The Girl Who Ate Everything

Momofuku Ko: Yup, I Went There

2008-05-10T16:55:00Z

: There's food inside!

(If you don't know anything about Momofuku Ko, you might want to catch up with these posts on Grub Street. Or in one sentence, it's David Chang's newest, omakase-style restaurant that is known for being nearly impossible to get a reservation at—aside from having awesome food—although I do know at least 8 people who've already eaten there. I've been hearing and reading about it so much in the past few months that I can't gauge how much the non-NYC-food crazed crowd knows about it.)

First, to get the most oft-ask questions out of the way.

Q: How did you get reservations?

A: I didn't; a friend did. And thus is the laziest way to get into Ko.

Q: How was it?

A: Much more filling than i thought it would be, but then I hadn't realized going into it that it consisted of 15 courses. More or less.

Okay, you probably need more back story that that.

]]> Last Thursday I received an email from Susan, a reader of my blog whom I had never met, asking if I would be interested in eating with her at Ko the following Wednesday because all her foodie friends were busy. The next person to ask after them was, naturally, the gluttonous food blogger. Sucks for them; I felt like a winner! I meet up with a lot of people through my blog and they've all so far turned out to be perfectly normal (aside from that they read my blog), food-loving people. And even if Susan were crazy, I'd still eat with her anyway.

So how did she get the reservation? Like everyone else: preserverance and dumb luck. Or something. I don't believe in fate, but her increasing frustration with her inability to get a reservation resulted in some kind of magical alignment of the Momofuku stars. After muttering/chanting a string of expletives in the name of David Chang (a scene that she reenacted quite realistically during out dinner), she was rewarded with a coveted green check next to the time of 9:10 for May 7.

Ko, which I hadn't realized was in the same space as the old noodle bar, was much more spacious than I thought it would be. I mean, compared to the cramped quarters of the noodle bar. There are only 10 seats (according to that photo at least; I've mostly read that there are 12 seats) that are generously spaced around the kitchen. Because you're sitting just inches away from where your food is being prepared, the food is served to you by the chefs, although there are also waitresses to serve your drinks and take away/set up your plates and silverware.

Even though there was pop/rock music playing, the restaurant felt very...zen. Besides that each customer was given ample space, it felt even roomier because not every seat was occupied during our whole meal. The kitchen was quiet, with the chefs not speaking any more than necessary (nor smiling more than necessary, not that you have to smile to cook). I was probably too loud, come to think of it—I had a lot of talk about considering that I was eating with someone I knew nothing about.

But enough of this boring crap; you want to see FOOD.

I should warn you first though: I hadn't planned on writing much about this dinner or even taking photos, meaning that my brain wasn't in "memorize everything you eat" mode and my descriptions will be worse than usual. Which is pretty poor. Gasp. So I'm going to steal descriptions from Tina and The Momofuku Superlative Matrix, along with the rest of the google-able internet.

As for the "almost no photo-taking" thing, some of my friends have already taken the shit for clicking their cameras away during their meals and I figured with their contributions, I probably wouldn't even have to take photos. But I caved in and, yes, took photos of everything. Did this bother the other customers and chefs? Maybe. Probably. Aside from Susan, I can't really speak for them.

If you were eating at Momofuku Ko this past Wednesday night and my photography annoyed the crap out of you, I'm sorry. On the upside, I doubt you'll ever have to deal with me again. And to give my photography more justification, I'm going to pretend that many of these photos are work-related for when Serious Eats needs a hit of David Chang-made cuisine. (Actually, I took a bunch of photos of the bathroom for an upcoming Serious Eats post. Ha ha.)

How does the meal work? After telling the waitress whether or not you have any food allergies (none for me or Susan, woo!), you're served whatever the chefs feel like blessing you with. Just sit there and devour. Sometimes you and your dining partner will get the same dish, while other times you'll get complementary dishes. To me, the obvious thing to do is share, but Susan and I saw people who weren't splitting the dishes 50/50. That's just doesn't work in my world, man. If you eat with me, we're sharing; case closed.

: One-bite english muffins

We started with mini English muffins with pork fat and chives, and (in the back out of the frame) chicharrons. Each was a one or two bite-affair, although the super-light chicharron was one bite because I ungracefully forced the entire shared of deep-fried puffy pork skin into my not-wide-enough mouth. I wouldn't say that either of these things was particularly memorable—the chicharron had an unfortunately styrofoam-like quality to it—but they delivered pork flavor. I can't say no to pork. Just can't. Dammit.

: Fish ribbons!

Raw fluke in buttermilk, yuzu, and Sriracha poppy seeds: Mm, raw fish. So clean. So smooth. Tastes like...whatever you season it with, in this case a light, creamy sauce with a hint of hotness and little crunchy bits.

: Moar fish!

Raw kampachi with muscat grapes: More raw fish! I liked this more than the fluke, probably just because I like grapes. Sweet grapes and fish—it works.

: Soup!

Pea soup with morels and crawfish: One of my favorite dishes of the night. I love peas. I love peas a lot. Not having eaten everything nature has to offer, I'm already quite sure that peas are one of the most delicious things you can eat raw, ripped fresh out of the pod, disconnected from its womb. Besides that, being blended into a creamy soup is pretty damn happiness-inducing. Each spoonful is a mouthful of spring. I can't recall the mushroom part very well, but unless we experienced massive taste bud fail, Susan and I thought that there bean curd sheets at the bottom.

: More soup

Berkshire pork belly, oyster, and cabbage in kimchi consommé: Do you see that tender pork chunk with the coveted 50/50 meat-to-fat ratio? YES, BRING IT ON. I would happily eat ten of those, and then probably fall ill from rich, fatty pork overload, but it'd be worth it. I liked the soup, even though I was hoping it'd be spicier rather than salty, but...but pork! It doesn't get better than pork.

: Mm, eggeh

Chawanmushi with caviar, asparagus, cashews and argan oil: Another fave of the night. I think I would've liked it more if it had been hot (it was more like room temperature) since that's what I'm used to chawanmushi tasting like, but I'll assume there's a reason it wasn't. The caviar provided neat little pops of salt in every bite and the cashews gave a slight crunch to the silky-smooth egg custard.

: Egg, it exploded

Soft cooked egg with onion soubise and chips: I didn't realize until after I got home that we were probably supposed to mixed this all together like a bibimbap. Fail. Instead we tried to get a bit of each component—egg goo, caviar, onion goo, and baby potato chip matter—into one spoonful. Which was rather hard. As you can see, there was a lot going on in this dish. I can't say it didn't taste good, just that...there were a lot of things in there and I probably didn't eat it correctly. Yeah. I am really unhelpful right now.

: Pasta

Lasagna (or open ravioli?) with snails, morels, ricotta, and spring vegetables (ramps, asparagus, and broccoli rabe flowers): My favorite part was the foamy ricotta sauce. I have no idea why. I also enjoyed the snails. Methinks a dish of just snails and ricotta may not do so well, though.

