go somewhere as an average Joe versus being a food critic and friend of someone who works at the establishment you're going to. Surely not an uncommon occurrence, but it kind of sucked to see in motion.

ANNND THAT'S LIFE, the end. Many people have experienced worse. I think I'm still lucky.

Iceland, Day 5, Part III: Lobster, Fish, and Coca-Cola

2009-06-11T07:00:48Z

This entry originally took place on April 22 and is the final part of a three-part series. Of one day. Of a longer series. I swear that I'm almost done with these Iceland posts. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

For dinner we met up with my New York City-based friend Melkorka (food blog readers may be familiar with her sister, Ulla of Goldilocks Finds Manhattan) and her boyfriend Jeff who just happened to be in Iceland at the same time as we were. Sweeeet! She had a more important reason to be there than "vacation" though: Her parents are Icelandic and she had some errands to do for them. But there was plenty of time for them to do fun stuff, like eat lobster soup and fish on sticks.

: Sea Baron / Saegreifinn

We ate dinner at Saegreifinn, aka Sea Baron, a famous seafood "shack" by the water known for their fresh seafood skewers and lobster soup.

: Holy crap holy crap wtf.

If you eat there with Greg, it might look like this. (It looks oddly Photoshopped, but nope—that's the real Greg.)

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MEAT, of sea origins!

You order by looking at the display of meat sticks and saying, "Yeah, I want that one." (Other combinations of words conveying similar meaning would probably work.) There's lobster, scallop, shrimp, cod, redfish, halibut, vegetable, mink whale, blue ling, salmon, and potato, although if you get there late they'll probably have already run out of some of their choices. Makes sense to get there earlier than later anyway since it's a small place and you'll want to secure enough seats for your party. In addition to choosing some skewers of seafood, you'll also want to order their lobster soup. We each got a cup of soup and shared six skewers between the five of us (or rather, five meaty skewers and one vegetable).

: SOUP!

The lobster soup was ...lovely. I mean, it was loved by all. I don't know what was in it; I just know it was creamy (although not in a heavy way), well seasoned, and contained a decent amount of tender Icelandic lobster chunks (Icelandic lobster is different from the American sort; much smaller and, I would assume as I rarely eat lobster, tastes different). Mark Bittman wrote a better description for the New York Times so you may as well just read that.

: Bread!

Our soup came with a basket of soft, slightly chewy bread that was perfect for soaking up liquids. Such as the soup.

: Fish and veg.

By this point—which is over a month since I've returned from Iceland—I don't remember much about the different types of fish we tried. Like the one above? I'm not sure what that is. "White." But I do remember that I liked everything. Simple, fresh, flaky, meaty, flesh-o-fishies. The vegetable skewer isn't really anything special, but we had eaten so little vegetable matter over our trip that just eating a chunk of zucchini gave me some sort of psychological solace among those nagging thoughts of, "DUDE, HAVE I EATEN ANY VEGETABLES DURING THIS TRIP?" (Answer: "not really.")

: More!

Here's more fish and shrimpies.

: Muh muh muh more.

And more fish.

: Oo, medium rare.

And the steak of the sea: WHALE!

...Okay, before you admonish me for eating whale...um...well, I guess can't stop you. I already heard it from the Serious Eaters though. Not to say people didn't bring up valid points, but I wasn't writing an investigative report on whether or not it's ethical to eat whale; I just said, "Hey, here's something I ate that you may not have had before, and this is what it tastes like." If they wanted a full report on whaling, I wouldn't have written about it at all. I am in no way qualified to write about that subject.

And that's why I like having a blog separate from Serious Eats. Dear much smaller pool of TGWAE readers: I am not a passionate follower of whaling ethics. Do you mind if I write about something like whale-chunks-on-a-stick without having to do hours of research about whether or not whaling in iceland should be allowed? You don't really have to do any research to know that most people are against whaling. But I'm not writing a thesis here; I just want to get this blog post done with in less than five hours. Thanks.

So what does whale taste like? Fishy beef. Like beef with finer muscle fibers. This version was especially tender and soft. It's pretty good, although not something I'd dream about eating again.

: Chocolate covered stick things.

We visited the nearby 10-11 just for fun and to potentially find after dinner sweets. Æðibitar—a chocolate and coconut biscuit snack—and Florida Bitar—a chocolate, coconut, and puffed rice biscuit snack—are everywhere and their package designs don't seem to have had a upgrade in decades. For whatever unknown reason, I didn't try either of them. If I missed out on something awesome, feel free to lay on the guilt.

: And..this.

The snacks pictured above (I'm not sure what the Icelandic name is; feel free to chime in) were also everywhere, sometimes in variety packs. They're chunks of a marshmallow-esque substance covered with chocolate and sometimes shredded coconut. Not bad, not "OMG YES GIVE ME MORE" awesome either. If they had a nostalgic value to me, I'd probably like them more.

: It's hard!

I was amused by these directions on the back of a bag of marshmallows instructing how to roast a marshmallow. Next, the company will be getting complaints from customers who don't know how to start a fire.

: Walkin.

We walked up Laugavegur to get to Boston, a popular bar with an accompanying restaurant called Segurmo. Our party is a rather nice looking bunch from the back, eh? (And the front. But I lagged behind, as I tend to do.)

: Shimmer!

