This has nothing to do with food

She has this bi-polar sense of self-worth. Some days she will dance into room, intoxicating every bystander with her charisma and charm, but other days she forgets how to take the most modest compliment. It is a bit of a gamble who she will wake up to in the morning. She goes to bed not knowing, just praying that her opinion of self will be kind, forgiving, supple.

They say don’t judge a book by its cover but she is a slave to her binding and reinterprets her title incessantly, sometimes for better, other times for worse. It is strange how her opinion of her value is contingent on so many unstable factors. The other day for instance, was bleak and dismal. Her apartment was unbearable chilly and damp because she neglected to close the windows after setting the oven smoking. The feeling the weather instilled in her was enough to steer her self-perception down a very critical path…

But sometimes she cannot pinpoint the rhyme or the reason. She woke up today an hour and 45 minutes later than intended, leaving no time for the gym or to find a remedy for her orphanesque façade. She surrendered to her harsh judgment and accepted that today she would not stand tall.

But sometimes ones opinions are challenged by the simplest things. Her local coffee spot always posts the day’s horoscope on the barista counter. Typically her roommate surprises her with a text around 10:30 revealing her omen like a fortune cookie, but today she needed coffee to drive her to work. While not superstitious, she is occasionally tickled by irony and serendipity. Her horoscope read: “How many times do you need to be told you’re beautiful before you believe it? You light up a room with your smile. Embrace it”…

 

I need to start painting again.

Urban Adventures

I spent yesterday at City Harvest in Queens, sorting through 11,000 oranges to pull out the duds and toss them in what Danny called the “bullshit,” bin. When people find out that I grew up on a farm, they are generally surprised to see how incompetent I am when it comes to 1) directions and 2) manual labor. Unfortunately, yesterday required both. I had to meet the rest of the team late due to a doctor’s appointment, and having already been to Harlem and the Bronx on my own this week, I was starting to think of myself as a bit of an urban adventurer. Whelp, yesterday was humbling. After walking the wrong direction for say 20 minutes, I finally got my orientation and eventually ended up where the star on my map seemed to be, (see picture below). There was one man in the stock-yard and fortunately for me, I was intent on self-improvement last spring a took a few months of Spanish classes, which meant I knew about six words. These six words were just enough for me to inaccurately communicate to the man that I in fact was the “guy” coming to meet the “other guy” for the job loading some truck. (Note: At this point I think I have told them I am looking for the group volunteering at City Harvest). Long story short, I end up being introduced to this guy who looks at me with shock and disappointment as I stand before him in my little fur hat, Burberry pea coat, and stupid grin, and he says “you can’t be the guy.” Well, I’m not a guy at all so I quickly concluded a) I was in the wrong place and b) this guy spoke English. I explained my situation to this dude who was kind enough to tell me that I was not so far from the star on my little crumpled map. I eventually found the team who were a little curious why I was 90 minutes late. No more urban adventuring for me.



 

But things just got better. What is that new sent I am wearing you ask? Oh, hunny, that is not Channel, that is the consequence of me falling in the bullshit bin. I had the honor of standing on a stool and reaching into a 5 foot high bin to fill crates of oranges. As I filled more crates, the lower went the oranges, and the farther I – a creature of grace – had to lean in to reach them. You know how the story goes, I fell in. It was nasty. This wasn’t like toppling into a pile of oranges at Dean and Deluca, this was more like falling into your gradma’s compost pile out back. At least at the conclusion of this internship, they will remember that I provided a little entertainment here and there.

We spent part of the time playing the “restaurant game,” you know, that annoying game where you go around and talk about places, saying if you have been there, what you thought of it, etc. It’s a terrible game and I love it very much. However, needless to say Danny won, but only after I admitted to him that all I had really eaten in the last week was generous quantities of dodgy duck from Chinatown and dollar a slice pizza. Was this oversharing? Probably. Was the duck good? Absolutely. And do I rationalize my not so eloquent contributions to the conversation because of my earlier incident? Of course I do.

 

Date Night

In this city, the best dates are those that could take place nowhere else. In a single evening you can cover all the bases: ironic, classy, sketchy, delicious, and of course comical. It has taken time, but I have learned that the best planned dates are those that are flexible, so that if necessary, can take a spontaneous turn.

My date, interested in learning more about the darker spirits, made my decision easy: 7pm at the Brandy Library in Tribeca. Guys love this place: mahogany, leather, scotch. You would almost expect to see Don Draper sitting at the other end of the bar and their flights selection is unparalleled, even if the service is unremarkable. We chose the “whiskeys of the worlds” flight which had 6 .5 oz varieties, the 6th a mystery selection we were supposed to decipher. I said Wild Turkey, and it turned out to be an organic scotch from the mountains of Bhutan. I’d like to know who has ever guessed that one correctly…

My original intention had been to follow this with bar seating at the 9pm Cabaret at Duane Park, which has recently moved from Tribeca to Houston and Bleeker, but my flawless plan did have one missing link: food. While I think the mac and cheese at Duane Park is excellent, my friend is one with a metablism that requires a proper meal, and the look in his eyes could only mean one thing....