: Now the fish is cooked

Grilled trout with pickled radish, bacon purée, and almonds: I liked this except for the bacon mash that sat at the bottom of the bowl. ...Yeah, I like pork, but not bacon so much. You're perfectly allowed to think that I'm nuts. That's just my flavor preference, for the fish and its crispified layer of skin to stand alone. Although by "alone" I mean covered in crunchy almond bits. I loved any dish with nuts in it.

: The dish everyone talks about

Shaved frozen foie gras with lychee, Riesling gelée, and pine nut brittle: "You're going to want to lick your bowl clean," is a description I heard more than once about this dish. It's one of the most interesting, surely, with its mix of textures and flavors, and surprisingly addictive. However, I didn't want to lick my bowl clean; I couldn't take the frozen foie gras straight—it was just too strong. When did I become so weaksauce? I love foie gras! But I swear Ko's version was a deathly super-condensed version. The buttery shavings went perfectly with the juicy lychee bits and sweet, crunchy pine nut brittle (and I'll refrain from saying anything about the gelé as you probably already know I don't like anything that tastes like alcohol).

It was around this point that Susan and I felt our stomachs lurch and moan, "Stop eating." Not that we listened. Instead, I braced myself against the table and tried to position myself in a way so that my stomach could expand even further. Fortunately, I was wearing a non-restricting dress, allowing my waistline to grow as much as it wanted to.

: MEAT, MEAT, MEAT

Deep-fried short ribs with braised daikon, mustard seeds, and weeny carrots: Tender short ribs. Perfectly marbled slabs of beef surrounded by a layer of fat. Each bite brings you closer to death. Sweet. Jesus. It didn't need the miso sauce, which I found too heavy and overly masked the flavor of the beef. I just wanted the beef. Beeeeef.

: Chicken!

Chicken roulade filled with I don't know what: Oh god, we were so full. I don't think we finished this. Because, as I said...we were so full. And we hadn't even gotten to dessert yet.

: Sorbets

Cantaloupe sorbet and cashew butter, and kiwi sorbet with apricot goo: These sorbets were awesome. Very smooth, very fruity, not too sweet. Crunchy cashew butter was full of win, and the kiwi and apricot were like eating fresh fruits but better because they were mashed up, frozen, and plated in an appealing manner.

: Apple pie, like McD's

Deep-fried apple pie with sour cream ice cream and toasted miso sauce: I can't say anything wrong about an apple pie that has been deep-fried and dusted with cinnamon sugar—nor could I say that it blew me away. Surely it's much better than the apple pie pocket you could get at McDonald's, but my untrained palate would probably be just as satisfied with that. I thought the miso sauce was too strong for the pie, but I've heard people say that they liked it. Perhaps I don't like straight-up miso.

: Panna cotta, fo shizz

Cereal milk panna cotta with avocado cream, corn flakes, and hazelnut chocolate: I feel like the only person who wasn't into this, perhaps because it was too far removed from my beloved panna cotta. Or maybe it's because I don't eat cereal and thus wouldn't appreciate the taste of milk that has the light touch of cereal, something that the sizable cereal and milk-eating population would be familiar with. Or maybe I was just too full. The chocolate sheet appeared to be semi-melty; I thought it'd be better either totally melty or totally hard. BUT WHAT DO I KNOW; I AM NOT A CHEF.

And then we waddled out of there. I walked back to Penn Station (about two miles, an easy, leisurely walk) to ease the digestive pain.

Susan and I were both very pleased with our meals, although our expectations were probably too high considering all the hype we've listened to for the past few months. I also think that at $85, possibly the most expensive meal I've ever eaten, this dinner was a bargain. It's worth it; if you can go, you definitely should. Just make sure you can set aside two and a half hours for it. I ended up getting home around 2 a.m. (keeping in mind that I had to take the last train back to NJ).

A million thanks to Susan for inviting me to dinner! She's a bro for life. During dinner we found out that we may have possibly crossed paths before in Taiwan; we went to the same school (granted, in completely different grades, but whatever)! If any of you guys went to Taipei American School between 1996-1998, reveal yourself. So many people have been to that school, it doesn't really surprise me when I run into people who were also students there.

Previously:

Birthday Pork-Fest at Momofuku
Death By Momofuku
Ramen, Sandwiches, Cookies, Burgers, Etc
Momofuku, Veniero's, and...egg sammiches

Address

Momofuku Ko
163 1st Ave
New York, NY 10003

Cassava Chips, the Crack I Can Snack On

2008-05-06T16:48:06Z

: Cassava chips made by Arico

Why am I updating in the middle of the day at work? Because right now I'm finishing off the final shard-like dregs of a bag of Arico Cassava Chips and they possess all kinds of crack-like addictive qualities. They beat potato chips by a light year for being less greasy, crispier, and lighter than their more well-known foe.

[shovels a handful of broken crunchy tuber bits into mouth]

I bought this bag of Sea Salt Mist cassava chips (seasoned with just the right amount of salt) at my local awesome grocery store, Ramsey Farms, but you can also get them at Whole Foods and, I would assume, other health-minded grocery stores. Not that these chips are necessarily healthy, but perhaps less deathly than potato chips.

[another shovel]

Or maybe these chips aren't that mindblowingly tasty and I'm just really hungry, but you tell me: are you a fan of cassava chips? Is my reaction normal? Is anything I do normal?

Four Stitches and a Birthday Cake: A Day Full of Surprises

2008-05-06T04:55:00Z

: Let the cutting begin.

"It'll be fine in the end," is what I half-heartedly told myself all through the horror that was last Friday. Seeing as Tristan's birthday cake was ultimately cut by the birthday boy and shared amongst friends, the day had turned out fine. Or at least just inched itself off Tristan's list of "Candidates for 'Worst Day of My Life.'" I hope.

But it was one of those days during which time somehow managed to speed up and slow down at the same time, when seemingly everything that could go wrong did go wrong, aside from anyone dying, and even that was a close call. While Tristan summed up his Day of Doom rather neatly in his livejournal, I'll recount the day much less succinctly. With photos.

]]> I started planning Tristan's surprise birthday party two weekends ago, giving me about a week to pull everything together before holding the party this past Friday. His birthday was actually yesterday, May 4th, but I figured it'd make more sense to hold a party on a Friday night than a Sunday night for the sake of people being more in the mood to go to a party-like thing, aside from being less expected. "Happy two-days-before-your birthday!"

I tend to plan out my activities, but parties? Not so much. Birthday parties? Definitely not; I never even had a real one for myself. A surprise birthday party? Hell, that requires even more effort than a normal birthday party. I didn't really think about how much more complicated things would get when, after talking to his roommate Kim, I secured his apartment as the venue for the party. Simply, I had to make sure he wasn't in the apartment when my friends and I set it up in a party-like fashion. Unsimply, I had to make sure he wasn't in the apartment when my friends and I set it up in a party-like fashion. And it became unsimple because, to ensure that Tristan would be free on Friday, I planned for us and a few mutual friends to eat dinner at Bahia that night. Which I would then have to bail out on. For reasons unbeknownst to him.