During the walk we passed a neat shimmering "waterfall" on the side of a building, just one example of many cool pieces of street art in the center of Reykjavik.

: Cosy.

We took residents in a dark nook of the second floor of Boston equipped with comfy sofas and chairs. Everyone else drank beers while I sipped on a small bottle of Coca-Cola. We spent the next two hours hanging out and talking about I'm-not-sure-what, except for a memorable story from Jeff about getting his bag stolen on a New York City subway en route to the airport and miraculously getting it back after alerting the police and managing to just barely catch his flight. But he told it much better than how I summed it up in one sentence. It's things like that that make me realize that I'm very much lacking in the "interesting stories" department, but then again, I never want to be in a situation where I'm robbed on the way to an airport.

: Icelandic dude!

As we were getting ready to leave, a man came by and asked if we were American. "Can I sit with you guys and practice my English?" Sure, why not?

Of course, we would soon find out that Uunthor's English was already good (just about everyone in Iceland speaks English) and he probably knew five languages already. He said he was going to have to learn Spanish since his job (marine engineer) would take him to Chile in a few months. "Yeah, I need to learn Spanish in a few months..." What? Jaysus. He could probably do it; I'd still be stuck knowing as much as a stray dog in Santiago.

He joked around with us a bit, with a few things possibly lost in translation. It was a unique way to end the night and certainly the longest conversation we had with someone who was actually from Iceland. We wish you well, Uunthor!

: FUN FACES!!!

The night wasn't over yet. Melkorka invited us to swing by her family's apartment, a homey place filled with her mother's art supplies and some furniture designed by her grandfather. I've never known a family of artists before (Melkorka is a graphic designer); it's pretty neat. We drank Coke and ate a few too many paprika-flavored corn puffs and cheese-flavored tortilla chips—since Melkorka and Jeff were leaving for New York the next day we had a sort of "clean out the kitchen" session. They also gave us a few bags of extra groceries to keep, my favorite item being a lovely container of mayonnaise that I didn't get to use, but cleaned it out and took home. You shall see it...later.

Iceland, Day 5, Part II: A Museum, a Gallery, and a Candy Bar

2009-06-09T06:10:34Z

This entry originally took place on April 22. I was going to originally make this one post, but it was too freakin' long. There's not much food in this one, I'm afraid. Trust me, I pretty much keep thinking, "Oh sweet Jesus fugnutter this is like the series that will never die." Anyhoo. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

: In Iceland, bananas look the same, but BETTER.

After getting my day's worth of calories, Diana, Greg, and I decided we should fit in some of that "non-food related cultural stuff"—museums and such—that everyone has to do when they're on vacation.

: It's red.

Like observing the many houses featuring corrugated metal of all sorts of colors. Greg was the first to notice this. I just took this picture because I like red.

: Oo...gray.

We also visited the National Museum of Iceland where we saw...

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Book!

Old book!

: Book 2!

Another old book!

I mean, there was much more than that, but the books were especially pretty. Icelandic words looks lovely.

: For da kidz.

Kids museum and sections of museums dedicated to kids are always more fun than the other parts because kids will become noticeably impatient or bored if not frequently engaged with, while adults may also become impatient or bored, but have been conditioned by the iron fist of society's expectations combined with years of impatience and boredom to just deal with it. In this case, if you're a kid (or about as small as one) you can try on old Icelandic clothing worn by...god knows how many people before you. Try not to think about it as the fabric caresses your skin.

: More hands on stuff.

There was another hands-on section sans size restrictions. Greg was especially enthralled by the typewriter. Which is totally understandable since typewriters are awesome. And they make that nice "ding" sound.

: That fish is huge.

One temporary exhibition focused on child laborers from the 1930s to 1950s. I quite liked the photo of the Happy Kid with Huge Dead Fish.

: The Conveyor Belt of TIME.

The museum ended with a non-functioning airport conveyor belt repurposed as a display for knickknacks and whatsits representing different decades.

: Blue and red make blue and red.

You're not allowed to take photos at the National Gallery of Iceland, but I snuck (snuck is a funny word, eh?) one in since I particularly liked whatever this thing was. I'm easily delighted by bright colors and shapes. Kind of like a three-year old.

: Hello, there. Taken by Diana.

Diana snuck in more than a few, including this funny one of Greg and me staring at a painting of some sort from opposite sides. Greg is quite good at making faces. For whatever reason, he reminds me of a Muppet.

: Despite the window's declaration, there are no naked apes inside.

Back on Laugevegur, we went to Naked Ape, a unique clothing store that could've come out of the Soho, with high prices to match. Ahhh well, we didn't visit Iceland to buy clothing...moving on.

: CANDY!

We also stopped into Vínberið (or Vinberid, because I doubt many people are searching specifically for "Vínberið"), a cute candy and chocolate shop. Surprisingly I didn't buy that much stuff. Sidestepping the stuff with licorice in it doesn't seem to leave that many Icelandic treats to choose from.

: HRAUN

Many of the non-licorice candy bars revolve around rice, wafers, and corn-based things. Think lots of airy and crunchy matter, plenty of which was in my Risa Hraun bar.

: Airy.

Grapevine.is tells me that Hraun means "lava," which is a very, very, very rough description of what this bar looks like. If you squint, you might think you're looking at a lava field...made of chocolate and rice puffs. With a center of water goodness. It's pleasant, although I would prefer more chocolate.