Classy took a turn for trashy or at least less refined the moment we stepped out of the Brandy Library and decided to save 8 dollars and race on foot (and I actually mean run) to Chinatown instead of take a cab. Let’s just say I was a little winded by the time we reached Mulberry. So down the steps we submerged into a spot with a name I cannot pronounce and a public health rating I care not to know, and ordered enough food for a small army kindergartners. To avoid judgment, my date asked for four set of utensils even though it was just the two of us who planned to devour the entire duck, Chinese broccoli, and white rice. The owner also informed us that Chinese New Year is quickly approaching and it is the year of the horse. As I sipped my strong back tea and waited for our take out, I took the liberty to Google what this zodiac sign implied for the year to come. It looks like we should live this year one day at time. I think that sounds wise.

Bhutan, ofcourse! Silly me...

Chinatown

I’m always skeptical about restaurants with signed pictures of celebrities adorning the walls, particularly those in Chinatown. But what better thing to do during the storm of the century than hail a gypsy cab to a crossed off street below canal for dumplings and steamed pork buns....

The food at Joe’s Shanghai was unremarkable, but it did get me thinking about “ambiance” and I’m not just talking about it in the way suggested by “hip” spots with strange verbs and nouns for names like “Bed” or “Smash.” I’m talking about ambiance in the memorable sense that includes the look of the street, the company you dine with, the noise in the background, the way you are greeted. And all these reasons are why elements of the evening like falling in a snow drift and getting yelled at by the hostess in Chinese for having an odd number of people don’t discourage me, but rather laugh and consider the experience worth the while.

More dumplings for us...



All smiles on Mulberry Street



Poets, posers, and post-retirees…

You know you have found a good restaurant when at the lunch seating, the bar is full of all three. The old retired guy in his Loro Piana sweater, sipping a neat scotch, and ordering the same thing he did yesterday. The younger gentleman doing the same, with aspirations to look sophisticated more likely than to do anything great. The Pratt student sipping Borolo and dissecting her salad as though it were also a design project. There is something about both regulars and eccentrics, and most ideally a combination of the two, that seem to speak to greatness.

Great bar seating can be found at...

http://www.mercerhotel.com/kitchen.php

http://www.themermaidnyc.com/index.php

http://unionsquarecafe.com/

http://www.gramercytavern.com/

http://momofuku.com/new-york/noodle-bar/

something I ate for lunch once...somewhere I don't remember...

M: Does this mean...

...you are always going to take pictures of your food when we are out together?

Me: Yes, yes it does

Charred Beef Sirloin Carpaccio with Mushroom-Kale Salad, Crisp Artichokes, Parmigiano...

Scavengers and Samplers...

The children in my family are the type that will ask for a slice of stilton, some oil-cured olives, and a crusty French baguette by the age of four. For better or worse, an implication of this premature liberal and curious pallet is that we grow into adults best described as samplers and scavengers: We will try anything at least once. In a controlled environment such as a normal office, this is no problem, but my current workplace causes me to question if my sampling tendencies are actually toying with one of the seven deadly sins (gluttony if this wasn’t apparent). I wish that when I said that I had olive oil muffins from Mialino, mac and cheese from Blue Smoke, macadamia nut and apricot cookies from Gramercy Tavern and a cheese plate from Murray’s Cheese, I was referring to what I consumed in a week, but unfortunately that was just Friday. The kitchen of this office is a place of community building in the best sort of way - snacking. You will be challenged to find a moment where there is not something on the kitchen counter, asking to be sampled and washed down with either the ice coffee, sparkling water (and if after 5) beer – all on tap. As abundant as the food, however, are the smiles and laughter, which I personally think is really what makes everyone come back for more…

Something I found on the counter this morning...it was quite tasty

A self-admitted foodie

As go many retrospectively manipulated and nicely packaged and polished stories, I have come full circle and back to my roots. It’s a funny exercise, looking at where you stumbled upon today and trying to make the journey to this point make sense, or at least fit on a single page CV. You tend to leave out a lot, overemphasize certain experiences that at the time were irrelevant and stretch the impact had by various mentors and projects on your personal and professional development. With that being said, I’ll try to be as forthright as possible regarding my relationship with food, but it is a story, even if mostly true.

I like to think hospitality is in my blood. I grew up working in my families’ country in and at the age of 13 could prepare a full course country breakfast for a dozen guests with my hands tied behind my back. That being said, with similar ease I set my oven on fire last week making toast. I have been a barista in a sketchy coffee shop, worked behind the bar at a restaurant that could have been a case study on sexual harassment, and facilitated wine tastings at a French venue (which really just meant I had the privilege of holding the spit bucket during tastings). There is something in me loves the colorful characters I have met along the way, the good and questionable material in the kitchen, and the unparalleled passion, work ethic, honesty and creativity that I have learned to associate with this industry.

I’ve spent four years exploring the tastes of this city, celebrating its chefs, and spending most of my discretionary income on food and wine. I love to talk about food, learn about it and it was only recently that it clicked that there may be viable career opportunities related to this industry, I’m just not exactly sure what they are…So for now, I’m going to continue doing what I’m doing: one off consulting projects for places like Brooklyn Winery, interning with culinary role-models like Danny Meyer at Union Square Hospitality Group, (now) writing about my epicurean adventures and hoping at the end of the day, I end up where I am supposed to be. This will not just be a food blog, but something along those lines, so I encourage you to tune in if you happen to like eating, or reading, or laughing, or if you are simply curious or confused by my introduction to this nebulous project.