Overall, it would've been less complicated if I could think up of better diversions and were a more convincing liar. Alas, I fail in these departments.

And then it got a little worse

It did work out pretty well until Friday morning. I received a good number of RSVPs from his friends, coordinated who would be willing to bring what food, got some friends to help me decorate the apartment, ordered a cake from Two Little Red Hens, and then some. There were still a few loose ends, but the kind of ends you could kinda slick back with some spit; no one would notice. Or at least Tristan wouldn't notice.

But then on Friday morning, mere minutes after I plopped myself in front of my computer at work, Kim emailed me to inform me that we couldn't have the party at the apartment due to two important reasons: another roommate had just moved in the day before, reducing the square footage of the apartment by about 50% or more, and her set of keys had gone missing in the mess of boxes. Having been sick at home for the past three days probably made me sound more dejected than I should've—she tried to clean up, but having seen the apartment myself that night, I know it would've been nearly impossible to get it ready in time.

After my brain died for about 5 seconds, we talked about how to keep the party going. Take it to a bar? Another friend's apartment? Ah yes, the latter. After a frantic email to John, who lives fairly close to Tristan, his apartment became the new location of the party. I informed the invitees to the best of my ability, although freaked out when I realized I didn't have everyone's phone number. Note to self: whenever planning a party, get everyone's phone numbers. There were only two people's numbers that I didn't already have, but it was my fault for not asking. Thus is the mark of the amateur party planner.

And then it got a lot worse

Tristan called me that afternoon. As I picked up the phone, I figured he was calling to say hello and confirm our plans for that night.

"Hello," he began, in a deceptively ordinary tone.

"Hi! What's up?"

"I got hit by a bus."

And this is when everything I've so far complained about in regards to failed party planning didn't really matter anymore.

"WHAT? A bus?!"

"Actually, I got run over by a bus." Those crucial words "run over" detail didn't really sink in until I saw him that night.

"...WHAT? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Bellevue Hospital. I'm not too hurt, I'll only be here for a while. I'll still see you at dinner tonight."

"...What happened?"

"I was riding in Times Square,"—he's a bike messenger—"and a tourist bus got too close to the curb and didn't see me. I got pinned to the side and it dragged me and my bike and..."

I didn't stop paying attention at this point; I was distracted by trying to recreate the incident in my head. Which was a bad idea. You shouldn't envision your best friends being squashed by mammoth charter buses; you might feel like puking, or some other unsettling visceral reaction. Then again, whatever you feel won't be as bad as being part of the accident.

After quietly freaking out—I was at work after all—and being reassured by Tristan that he wasn't too badly injured, I went back to staring blankly at my computer and thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with today?"

Later, when Tristan fully described the accident, we realized what a miracle it was that he didn't sustain more injuries. If his legs had been in any other position, he could've ended up with two broken legs. And then some. The worst of his injuries is the puncture in his left forearm, which required four stitches. Otherwise, he emerged with abrasions and bruises all over different parts of his body, a small consequence considering the seriousness of his accident.

And then there's the smashed bike. And a newfound intense dislike of tour buses and the people inside them.

By this point I really, reallly wanted to make the party work. If ever there were a time for him to be surrounded by good friends, this was it.

Party Plan In Action

The "keep Tristan occupied" plan was for him to eat dinner at Bahia at 7 pm with Olivia, Lauren, and Jones. As for how they would get him to go to John's house afterwards, well...there was no plan there.

: This is what it looks like when it's closed.

But first, I had to get standard party supplies. Party Glitters, a short walk from Tristan's apartment and a few subway stops from John's apartment, became our purveyor of cups, plates, streamers, candles, and helium-filled balloons. I only found it accidentally after the night of pizza and gelato, when John, Dave, Ainara and I had gone one subway stop too far and had to walk back a stop. But now you know: Party Glitters is party-supply central for South Williamsburg/Bed-Stuy/those other neighborhoods whose names I can't remember.

John helped me lug the single-use items back to his apartment. Mostly the balloons. You can't help but feel a bit happier when your hand is attached to a floating bundle of a dozen bulbous upside-down teardrops in assorted colors. You may look weird—especially when you're forced to tame the balloons on the subway—but...there is something joyous about things that can float/pop at any moment.

: Chips!

Before John and I headed back to his apartment, Lauren and Jones met us outside the Lorimer stop on the J train to hand off the birthday cake (they live near Two Little Red Hens; lucky!) and, from Jones, a special bag of Sterzing's potato chips straight from his home state of Iowa!

"They're supposed to taste somewhat like donuts," explained Jones, "but that's with the regular ones. I didn't know I got the trans fat free version."

Donut flavor, they had not, but they were still addictive. Like the bottom of the bag said, they tasted fresh and crisp. Next, I'll have to try the trans fat-laden version.

: Setting up

It wasn't long before friends came by to help: Annie, Claire, and then Diana. Us females dealt with the food—including way too many jelly beans, corn chips, beer, orange juice, and vegan cupcakes—while John and Dave streamered their living room.

: Balloooons!

Nothing screams festive like a crowd of balloons by the door. Unless it's actually someone screaming, "FESTIVE!"

: Construction paper is awesome!

While we waited for Tristan to appear (ignoring that the logistics of this part of the night hadn't really been planned out), Dave and John drew these ridiculously cute birthday cards for Tristan. Dave's was addressed to "Tistan," but we figured that was the same person.

: Cake!

At some point I took a gander at the customized cake. While I knew there'd be balloons on it since I specified that the cake was of the birthday sort, I had no idea that the decorational balloons would take up 50% of the cake's surface and looks so colorful, turning it into something more appropriate for a 5-year old than a 23-year old. ("Did they know what age the birthday cake was for?" joked Annie.) Then again, the nickname "Tristiecakes" probably doesn't appear to belong to a 23-year old. Overall, the cake was beautiful and something I could never dream to make on my own; we just thought the balloons were funny.

And then we waited some more, eating about half of the corn chips in the process and maybe going through a third of the carton of orange juice. How were we supposed to get Tristan over? The original plan was for Olivia, Lauren and Jones to come with him to John's apartment in conjunction with some excuse I had yet to come up with, but this non-plan faded when Lauren and Jones had to go back to the city for work and Olivia's dinner ended with a debilitating stomachache. Oops. But they did get to eat dinner together, so it was all good.

I simply called Tristan, telling him to come to John's after he was done putting his things back in his apartment. Not that I had much of a reason to be at John's. "Surely he suspects something by now," I thought. Getting hit by a bus didn't destroy his intuition.

But it seemed like he really didn't know anything, or at least he didn't ask me any questions. More waiting occurred, during which a Paper Rad DVD burned holes of saturated primary colors into our brains and thankfully another friend, Sydney, popped by. When the clock ticked past 9 pm and no Tristan was to be found, I texted him to find his whereabouts.