Food Party's Mr. Ice Cream Cone Likes Manatees

2009-06-05T02:45:44Z

: "You can't make ice cream from sea cows."

Alice got Mr. Ice Cream Cone from Food Party to give me a personalized greeting. And then MY HEAD EXPLODED FROM JOOOOOOY, UNBRIDLED JOOOY, PURE GOLDEN RAINBOW (wait, huh?) JOOOOOOY with sparkly marshmallows.

So, backstory. I've loved that freakin' Mr. Ice Cream Cone every since seeing this video way back when:

: Heh.

Look at those hollow beady eyes! That oddly emotive mouth. AND THAT VOICE. THE VOICE. THE...SQUEAKY...yeah. Alice and Greg can attest that I sometimes go into Squeaky High-Pitched Mr. Ice Cream Voice Mode, perhaps by quietly going, "Yeah...yeah...yeah," (um, you have to be there to see what I mean, or watch the video a lot) or suddenly exclaiming, "LOOK, A PIG! HE'S DEAD!"

Thank you Alice, Kogi, Mr. Ice Cream Cone, and Peter Van Hyning for giving life to the cone puppet. However, I am disappointed that Mr. Hyning doesn't list "Life Force of Mr. Ice Cream Cone" under the "Skills" heading in his resume. If I could do that, I so would. And then if I were a boss looking new new hires I'd see that little gem at the bottom of the resume and be like, "I AM HIRING THAT ICE CREAM CONE GUY. HE MIGHT BE A LITTLE STRANGE, BUT I THINK HE'S A KEEPER."

You can buy a plush Mr. Ice Cream Cone from foodparty.tv but it doesn't look like a puppet, which isn't quite as magical. I need the version where I can stick my hand in it and make its mouth go all bloopy.

Iceland, Day 5, Part 1: Pastry Goodness at Sandholt Bakery

2009-06-04T05:10:46Z

This entry originally took place on April 22. Yup, this is the longest reblog of a one-week vacation ever. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

: I ate it.

Ain't no better way to start the day than with a blood sugar spike! And that is why I was so happy that just up the street from our hotel was Sandholt Bakery, one of the oldest (or perhaps the oldest?) bakeries in Reykjavik, opened and family-operated since 1920. Many pastries were recognizable as French, while others looked familiar, but not quite. Here's a pictorial tour of the goods.

: Fig. 1

Huge-ass rolled-up bready buns called snúður slathered with chocolate or toffee icing, doughnuts, and chocolate-dipped puffed rice treats.

]]>

Could it beee?

Macarons! Passion fruit! To be exact!

: More.

Lots of golden flaky goodies.

: And more.

Including light, plump croissants.

: Get in my mouth.

Danishes, or vínarbrauð, one of the most popular items in the bakery.

: I love you, wheeeat.

Scones/biscuits, or skonsur, filled with cinnamon chips.

: L'orange...that's "orange." Yeup.

Sandholt isn't just a bakery, but a chocolatier as well.

: More chocolate things!

Alas, I didn't try any of their chocolate-enrobed goodies. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

: Frozen goodies.

Actually, Sandholt is even more than that—it's a homemade bakery/chocolatier/ice cream shop. Are you in love yet? Because you should be.

: Surrounded by tastiness.

I ordered way more than Greg, Diana, and I could (or should) eat for breakfast. But that's how it goes when you want to try a bunch of things and you don't have much time to do it in. Just shove it all into one go! One bloated go.

: Mm, fluff.

The toffee-coated bun with cinnamon-filled crevices was about as large as my head. The large size lent itself to what felt like a heavy pastry, but the texture was actually fluffier and lighter than it looked. Overall, a tasty, not overly sweet breakfast treat...best shared between four people.

: Scone.

I don't recall much about the cinnamon chip scone, which probably means that it was good, just not in the "OMG, GIMME MORE" sense. It was of the tender, crumbly, very lightly sweetened sort. Maybe it would've been better if I could've smothered it with butter or clotted cream...

: Innards.

I liked the croissant, even if it lacked that initial cronch and explosion of crust shards that follows when your teeth pierce through the stack of thin buttery layers. It was crusty enough with soft, holey innards, and a slightly sweet, buttery taste.

: Innards.

The passion fruit macaron was a bit too sweet for my tastes (that happens a lot), but for a country where I doubt many places offer macarons, they were good. Slight crust on the outside and soft on the inside.

: I LOVE YOUUU.

My favorite of the bunch was the Danish. Growing up, I was never fond of Danishes; American versions are generally filled with a sort of sweet cheese and/or fruity goo that doesn't appeal to me (at least, the generic ones). But Sandholt's version, which I figure is more like the kind you would find in Denmark, spared me of fruit. The thin, buttery, layered pastry was topped with custard and chocolate and—this is the best part—filled with marzipan. It's nutty custardy chocolaty buttery goodness,

: Tamara and Andrea.

During our carb-loaded meal we talked to two incredibly sweet young women who work there, Tamara and Andrea. Neither of them is Icelandic; Tamara is from Ecuador and Andrea is from France. If you see them when you visit Sandholt, say hello! Maybe they'll let you take a look inside the kitchen like they did for us.