"I can't walk very well, but I'll be over," he answered.

Oh...yeah. Okay. I didn't forget about the bus-smashie thing, but I had never seen a limping Tristan before in my life.

...Which is why it was a shock when he finally did arrive in one piece, mildly damaged. John helped him up the stairs while I quickly shooed everyone else behind a partition in the living room so they wouldn't be seen.

"I knew you must've had something important for me if you asked me to come over," he said when his dazed eyes caught upon the balloons and streamers.

John took him to the refrigerator to get him something to drink while I informed the others that hiding time was over. As they came out, one by one, Tristan's dazed look transformed into one of a mixture of happiness, horror, surprise, and slight embarrassment. And maybe a little more horror.

"Oh my god," he repeated, with his palm over his mouth, eyes just shy of tearing up. It's a face I probably won't ever see again, but I'll never forget it either. Judging from his response, I'd say we did a pretty good job of surprising him.

: Hangin out.

: Scruffy.

For the next hour or so, we just hung out and talked in John's kitchen, starting with Tristan's action-packed day of misery and pain.

"I would've put on nicer clothing if I knew I was going to see you guys!" he said after pointing out that he had been wearing the same clothes all day, including his ruined jeans that the doctors had to cut through in the hospital.

"That would've totally defeated the purpose!" I replied.

He explained that right before he got pinned by the bus, he had swerved to avoid pedestrians on the curb. ...Which makes it even more insulting that he had been run over by a bus of tourists and that tourists were actually taking photos of his accident. Not to say that he'll run over them in the future, but he'll begrudgingly avoid them.

: 2-3!

Rather than cover his cake with 23 candles, I opted for the easy 2 and 3 candles. On retrospect, it would've been more fun to have a flaming cake. Next year.

: Slicey slice, slice!

Fat, quadruple-layered slices of chocolate cake sandwiching coffee cream and covered in hazelnut frosting were passed around the table. As you probably already know, I'm not a fan of coffee, but I can deal with it in cake-form. Besides, I knew Tristan liked coffee and chocolate. As for the hazelnut, it seemed like a logical addition.

The cake was approved by most, if not all. It excelled in the most important distinctions of awesome cakeness: the cake was moist, the buttery frosting was smooth and of the non-gluey type, and the combination of the two didn't result in a diabetes-inducing sugar bomb. It was a very balanced cake, something that can be hard to find in a world of many dry and/or overly sweetened baked goods.

: Frieennddzz.

: Birthday boy!

After deciding that we were all tired and ready to go home, Tristan, John, Dave, Diana, Claire and I took a leisurely walk back to Tristan's apartment (or the adjacent J train stop, more like) through the dead streets of late night Bed-Stuy.

You can't expect life to go as planned or predict the worst, even just for half a day. Despite the many shitty memories that May 2nd may conjure up for Tristan, there was, at the very least, a few hours of happiness. Many thanks to his friends who helped make things go as smoothly as possible and fill his heart with happiness! It wouldn't have been a success without you.

And happy day-after-your-birthday, Tristan! You are most definitely my best friend. Until we get sick of each other and our camaraderie turns into loathing.

Previously:

Last Weekend: Part 2: Pupusas, Dumplings, Jumping, Tea, and Breakfast (Review of Bahia)
The motherload of all food tours, part 1 (Review of Two Little Red Hens)
Gelato, Abraço, Shanghai Cafe, and a Cake-Filled Birthday Bash (Review of cheesecake from TLRH)

Addresses

Party Glitters
3 Debevoise St
Brooklyn, NY 11206

Two Little Red Hens
1652 2nd Ave
New York, NY 10028

Another 'Snapshots from Chile' post: Massive Hot Dogs and Sandwiches

2008-05-04T21:49:54Z

: Mm, mayo!

Check out my latest Chile post on Serious Eats: Snapshots from Chile: Hot Dogs and Sandwiches at Rapa Nui. Warning: if mayonnaise gives you nightmares, you probably shouldn't read it.

Post-Fried Chicken: Pizza and Gelato (And Alcohol)

2008-05-02T04:35:36Z

First things first (because first things can't be second, or third, or some higher number): I've been sick for the past three days at home and I am slightly grumpy. And while the sickness is waning to the point that I can probably go to work tomorrow, I still feel a bit woozy and for some reason I am sweating more than usually, especially when you consider that all I've done today is sit and type with minimal physical movement. And that is probably too much information. But that's what you get when you read this blog. And hell, it's not like you don't sweat either. I just can't tell if I'm sweating because I'm sick or if it's due to a combination of weird allergies/grumpiness/stress. All of the above, possibly.

My head needs to deflate. This will all make sense soon. I think. Why my head is about to implode. I tend to have these internal battles where I want to do what's right even though I know it'll probably make me feel bad but as long as I don't show that I feel like crap it's okay this is a run on sentence.

Okay, here's some stuff I ate nearly four weeks ago.

: Where pizzas are born

So where was I on April 7th? Getting totally drunk...on pizza at the Gothamist-Slice Pizza Party at Fornino. Not alcohol, silly. Ha! Ha ha! Huh.

I wasn't expecting to see anyone I knew (aside from my co-workers) when I walked through the crowded restaurant. Hot. Sweaty. Full of pizza. And humans. And sweat. Oh my god, it was hot. At that point I damned my sweater and jacket. So what a relief it was when I came across...

]]>

OH YEAH, best photo ever.

OLIA AND JEREMIAH! OH YEAH, two of the best people on earth! Not that they did anything for my overheating problem, but it was a nice surprise to come across unsuspecting company. And I had a place to sit, that being 50% of the buttspace of Olia's seat. It was all good.

: Pizzas!

Am I going to tell you about every pizza I ate? Nope. Quite frankly, I can't remember them all. And I'm too lazy. Also, do you see those photos? They're not the most appetizing. Crappy light makes not for appetizing looking food photos, kiddies. They kind of make me feel nauseous.

But they were good—with super-thin crusts and puffy chewy crust action—aside from the excessive amounts of truffle oil. Don't get me wrong—the stuff tastes good—but I lost count of how many pizzas involved truffle. Or maybe they just tasted like that because of residual truffle oil on my plate.

: Mah peeps

There's Gordon, Olia, Jeremiah, and Tristan! Woohoo, pizza friends!

: Um, more Olia

And there's Olia again with her beautiful, shimmering brown hair. It's like something out of a Pantene commercial.

: Supercore = Fail

After happiness-inducing pizza gorging, Tristan and I met up with John, Dave and Ainara to hang out at Supercore. But it was too crowded.

: Dokebi + humans

So we went to Dokebi instead.

: Gelato!

Even though Dokebi is a Korean grill, I got gelato. Yes, I left an Italian pizzeria to eat gelato at a Korean restaurant. Not really. I had no idea what I was going to eat at Dokebi and gelato seemed the least stomach leadening, which is how I ended up with two scoops of gelato: fig and ginger. They were rather pricey—$4 each, perhaps—but they were really good. (Dave's hazelnut gelato was also awesome.) The tasted like...well, what they were supposed to taste like. Thumbs up for flavors that come from real ingredients. Woot.

I mean, they weren't so good that they were worth $4, but it was more worthwhile than buying alcohol.

Oh, you see those wafers on top of the ice cream? I took one bite and was instantly hit with this screaming though of, "I've eaten this before! What the hell is this!? I know what this is! I KNOW WHAT THIS IS IT'S ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE OH MY GOD WHY CAN'T I FIGURE IT OUT?" You know the feeling, right?

So I passed the wafer around the table. Everyone had that same idea. "Yeah, I've had this before. And I am equally frustrated at my inability to figure out what it is." It wasn't until we asked the waitress that the mystery of the wafer was revealed.

"It tastes like Froot Loops!"

This was when we all slapped our heads and exclaimed, "OOHHH!" just a little bit too loudly. And you know, if it tasted like Froot Loops, it also tasted like Trix, along with every other fruit-flavored cereal of my youth. (Those are the main ones, right? Yeah.) When something that tastes like cereal isn't in the shape of cereal, it's very confusing.

: Soju!

The table shared two bottles of soju. And by "the table" I mean Tristan, John and Dave. I took about one half of a sip before screwing my face into the usual, "Oh my...dear god, why do people drink this stuff?" and passing my shot glass filled with the waters of hell to one of the table members with a Y chromosome.

: Shoes.

The night ended with riding the J train. And missing a stop. And walking back to the right stop. And then some other stuff that you don't want to know about.

I think my next entry will be about more recent gorgings and instances of indigestion.

Addresses

Fornino
187 Bedford Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11211

Dokebi
199 Grand St
Brooklyn, NY 11211

Fried Chicken: A Prelude to Pizza

2008-04-28T04:03:39Z

When you know you're going to attend an all-you-can-eat pizza party for dinner, you should probably be careful about what you eat for lunch. Maybe just stick with a salad or a piece of fruit. Or water. Or air.

: Oops.

Naturally, I ate big ol' crispy hunks of fried chicken. Oops.

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It was them!

I blame Kathy and Tina. ...Actually, it was more Kathy's fault. But I can't really blame her considering that it was probably my fault for giving her a fried chicken craving in the first place.

See, what happens a lot (and by "a lot" I mean "almost every morning") is that we'll be chatting online and I'll mention a food that I wouldn't mind eating. While my thoughts will easily wander onto something else, Kathy will instantly get a craving for whatever food I mention. A serious craving. The kind that can linger for days. Hell, I've seen her have cravings that linger for months (pie and poutine—not together). You probably shouldn't talk about food around her.

: Ah, more fried chicken

I met up with Kathy, Tina and Helen at BBQ Chicken & Beer, so far my favorite America-style fried chicken place in the city. If the name confuses you, BBQ stands for "Best of the Best Quality Chicken." A silly name, perhaps (in addition to being difficult to google), but not far off the mark. Their fried chicken—which they tout as being deep fried in extra-virgin olive oil—has a thick, crisp golden skin and tender meat that acts like a sponge of...chicken juice. It's super moist, basically. And if you leave it out for hours (we've done this at work), it still tastes really good. Not that you would leave it out for hours. The accompanying fluffy, buttery biscuits probably won't last for hours, so eat them right away.

: Spicy creamed corn

The thick-n-chunky spicy creamed corn was...unsurprisingly, spicy and creamy. Just a little spicy though, nothing of the fire-breathing sort.

: What the hell?

And then there were pepper munchers, which despite containing the word "pepper" didn't appear to container any pepper matter. Take a closer look.

: Huh?

A better name for this would've be "deep fried cheese nubs." They weren't like mozzarella sticks where there's a discernable chunk of cheese encased in fried batter; rather, they were crispy nubbins containing some melted cheese goo, along with empty space and...potato? Maybe some chopped pepper bits? I don't know. I just don't know. It was an unintentionally elusive dish.

Our food came uncharacteristically quickly; my previous experience with BBQ Chicken involved having to wait a long time. The waitress told us that our food didn't take forever because the owner was in, making lots of chicken for the lunchtime crowd. Dinner might not be as fast.

Pizza gorging report shall come later.

Previously:

Eating (Unidentified Flying) Korean Fried Chicken in Queens
Fried Chicken, Gelato, Falafels and Burgers (and Indigestion?)
Blue Ribbon Bakery and...that's it for now

Address

BBQ Chicken & Beer
232 7th Avenue
New York, NY 10010

Sometimes All You Need Is Chinese Take-Out

2008-04-26T04:10:47Z

: Mm, dumples.

: U Like

"Do you want to get some dumplings?" asked John.

"OH SWEET JESUS YES!" was my internal reply, although I probably said something less frighteningly enthusiastic like, "Um...sure!"

Three weeks ago when I went to John's apartment in Brooklyn (Bed-Stuy) for an afternoon of movie watching, I skipped lunch since I had woken up so late and—by that point—figured I could just stave off caloric intake until dinner. And while I could've waited until dinner—I have the ability to will my appetite into dormancy for long periods of time if I really want—the prospect of dumplings was hard to resist. (And for anyone who's worried about how unhealthy it is to eat like that, trust me, I already know. But when I'm not hungry, I just don't want to eat. I think this is why I'm not obese. Yet.)

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Dumplings!

He made a call to the neighboring (as in, a less than 10-second walk from his front door) Chinese take-out, U Like (we need more restaurants whose names resemble the lingo of tween girls), for an order of fried vegetable dumplings. And, true to the name of the restaurant, we did like. For just $3.75 we had a filling snack of eight fat dumplings made of thick dough—a bit crisp on the outside, soft and slightly chewy on the inside. I forget exactly what the filling was made of, but I would guess some generic shredded vegetable mix. Cabbage, carrots, etc? There weren't the kind of dumplings I would buy frozen and eat at home for dinner—those are usually the thin-skinned type—but they made a nice snack.

: sauce?

John let me have all the sauce—some kind of spicy soy sauce thing—not because he didn't like it, but because, as he had discovered from previous experiences, he was allergic to it. What ingredient in the sauce caused his lips to swell up? We have no idea. I ate it without suffering from inflammation, but you might not be so lucky.

: OHAI!

And on a totally un-food-related note, I met up with Mare that night for eating, jumping, and other favorite roboppy activities. If you've been reading my site since my semester in Paris about one and a half years ago, you may remember Mare, a fellow American student in Paris, as one of my best friends there and in general, just one of awesomest living creatures in the world. When she said she was visiting NYC from her current home near Boston, we had to meet up...and take jumping photos (courtesy of John). 'Twas an exhilarating moment of gravity-defying fun. I just thought I'd share that with you.