: Where things get delicious.

Some super old ovens over there.

: Tools!

Some baking tools over there.

: Let's give birth to some PASTRIES!

And a workstation over there.

: Maccies!

And chocolate macarons in the making!

Address

Sandholt Bakery
Laugavegur 36, 101 Reykjavik, Iceland
Another location at Hverafold 1-3 - 112 Reykjavík

White Castle Fail

2009-06-01T03:32:26Z

: Alice + baby manatee + White Castle = Saturday night

"We should go to White Castle," I said. "Now."

It took about a split second for Veronica, Alice, and me to decide that, yes, we would celebrate Alice's last night as a resident of Brooklyn with a sack of sliders and some chicken rings on the side, among other foodstuffs that probably shouldn't be eaten at any time of the day, never mind after midnight.

Veronica and I were hanging out with Alice in her apartment the night before Alice would hop on a plane and move back to Los Angeles (sniff, sniff, SNIFF, SNIIIIFFF). How did White Castle enter the picture? While talking to Veronica about my burger blog editor status, of course:

"What do you think of White Castle's burgers?" she asked.

"I don't think I've been there in more than 15 years."

"There's a White Castle near the Graham Ave station that I meant to check out," Alice said, "but I never got around to it."

And that is how we decided: It was White Castle time.

]]> The three of us were perfectly aware that White Castle is no gastronomic revelation of mindblowing deliciousness. Sometimes you want to eat something because you know it'll be good; sometimes you want to eat something because you're almost positive it won't be good, but you're too curious to heed the words of those who have already tried it and suffered the consequences. It's one of those things you need to experience for yourself...like durian and fermented fish. (I have yet to indulge in fermented fish. Someday, someday.) White Castle fits in the latter category, but has a few other qualities that give it "must try" status: it's the oldest fast-food burger chain in the country and it's a pop culture icon. I can't think of White Castle without also thinking of Harold and Kumar. And getting stoned.

Although Veronica, Alice, and I may not have had Neil Patrick Harris by our side, we were still a threesome of AWESOMENESS. We decided that our local White Castle was probably a 24-hour establishment, and even if it weren't, our only investment would be a 15-minute walk.

As we walked down Metropolitan Avenue, we could see the bright glow of the towering White Castle sign. Score! Images of indigestion by way of late-night processed meat patties danced in our heads. Alas, despite the welcoming glow of the restaurant's fluorescent lights, the front door was locked. Only the drive-thru operated 24/7. Crap.

Well, let's just walk up then, we so naively thought*. We looked at our options on the Giant Glowing Menu and settled on some sliders and chicken rings (because nuggets are boring), but as we got closer to the box, the White Castle God (that is, the voice from the order box) boomed: "WE DON'T TAKE WALK-UP ORDERS AT THE DRIVE-THRU."

Sadness. What kind of world do we live when you can't eat at White Castle at 1 a.m.? (An ever so slightly healthier world, maybe.) We briefly considered hailing a taxi to drive us through so we could complete Alice's residence in Brooklyn with a proper bang, but that seemed just a little...too...desperate and stupid.

We walked back towards Alice's apartment feeling mildly dejected for being unable to give Alice the White Castle meal she wouldn't be able to get back in California. But it was more about the experience and hanging out than actually eating the food. Sort of. There are good reasons for not allowing people to walk up to the drive-thru, mostly these two: safety of the pedestrians (who could get run over by cars) and safety of the employees (who could get robbed by the walk up-ers).

...But still. I guess I never thought I'd be in a position where you'd have to drive a car to get food at a place in a neighborhood where most people walk and don't have cars.

And that's what I learned on my Saturday night.

(If you're wondering about the manatee, we thought it would make for a funny photo shoot to have manatee "eating" the burgers. It just wasn't meant to be.)

*If I need to clarify, I think we all had the inkling this wouldn't be allowed...but we were already there so it didn't hurt to try.

Bucketloads of Snapshots from South Korea

2009-05-29T17:39:54Z

: FOOD...in Korea.

I know it's confusing that I've been writing about a week-long vacation in Iceland for the past month, but I've come to wonder how the hell anyone has time to blog when most of that time is taken up by work and sleep. ...And the other stuff in between, like when some friends and I watched Star Trek last night and afterward hung out at Gahm Mi Oak for almost three hours. Ooopssss.

And remember that in between going to Iceland and sitting on my butt (what I'm doing right now) I also went to Seoul? Yeah. I've been blogging about my trip to Korea on Serious Eats for the past few weeks, building up quite a list of posts in the process. If you don't check out Serious Eats every day (sob), here are some links to make your life easier:

Hyoja-dong Old Fashioned Tteokbokki
Photos from Seoul's 7th International Tteok Fair
Gallery of Rice Cakes from Seoul's 7th International Tteok Fair
Grand Prix from Mr. Pizza, Korean Pizza 'Made for Women'
Pizza Doughnut from Mister Donut
Pon de Ring Doughnuts from Mister Donut
Seafood Noodle Soup from Samcheong-dong Sujebi
Burgers from Lotteria
Fried Things on Sticks
Rice Cake and Dumpling Soup from Koong
Kalguksu from Myeongdong Gyoja

If I've learned anything from writing these posts and trying to grasp at the few memories I can actually extract out of my head, it's that I need to take way more notes. Or at least ones that are more descriptive than, "FAT MANDOO."