(And if you're curious, dinner was eaten somewhere in between the dumplings and the jumping at Cho Dang Gol. Don't worry—I can haz a sufficient number of calories.)

Previously:

A night of Korean Tofu and Milkshakes (Cho Dang Gol review)
Eating Soybean Porridge With the Amateur Gourmet (Cho Dang Gol review)
Spring Break in Paris: Day 4 (Dinner with Mare in Paris)

Address

U Like
602 Marcy Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11206

First 'Snapshots from Chile' post: Café con Piernas

2008-04-24T17:47:55Z

: Coffee with legs!

Just giving you a heads up that I've written a post about café con piernas (coffee with legs) on Serious Eats. I did a few Chilean "Photo of the Day" posts as well; here are all my Chile posts so far. Show me the luv, please! [waggles fingers] If you're not registered on Serious Eats, you should be. Because...that means you're supporting me! Yeah!!!

As for my next entry here, it will probably be about something I ate three weeks ago. EPIC FAIL.

Pig Heaven and Andre's Cafe: Pork and Strudel in the Upper East Side

2008-04-23T03:01:42Z

: Pig it up!

"Do you want to eat at a restaurant called Pig Heaven?" asked Lauren, knowing very well what the answer would be. It was the best invitation I'd heard in a long time, in addition to possibly being the most awesome name of a restaurant I had I had ever heard of in New York City. In just three syllables, it goes straight to the heart of your desires: "We have pig, and we killed it for you."

But what if you don't eat pork? Hell, what if you don't eat meat? This Upper East Side institution—it's been around for over 20 years—has everyone covered. The menu outlines food in categories of pork, no pork, hot pork, cold pork, vegetarian, and then some. Vegetarians can eat their dishes of tofu and vegetables (somewhat) peacefully as their carnivorous friends dig into porky dishes wafting swinely fumes in their direction.

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Pork butt!

When I ordered the small barbecue pork butt (the term "butt" refering to the upper shoulder; yeah, that's not confusing at all) or char siu in Chinese, I was afraid that "small" could've been a misnomer, resulting in a plate laden with more pork than one should consume in one meal. Not to say I didn't exceed such an amount, but I was relieved to find that the small size actually was a diminutive pile of glistening fat-oozing pork strips unlikely to cause me much stomach distress. If there were more more slices of sweet, tender pork in front of me, I definitely would've eaten them. The pork was accompanied by a dipping sauce that tasted something like watered-down soy sauce (probably had other stuff in it, but I'm unable to identify flavors, you know). The pork didn't really need the extra flavor, but I dipped it anyway because it was there.

: small suckling pig

As much as I enjoyed the barbecue pork butt, what I should've gotten was Lauren's small suckling pig, aka slices of baby pig comprised 50% of rich, slightly crisp, porky skin fat and 50% tender meat. If the portion had been any larger, it would've been deadly. Biting into a chunk of fat doesn't always qualify as an enjoyable experience, but when it's the fat of a baby pig, it's hard for it to suck.

: Sweet and sour pork

Olivia's sweet and sour pork was unexpectedly made of pork-based meatballs. I thought it would be more like whole pork chunks coated in sauce. It wasn't a bad dish, just not memorable.

: Diced chicken with hot pepper sauce

Jones was the lone non-pork eater with his diced chicken with hot pepper sauce and peanuts. Lots of peanuts. I didn't try any, but I think he ate most of it. THUMBS UP!

Is it fair to say we offset our pork consumption by eating it with brown rice? Probably not. I usually go for white rice, but in this case the nutty flavor of the brown rice went well gnashed together with the varying flavors of pig-based origins.

: Pickled veg

The complimentary pickled vegetables of cabbage and cucumber-like things, which tasted more sweet than tangy, also went well with the pork. And the rice. And, hell, by itself.

: PIGS! Everywhere!

Across from the cashier's counter was a table overloaded with pig shaped items. If you have an old piggy bank laying around that you don't want, I'm sure they'd be glad to add it to their collection.

While the restaurant's dessert menu looked interesting (the important note being that they had one at all, a rare occurrence in Chinese restaurants) and potentially tasty (like the bread pudding with orange sauce), we opted out of it so we could eat at...

: Andre's Cafe

Andre's Cafe, a Hungarian restaurant and bakery! Just walk up five blocks and you too can cap off your Chinese meal with flaky Hungarian baked goods. Your stomach will be a frothy bag of multicutural flavors! Like a United Colors of Benneton ad, but with partially digested food instead of smiling, attractive models.

: Apple strudel

Jones and I went with fat logs of apple strudel, layers of light, flaky phyllo sheets wrapped around loads of soft apple chunks. I thought it could've used more sugar. A lot more sugar. But then I guess it would've tasted more like sugar and less like fruit, which probably isn't the point.

: Cherry and cheese strudel

Lauren and Olivia opted for the cherry and cheese studel, which I liked more than the apple. It had a lot more going for it: sugar, the tartness of the cherries, and creaminess of the cheese, all mooshed together. The apple studel is the boring kid in the back of the classroom who doesn't say anything (like me!), while the cherry and cheese studel is like...the opposite kid. The perky one who talks a lot and has nice hair. You know.

: Oh god, humans

And there's Lauren, Jones and Olivia, just for visual proof that people are willing to hang out with me.

I'm quite unfamiliar with the Upper East Side, but at the very least it i has pork and strudel going for it. I'm looking forward to my next night of pork fat and cheesy cherry pastries. It will happen.

Addresses

Pig Heaven
1540 2nd Ave
New York, NY 10028

Andre's Cafe
1631 2nd Avenue
New York, NY 10028

Chile Post on Serious Eats: Clay Bowls in Pomaire

2008-04-21T22:45:06Z

: Bowls! And stuff!

Check out my first Chile-related post on Serious Eats about clay bowls from Pomaire. Every photo of the day this week should be about Chile, unless my brain dies. I'm not posting about Chile in any order; it's basically whatever I feel like doing. Yeah, creative freedom!!!

Back from Chile

2008-04-21T06:25:13Z

: No more of this.

Just a note to say that I'm back from Chile!...and hope to go back to writing real food entries soon. You know I'm good for it.

It was awesome.

Now I return to being sleepy.

Babbo: Everything But Dessert

2008-04-17T07:55:41Z

[I started writing this entry in the airport on Saturday, but only finished it now while trying to edit my Chile photos and write emails, among other things, like thinking about how I should be snuggled under the covers of the bed a few feet away from me. Babbo probably deserves a better entry than this one. I'm planning on going back next month though, so I'll get another chance.]

: Babbo

: Tina and Helen

I couldn't tell you how many times I've strolled past Babbo during my three years of walking around NYU's West Village campus and thought, "Isn't that the place everyone loves? I should probably eat there." And over the three years, never actually eating there. Although it's not a restaurant you'd casually walk into for dinner, it's not that impossible to get a reservation, nor is the price extravagantly out of reach for a "splurge" restaurant. I just wanted to make sure I went with the right people who would further enhance the food with their gleeful presences.