Iceland, Day 4, Part II: Svartifoss and Jökulsárlón

2009-05-25T08:04:22Z

This entry originally took place on April 21, with part one here. It's not a very food-filled post, but it's got...NATURE...and things. But mostly nature. Check out other posts about Iceland for more food stuff.

: A wee bit desolate.

On the road between Dyrhólaey and the main road that lead to more vast expanses of rocks, grass, waterfalls, and other natural things, we stopped on this road.

: Car

And got out of the car.

: Mountains and stuff.

To the other side of the car was this. MOUNTAINS! And damp soil goo.

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YES

I took this opportunity to say YES EZRA!

: I jump.

Further down the road was a field of stubby stratified rock formations surrounded by damp soil. Perhaps it was once all rock that, over a gazillion years, eroded to the funky masses they are today. Or not.

: I didn't eat it.

Eating had yet to occur. Doh.

: Vik

...Until we got to Vik and stopped into a supermarket for some meat, crisp bread, and cheese. Does a body good! Not really.

: The Pizza God looks over you.

Greg made a triple decker meat-cheese-crisp bread sandwich of some sort with surprisingly tasty sesame-speckled Burger crisp bread. Light, crispy, and flavorful, it actually gave me crisp bread cravings when I got back home. Alas, I haven't found the same brand here and when I tried a different one, it wasn't nearly as delicious (mostly, it was bland-ariffic). I am a sad panda.

: Bologna

Maybe someone can explain this to me. Here's a pack of bologna from the front...

: ...

...And there's the back. Rather atful for a package of processed meat. I can recognize Da Vinci, but the other images escape me. Halp?

: Mm, yellow!

We also hard boiled some eggs that morning to bring with us on the trip. These eggs were a rather deep orange-yellow color, rich, and tasty. (Hard boiled is my favorite form of egg.)

: Back on the road.

And the desolate road continued as we went to our next waterfall.

Svartifoss

: The path to Svartifoss.

Unlike the other waterfalls we had visited that day, Svartifoss in Skaftafell National Park is not located right off the road, but it's a fairly short (less than 20 minutes), unthreatening walk to get there. (I figure this is worth noting if you're as terribly out of shape as I am. Whenever I have to deal with steep paths my body goes into, "Fuck fuck fuck I feel like crap" mode, but it's unlikely I'll actually say anything while huffing and puffing because...I am too busy huffing and puffing.) You can see the path on the side of the stream in the photo.

: WOOSH.

The name Svartifoss, or Black Fall, comes from the dark basalt columns that formed from cooling lava. I just searched for more information concerning how columnar basalt develops, but if I try to fully understand the science now I will never finish this post. (You'd wonder why it takes so long to write a post. I'd attribute most hold-ups to getting distracted by the Internet, but sometimes it's because I'm trying to quickly research something I don't know much about. Which is most things.)

: Pattern.

I'm mildly fascinated by naturally emerging patterns in unexpected places. If I had to choose between going to a beautiful beach or looking at rock columns, I'd rather do the latter. NATURE IS AWESOME. Don't you forget it.

: It flows.

Greg shot this video of the fall in action.

Jökulsárlón

: Just over there.

The final destination was close. So very close. Just over that hill, actually.

: WE MADE IT!

When we finally reached Jökulsárlón, the largest glacier lake in Iceland, the sky was unfortunately blanketed by clouds. Although the sun was still shining brightly at 6:30 p.m., its light barely reached the glaciers. OH GOD, FAIL.

But it was still good. Peaceful and quiet, aside from the soft creaking and trickling sounds of the moving/melting glaciers. Very few other tourists to be seen. Cool, crisp air. Totally surreal. It didn't really hit me at the time that I would probably never get to visit a place like this ever again; I was mostly thinking about how I wanted to sit amongst the grass and rocks for ages while staring at the ice and passing seals. I also wanted to climb on a glacier, but that would have required a boat and I'd assume that "glacier climbing" is prohibited.

: I touched...ice.

I did touch a chunk of wayward ice that came to the shore, possible another prohibited act, but I was just trying to send it back to its friends. YEAAAAH! If you think my writing is less-than-stellar, you should hear me talk. It's much more painful. Watch this video shot by Diana at your own risk...of thinking less of me.

: NOOO, CLOUDS

I really wanted the clouds to follow my commands (that is, "MOVE"), but no dice.

: Seals!

I would have also liked to get a closer look at the seals, but they weren't interested in getting a closer look at us. I don't blame em; we're pretty boring.

: Stripey

Some of the glaciers had black marks, or zebra stripes as Diana called them.

: Photograph by Diana

You can see more of the stripey action in this photo by Diana.

: Zzzz

And there's Diana!...dead. I mean asleep. I mean pretending to be one or the other.

: There's me.

For some reason one of my goals for the trip was to have a "sleepy/dead" photo somewhere in Iceland. AND I GOT IT, in this grassy pit by the lake. (Here's a better version sans car.)

: Snoooot.

And for the main photo in my album of "Greg Doing Weird Shit," here's Greg pretending to snort out a nose-ful of algae snot. He was pretty excited when he picked up the algae at the edge of the lake and realized it had a strong resemblance to "diseased bodily discharge."

Yeeeup...that's our Greg.

For a better view of the lake from afar, check out this photo by Diana.

: Bye bye.

We had to leave at a reasonable time to account for the 4+ hour drive back to Reyjavik. Sigh. Bye-bye, glaciers.

: Okay, you too.

Bye-bye, mountains.

: THE SUN.

Bye-bye, 8:40 p.m. setting sun.

: HELLOOO

Helloooo, gas station!

We passed a large chunk of time by playing a game called, "What Popular Movies Has Robyn Not Seen?" Because over the course of the trip it was determined that my movie history was severly deficient, mostly in the "Action" and "Drama" categories. Every time Greg or Diana guessed a popular movie that I hadn't seen and they had, they would get a point—the scores went up to the 30s before they called it quits. What haven't I seen: any Die Hard movie, any James Bond movie, any Robocop movie, any Terminator movie (that I can recall well), aaaand then some.

: HOT DOG.

When we got home sometime after midnight, Greg's gurgling belly asked for a snack. I wasn't going to refuse a late night hot dog, although wrapping microwaved dogs in cheese and sticking them in lightly toasted buns may not have been the best recipe for "delicious late night snack." They were missing a few magical ingredients, like sauce and fried onions. Ooops. Well. We did what we could with our limited ingredients.

And that was the end of THE MOST AWESOME DAY I SPENT AROUND NATURE. It wasn't until it was over—more specifically, when I was lying in bed with nothing to concentrate on—that I realized, "Damn that was awesome. That's not going to happen again, ever, is it." But it's probably for the best that it's such a singular experience; if it happened all the time, it wouldn't be as special.

Great American Food & Music Fest: Who's Going?

2009-05-23T05:39:55Z

Update (6/14/09): I'm closing comments; if you wanna say something about the event, go to Serious Eats or another online forum. I think it's reasonable to say that I don't want my blog to be a complaint center. And yes, you have reason to complain. But there's obviously nothing I can do about it. I was there; I heard the complaints on Saturday and I heard them last night, and today, and I think I'll be hearing about them for a while. Totally sucks that it ended up being a clusterfuck. Most people will never want to go to an event like this again, but some people will (we did get some messages from people who actually enjoyed themselves...sigh) and for them, next time will be better. And not at Shoreline Amphitheater.

: Yay, I drew a fork.

Perhaps I should've asked this earlier, but is anyone in food blog land going to the Great American Food & Music Fest? Because...I am! In fact, the whole Serious Eats crew is flying to Mountain View, California, the weekend of June 13th to see the fruits of Ed's labors. The Serious Eats name isn't associated with the fest, but Ed cobbled together all the food purveyors, so he's very much in it. For the past few months we've been listening to his many, many...many phone calls to make this fest happen. It's a cool thing.

Check out posts on Serious Eats for more info. And if you're going, let me know. I don't know anything about Mountain View, nor do I know anyone who lives there. It'd also be good to have some fooding partners so I don't explode from trying to eat everything.

Iceland, Day 4, Part I: Waterfall, Waterfall, Waves, and Rocks

2009-05-20T16:20:00Z

This entry originally took place on April 21. I thought I could shove all this nature stuff in one post, but it was becoming too ginormous. So, two entries it is. Just to warn you, there's no food in this one, except for a brief mention of the semi-digested kind. Check out other posts about Iceland for more food stuff.

: Peace out.

Seven hours there. Seven hours back. This was not a day for food, but a day for nature. All day. ...All...day...

But I didn't have to drive, so it was cool with me. Greg took the wheel as Diana rode shotgun and I splayed my girth across the back seat on our adventure to Jökulsárlón, a glacier lake near the southeast coast of Iceland. The road to Jökulsárlón was paved with varying expanses of vast nothingness, a few small towns, waterfalls, rocky shorelines, mountains, and minimal interaction with other humans.

Oh, and a brief moment when I threw up (for the first time in ages, due to car sickness at least) the orange juice and toast I had eaten for breakfast that morning. And got some of it on my wool coat because even though I had the foresight to clear out a plastic bag for a makeshift puke bucket, my nauseated mind wasn't able to aim correctly. And I only realized now that I have yet to bring that coat to the dry cleaner. [Don't worry, I got it cleaned since starting this post.]

But let's get back to more pleasant things.

: A wee trickle in Mother Nature's bosom...or something.

First up was Seljalandsfoss. It may not look like much from far away—you know, your standard cool looking Icelandic waterfall...

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Woosh!

But you can get close.

: Um..closer.

I mean, really close. Because you can walk behind it.

: Lumpy.

Just make sure not to roll down into a lumpy, rocky pit of doom.

: All done.

We emerged victorious, cold, and damp.

: We're getting wet...yeah.

As apparent in this video shot by Greg, who so observantly notes, "We're getting wet, hehe."

: Iz huge.

The hugeness is clearer when you put us in front of the falls. Greg shot this video of an itty bitty me taking a photo of and itty bitty Diana jumping. (Methinks he didn't intend to get us in the shot, but we were..ye know, there.)

: JUMP!

And the result.

: Iz me.

Diana shot this video of Greg taking a photo of me jumping. I'm what you might call...an awkwardly squat gal. Also, I have a laugh that channels my inner hyena. It'll appear in future videos; don't you worry.