Thankfully, Tina did all the grunt work for our girls' night (including Helen and Giulia) at Babbo, securing the reservation and going as far as making a spreadsheet outlining the dishes we could order based on other people's recommendations and calculating the final bill of each of us, including tax and tip. If anyone needs a personal dining assistant, she's your gal.

Although we were nearly an hour late for our reservation (pointing the blame towards Ariel and his lateness to Tina's pre-dinner meal at Tailor), we still managed to fit in two relaxed courses before assuming that they would kick us out to make room for the next seating. The host was clear about our time limit: "You can stay until 10 PM; after that, we unleash the hounds." A reasonable request, of course.

And here comes the food porn.

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BREAD! The carb of kings. And peasants.

First, a thick round slice of chewy, crusty bread. Not revelatory, but nothing bad about it either.

: Mm, peas of chick.

The complimentary chickpea bruschetta was also in the "non-revelatory, not sucky" category. I mean, it tasted god. Chickpeas. In. Stuff. Tina says it was "nutty and slighty tangy," which sounds right to me. While we were eating it I was thinking more about what we were going to order for dinner, not about the chickpea matter I was crushing with my molars. Oops.

: PIGGEH?

One small bite of Tina's (more description) pig's foot "milanese" (with rice, beans and arugula) was enough to get me hooked on pig fat for life. I mean, I was already hooked, but I had never eaten something that tasted so purely of pig fat before, something I wasn't expecting from a pig's foot dish. Fried. Crisp. Rich. Fat. Or in one sentence, fat encased within a crispy crust. Don't tell me you don't want a piece of that. I don't care if each miniscule bite shaves a year off my life as it glazes my digestive system with a layer of saturated fat. It brought to mind the first time I ate bronte pistachio gelato and felt like the gelato tasted more purely of pistachio than pistachios themselves. The pig's foot tasted more like fat than just plain fat. That probably doesn't make sense. I don't care.

: Octopus!

Helen's grilled octopus with "borlotti (beans) marinati" was unlike any other octopus-like creature I had ever eaten before—it was either cooked in a way to taste nothing like octopus, or my impression of what octopus should taste like was horribly off because every previous experience I've had eating octopus was a lie. (Probably the latter.) No unsightly chewiness. No toughness to speak of. No elasticity. It was as tender as a fish ball. One of those heavier kinds of fish balls, but still. At least, that's what I perceived from the tiny bite I tried. It tasted like a cross between seafood and meat of the land; definitely something worth ordering again.

: Mm, tongue

I don't know why I (or the general public) don't eat tongue more often; it's just another muscle. A very tasty, soft, tender muscle. Does it make sense that it kind of reminds me of thinly sliced roast beef? In Babbo's warm lamb's tongue vinaigrette with chantarelles and a 3-minute egg, the awesomeness of the tongue is heightened by the accompanying poached egg—pierce the egg and out comes a river of creamy egg yolk goo to mix your sliced lamb's tongue with. Slather every piece in cholesterol. And then eat the plate off clean, like I did.

: Salad?!

Giulia's wild arugula with parmesan salad was a nice way to interrupt the onslaught of meats. I can't recall much about it aside from...liking it. It's hard to make me love a salad if it doesn't include either fried potatoes or foie gras. Or both.

I'll tell you right now that I don't know how to judge pasta. Babbo is known for making exceptional pasta dishes—naturally, I liked all of them. A lot. "Love" would be too strong of a word for me to say about any pasta; for some reason I've just never loved pasta the same way I love noodles, nor ravioli the same way I love Chinese dumplings. Flavor preference, I guess. Each pasta dish was accompanied by a different kind of cheese, freshly grated on the spot. Naturally, I cannot tell you what each cheese was—I just wanted to give some more evidence that Babbo means business.

Due to lack of brain functionings (or will to make my brain function), I'm keeping my descriptions short and unhelpful. I'm sure all the pastas are good; just get the one with the flavor you like. All their textures were very al dente...not that you would expect something floppy and overcooked.

: Beef cheek!

Beef cheek ravioli with crushed squab liver and black truffles: ravioli filled with smooth beef cheek mash in a livery sauce. I want more beef cheek.

: Brain of lambs

Lamb's brain "francobolli" ravioli with lemon and sage: not knowing what to expect, this dish took us all off guard. It didn't taste bad—the first flavor that came to my mind was "fungal." Creamy brains taste like earth? An interesting flavor; I'd get it again.

: Mint love letters

Mint love letters with spicy lamb sausage: minty. Actually, I could go for more mint. This seems to be a favorite dish of Babbo customers.

: Chianti Stained Pappardelle

Chianti stained pappardelle with wild boar ragu: Helen was the only one to go for a non-filled pasta. It's a big plate of super-wide pasta strips with boar bits and winey sauce. Not that it tastes like wine wine. But you know.

: Pile of duck!

The four of us shared the duck (accompanied by stuff I can't remember) for the sake of trying one of the secondis. And by "shared," I mean I ate half of it. Not on purpose; the duck happened to be placed in front of me and everyone else looked more food coma-ed out than I did. By ridding them of the responsibility of eating their part of the duck, I was doing them a favor. Right.

: LEG!

Underneath the tender, juicy slices of duck breast was an unexpected duck leg. My favorite duck part. Fatty, lightly crisp layer of skin atop fork-tender chunks of duck meat. I love fat. Yes.

: dessert things

We didn't have enough time to eat desserts off the menu, but the complimentary plate of biscotti and bite-sized cookies (chocolate and almond meringue) was enough to satiate my sweet tooth. The biscotti's fragrance invaded my nose just as my teeth were about to bite into the crisp cookie. As for what the flavor was...I can't recall exactly. Something fruity, something herbal, and lots of almond. Another example of intense, pure flavors—like the pig's foot or pistachio gelato—that don't overwhelm but just wash over the flavor receptors of your brain. The resulting feeling is of contentment and slight surprise to eat something that tastes familiar, but never before so delicious.

Although it probably would've been a bad idea for the well-being of my stomach to eat dessert, I totally could've done it had we had more time. If it helps to guide your first meal a Babbo, an appetizer, pasta dish, and shared main dish should be enough to stuff one person and cost around $60 (our bill with tax and tip came to $56 per person, split between four people). If you have time, you should add a dessert. :)

As someone who doesn't splurge on meals very often (I spent more on this dinner than any other in NYC that I can remember, ignoring the time I bought an entire bo ssam at Momofuku), I thought Babbo was worth the price. Tina and I are already planning our next meal, before which I plan on stretching my stomach.

After dinner, I rushed to the Bowery Ballroom to meet up with John for a Caribou concert, and then after that, onwards to to Brooklyn to stumble upon an already sleeping Tristan. Admitted, I was sleepy during dinner, and the concert...and that morning during work. The next day I must've taken something like three well deserved naps.