: Is..still me.

And there's my belly fat. Some people think it's funny to poke at it. I disagree.

Skógafoss

: It's water! It falls!

Then it was on to Skógafoss where the weather changed three times in half an hour, thus fulfilling the Icelandic saying, "If you don't like the weather right now, just wait five minutes." As we pulled up to the falls, we could see a rainbow peek out from the bottom. Sweet! I walked closer to the water and felt the wayward mist hit my face...and hit harder...until I realized it was no longer a pleasant mist hitting my face, but an unpleasant barrage of teeny clumps of frozen water threatening to bore pits into my epidermis. A hailstorm had begun, as reflected by the sky's transformation from blue to an ominous blanket of dark gray.

: Yup, we're still on Earth.

Looking away from the falls, you can see that the divide between "gloom and hail" and "happiness and sun" could be measured in minutes.

: Blue.

There's the blue again. ALRIGHT!

: Eh, I guess we'll go back.

So back towards the waterfall, I went.

: ZOMG COLORZ

And a projection of the sunlight's color spectrum on a wall of mist, I received.

Dyrhólaey

: This water is NOT FALLING.

We moved on to Dyrhólaey, a 120 meter-tall promontory at the southernmost part of Iceland where you can look out to the sea, black beaches, deathly-looking rocks, and waves that crash into the deathly-looking rocks.

: I ought to use the "when the color is shitty, just turn it into a black and white photo" technique more often.

At the time I don't think I fully grasped that we were just standing on the rim of Iceland. Beyond that, water. Surreal? A smidge.

: Water.

There's the sea.

: Rocks.

And the death rocks.

: Birds.

Birds + poo on the side of one of the cliffs.

: Rocks.

Cool rock patterns.

: ...Still rocks.

Rocks with people on them.

: Just add boat.

A rusty anchor thingamajig.

: Dirt.

And to the non-water side, lots of dirt and rocks.

More nature coming in PART DEUX.

Iceland, Day 3: The Blue Lagoon and Burgers

2009-05-16T09:16:31Z

This entry originally took place on April 20. Yeah, I know I'm almost a month behind, but I was in Seoul last week, so that's my excuse. Check out other posts about Iceland.

You know that build-up of excitement when you're riding the monorail towards Disneyland and you see bits of impending joy—the castle spires, the tip of Matterhorn Mountain, the jerky motions of riders in the Autopia—and you continue to ride through the park, hovering above...and before you break out in full hyperventilation with the anticipation of touching your feet to Disney-owned ground, you're there? Assuming you like Disneyland, that is. (I should note that I haven't been to Disneyland for a while, but my choppy memory tells me it might have gone something like that.) Otherwise, just make up your own, "Omg omg omg are we there yet?" situation.

: OMG you guyz.

That's kind of how I felt when our car pulled into the Blue Lagoon, one of the most famous attractions in Iceland. It's probably the only heated body of water I've ever been excited about lazily lying in. Because it's not just any heated body of water; it's geothermal seawater! It's full of minerals, silica, and algae! Which is good for the skin, or something! And then there's the otherworldly look of the water: milky white with a hint of blue.

: BLAA LONITH, YOU GUYZ!!

Almost...there...so very close...

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Not many guyz.

...And then we entered a mostly empty parking lot. That's how it is at 11 a.m. (it opened at 10 that day) on a Monday. Of course, lots of people take buses there, but even with the tourist crowd it was satisfyingly quiet that morning.

: FIGHT THE WIND.

But the wind. It was not happy. Our initial reaction was pretty much, "OHHH JEBUSFUUHUAHUAHD WIND." (Or that was my reaction; I suppose it would be unfair to stick such uncouth words in Greg's and Diana's mouths.) Anything that wasn't securely fasted to our bodies (mothers with small children, keep note) was in danger of being blown away. On a day like that you definitely want to rent a robe, or bring one with you.

: Ahh, calm.

All was calm inside the locker room. I'm not familiar with locker rooms in spas seeing as I had never been in one before, but I think this is one of the nicer sort. We are in Iceland, after all.

: Lockers

Although wristband keys aren't uncommon, I don't think I had ever used one before. Hm.

: LAGOON TIME!

AND THEN IT WAS LAGOON TIME. We waded around in there for a bit before taking turns photographing each other in the water. Getting in and out of the pool outside in the freezing wind felt like death (admittedly, it was funny to see the looks of horror disbelief as new swimmers stepped outside and realized how cold it was), but there's a pool just inside to the left of the locker room exit that has a partially submerged door so you can always stay in the water and not get shocked by the outdoor weather. Not that it matters if you're taking photos with dSLR cameras like we did, which you probably don't want to take with you into the water unless you have a waterproof case. Diana and Greg also bought disposable water-proof cameras in the gift shop so they could take photos in the pool.

: Peace dood.

Here's a rare capture of Diana in silly mode. And some not-so-rare dust on my sensor. Oops.

: Not sure what's going on here.

And a less rare instance of me making a weird face.

: MY MOUTH IS NO MORE.

It's fun to just poke your head above the water so that the rest of your body is lost in opaque-ness. (Except you can see my legs because I had to lie down in the shallow water. Illusion...fail.)

: Lunch!

Lunch at the Blue Lagoon cafeteria consisted of a simple smoked salmon sandwich and vanilla skyr. Sandwich was fine as far as satiating my hunger went. Bread. Meat. Skyr.

After lunch, we went back for another dip in the lagoon before the onslaught of hail drove us out. While cloudy and cold was perfectly unobtrusive to the Blue Lagoon experience, cloudy, cold, and "having your head pelted by little bits of horizontally flying ice" was less acceptable. It was time to go.

: Bye bye.

Granted, as soon as we left we wanted to go back.

: Plasters!

When we got back to Reykjavik, one of our first stops was Tiger, a Danish discount-chain store located across the street from our hotel. It reminded me a bit of IKEA but without the furniture. Just lots of simple inexpensive stuff that was mostly visually appealing. Like...

: What the..

...These plush blue blob whatchamajigs...what...okay maybe this is a bad example.

: RAMEN!

Some kind of generic ramen! Totally unexpected. I bought a few packs, but I didn't make them yet.

: A simple puzzle.

And a set of two-piece puzzles. For that special child. (As one of my friends pointed out, that bird looks drunk.)

: How to tie a tie.

Here's a lovely random mural we saw on Laugavegur.

: Shooothes.

And inside Kron, where I bought a pair of red flats by Camper and Diana bought TWO PAIRS OF SHOES. I don't think we'll be buying any more shoes for a while. (I really need new sneakers though, as the pair I have now is two and a half years old.)

: Burgers!

For dinner we went to Hamborgarabullan, a cute burger joint by the water's edge on Geirsgata. I already did a lengthy review on A Hamburger Today, but here's a abbreviated food porn-filled version.

: Menu

Menu: It's simple. Burgers (including veg and chicken, methinks), fries, shakes, toppings, sauces. Instead of going for the Offer of the Century, I got a double burger with small fries and a shake. I should've quelled the glutton in me and gone for a simple single burger, but...eh, I'm not on a diet.

: Lots of...stuff.

Interior: Homey, cluttered, worn. Lots of handwritten signs of adoration and burger-related ephemera. Cheery ceiling of Christmas lights makes me want the same for my room. You could sit right at the counter or grab one of the small high tables by the windows, which look out onto the mountain-backed harbor.

: Double burger.

Burgers: The five-ounce double is a messy affair. Topped with American cheddar cheese, chopped onions, Heinz ketchup, Dijon mustard, and mayonnaise, aside from the basic lettuce and tomato, there's a lot of sauce between you and the meat. I thought it was too much sauce for what seemed to be a pair of juicy, good quality patties, but it's the Icelandic preference to sauce it up. I can live with that (I did eat the whole thing, of course), but If you have an aversion to any sauces, you better tell them before they make your burger.

: Single.

The single seems to be a better, less messy choice. And I love that generic, squishy bun.

: Shake + Greg

Shake: Reasonably sized, good thickness (not runny, not cement-like), not too sweet, and has a nice strawberry flavor. Win! Don't ask why Greg is coddling my cup. He's just Greg. We like Greg just the way he is...kind of.

: POTATO STICKS, COME TO ME!

Fries: Skinny, golden, and salted, like from McDonald's, but probably made with more love.

: And for no reason..

I wish I knew what photo they were looking at.

: SAUCE!

If you question the Icelandic penchant for sauces, just take a look at this counter. Of sauces. Whoaaa. That's one big tub of burger relish, and i don't even know what burger relish is.

: Around the back.

There's an explanation for the shirtless man in the window: that's the owner, Tommi Tómasson! ...In his 20s. Here's the story he told me:

"It is a practical joke on me. My partner found this photo of me from 1984 in a magazine called SAMUEL, like the Icelandic version of People magazine. I had just come home from Los Angeles at the time, where I had been for almost a year training at Gold's Gym. This was just after I sold all my interest in Tommi's hamburgers. Anyway, he found the photo and had someone enlarge it. The text says, "Employee of the Month." Then he called me and showed me; there was nothing I could do. However, I used it as a promo when I turned 60 years old and one of the papers here published it with me in front."

Looks like he's still doing well at 60 years old. Go, Tommi! :)

: That stuff down there? It's wet. So I hear.

We followed our burger dinner with a little walk by the harbor, and...

: Water!

A visit to 10-11 so I coudl take photos of random things, like this IMPORTED Iceland spring water. ...I think they just use the same labels as what they export. Yeeeeaeh. Um.

: Krakka Skyr

The cutest container of plain skyr I've ever seen, or as I would rather call it, RAINBOW POWER SKYR.

: Oranges.

Cute bottles of orange juice.

: COKE, OH GOD

Shizzloads of coke.

: :P

And my favorite, Fatty, Tongue Waggling Panda Ice Cream Pops.

: I TOLD YOU IT WAS MY FAVORITE

Yeah, this is just what I do, folks.

: Sad greg.

Greg wanted a travel BBQ pack, but I said no. Then he got sad faced. JESUS CHRIST, GREG, BE A MAN.

: If your pee is this color, you are in trouble.

I got a bottle of Mix for the sake of trying some sort of local soda. It was kind of like Mountain Dew, but super fizzy. Maybe less sweet. I mostly remember being knocked out by the carbonation and then my few sips being followed by seemingly endless burps.

Blue Lagoon, burgers, and burps—those are the building blocks of a meaningful day.