Address

Babbo
110 Waverly Pl
New York, NY 10011

In Chile. Oh Joy.

2008-04-13T15:50:14Z

[UPDATE, 11:30 PM: Thanks for your messages. I'm alright now...or at least I feel better. Got a hug or two. Haha. And. Well, if I don't let go of this I'll feel miserable all week. I'm trying. Ate some really awesome food today and am unable to retain all the information that is being thrown at me. I'm intimidated by my group members, but they're really nice people and I'm the youngest, so I shouldn't feel so...dumb. And I'll never learn this much about Chilean food again in my life, so I need to keep in mind what a priceless experience this is. Gaah. I might feel better if I had a toothbrush though.]

I am not excited yet. This is why:

First flight out of Newark to Miami was delayed by more than two hours. Meaning I missed my original connection flight to Santiago in Miami, but I was easily transferred to another flight about two hours after the other one.

My two worries: would the people at Pro Chile know that my flight was delayed and know to pick me up from the airport later, and would my luggage get to Santiago?

Of course, no. And no. It gets worse. Or rather, it could be worse...maybe I should count my blessings.

The flight from Miami to Santiago was on American Airlines instead of the original LAN. I think LAN is probably better. Oh well. Fail. I don't know if I got much sleep on that 8 hour flight.

Of course, luggage is still in Miami since it was originally supposed to go on the flight that I missed. If AA doesn't fuck up too much, it'll be here tomorrow.

And of course, the people are Pro Chile didn't know my flight was messed up, so the driver who was supposed to pick me up didn't wait a million hours for me. Which is okay—I wouldn't expect other people to wait so long for me—but I called my mom when I was in Miami to email someone at Pro Chile to tell them I was delayed by two hours. Maybe the email didn't go through, or it wasn't checked...I tried to make sure someone would find out. Fail.

And the big "oh fuck shit this I want to go home" is that a cab driver (or two cab drivers) scammed me out of $555. I'd rather not explain how because it'll make me look like a total idiot, but one cab driver helped me figure out how much money to take out of the ATM (...yes, I look really dumb now) and I thought it was around $50, but no, extra zero, $500. Or $555 I realized after looking at my bank account info online. The more I think about how stupid I was the worse I feel, so I'm trying...not to...although it's really hard. Basically two cab drivers helped me get a cab; one guy was super nice, the other was kinda meh, and at first I thought maybe it was just the second guy who scammed me but maybe they were in it together, which makes me really....sad.

Maybe I'm lucky that that's the first time I've ever gotten scammed. I've never even had anything stolen from me before. I guess this counts though.

At least I didn't get my wallet stolen. I guess.

At least I didn't die on the plane. I guess.

It's hard to look at the bright side right now. I kind of just want to cry. But that won't solve anything. And I'm supposed to be happy that I'm in Chile, but so far, I'm not. And how, even though I know I have enough money to spend on ...various things, the notion that I just wasted $555 doesn't make me want to spend any money. Except for the $3 I'm spending on the Internet right now.

I feel so stupid. I feel stupid all the time. Why can't it ever end? And thinking that none of this would've happened if my first flight hadn't been delayed by two hours makes me angry as well. Stupid, angry, and frustrated do not make for happy excitement of any sort.

I'm closing comments because I may not get to go back on the Internet for a while. So whatever. This is just a little update.

Loreley: Pork and Taters, All Night Long

2008-04-12T18:12:17Z

: Pretzels

: Loreley

When I eat out with friends, food tends to fall into one of three categories: Asian, American, or pizza. It's easy to say that "German" never pops up, aside from a birthday dinner I held about three years ago at Lederhosen (and looking back, I don't know why I chose that restaurant—not that there's anything wrong with it, it's just random). That's three years without German food. Three years! And you know what I was missing out on all this time? Fried pork cutlets, french fries, and fresh pretzels. Why I would deny myself of such a deliciously nutrient-deficient meal for so long is a mystery to me.

At the suggestion of Jeanne's friend Stanley, six of us—including Jeanne's friends Gary, Grace, and Stephanie—went to German restaurant and biergarten Loreley two Thursdays ago. We started with a basket of fresh, warm pretzels studded with salt chunks and accompanied by brain-tingling mustard. I wouldn't want to eat any other kind of pretzel unless they also possessed just the slightest crispy crust encasing light, fluffy, bready innards. The only bad thing about these pretzels is that they had a short lifespan of awesomeness: as they cooled down, their tasty pretzel-powers disappeared. Then again, you should have no problem finishing these off before they dip far below peak-deliciousness.

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Mm, dinner!

Although Loreley's menu contained many enticing dishes featuring various meats in various forms, my stomach only wanted one thing: wiener schnitzel with fries, a thinly pounded pork cutlet, breaded and deep-fried, accompanied by seemingly two potatoes' worth of crisp french fries and two lemon wedges.

: Another view...because you're worth it

Wiener schnitzel is like a thinner version of pork katsu with lighter breading. (I know the schnitzel came before katsu in the history of fried meat cutlets—and what a glorious history that is—but as I eat a hell of a lot more katsu, I'm comparing it to that.) I prefer katsu—its thicker cut retains more juiciness and is probably more tender—but I'm not going to turn down a schnitzel. That'd be stupid.

The thinness made it deceptively easy to eat at first: "Hey, it's so thin, I could eat this all day!" Of course, about halfway through stuffing the cutlet down my throat (interspersed with handfuls of fries), my belly felt like it was leaden with a compressed ball of pork and potato matter. Which is was.

: Why.

Ignoring the cries of my body, I ate through the pain and finished off most of my plate. How? Why? I do not know. Missing brain cells, most likely. Jeanne ordered the same thing and only ate half of her plate. That was the smart thing to do. Yes.

Those fries were tasty though—golden crisp crust, fluffy starchy innards. I guess if I had had ketchup to eat them with, I would've eaten all of them, which would've been bad. I ended up burping fried potato fumes all night. There are worse things to burp, but it definitely gets unpleasant after a while.

: Mm, salad!

If it offsets the meat and potatoes at all, the schnitzel comes with a non-sucky side salad. It's more like salad ingredients put together in a bowl unmixed—lettuce, cucumber slices, shredded carrot, shredded red cabbage, and tomato wedges—topped with an Italian dressing-like dressing. Yay, fiber!

: Sausauge

One of the guys (names escape me; I suck) ordered the bratwurst with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes platter. Mm, more meat and potatoes. I'd like to try this next time.

: Schnitzel sammy

Grace and Stephanie went with the schnitzel sandwich, a wiener schnitzel in a bun topped with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise. I probably should've went with that...if I knew what "moderation" was.

I was too full to get dessert (I'd like to believe there's a separate stomach for dessert, but sometimes my "normal food" spills over into that partition of my digestive system); otherwise I would've gone for a slice of black forest cake. Next time, perhaps.

Address

Loreley
7 Rivington St
New York, NY 10002