Apr 13
Ok, I'll quickly mention that I have an article about Latin American hot sauces in today's New York Post. But the best part is the ad below my story. Look closely…I almost shit myself–it's Reggaeton Niños Vol. 1! My favorite genre of music made family friendly. These "talented" children totally need to get together with Kidz Bop and Dev2.0 and offend the sensibilities of all nationalities.
I almost never watch anything on the WB, but I was bored last night and happened to catch the end of Gilmore Girls (oh, there was some mention of "grups" in there too—so, so topical) where they were playing Sparks’ “Angst in My Pants” (I can’t hear that song and not think of Nicolas Cage in Valley Girl, a movie I didn't even see until I was in my late teens because it was freakin' rated R and my mom wouldn't allow it in '83). The song made me feel a little off kilter, but it wasn’t surprising. Oh, and there was that kid whose role I know nothing about because I don't watch Gilmore Girls, that ran into Rory at a party and was wearing a Dinosaur Jr. Green Mind t-shirt. So much nostalgia that I almost feel like moving to a quaint NE town and engaging in witty banter with my precocious daughter I had as a teen .
Then before I could change the channel Pepper Dennis came on and the opening sequence where Rebecca Romijn was getting ready in the morning, close-up shots of coffee brewing, etc. The Go! Team's “The Power is On” was setting the mood. Now that's weird. At least I think. That's a sure sign you're getting old (or turning into a grup), when you think something still might be hip or obscure when it’s totally outré. I guess that Go! Team record has been out for over a year so there's been plenty of time for dissemination. Now I feel nostalgic for early 2005.
I've always been fascinated by regional difference in chains, particularly where food is concerned. Near and far, a McCheesesteak 100 miles away is just as intriguing and messed up as Royal Masala pizza with sweet potato crust from a Malaysian Pizza Hut across the globe.
The differences can be subtler with stores, but they certainly cater to regional clientele, as is noted in this recent Kansas City Star article," Chain Stores Change Focus."
You start to get into tricky territory when you decide what various ethnicities might want. I don't have a problem with bilingual signage, un-American things like cactus leaves in the produce section or even Spanish language, themed paint lines like Home Depot's new Colores Origenes (though I don't know how neccessary the latter really is). Shops in predominately black neighborhoods should have make up for darker skin tones and relaxers for African-American hair.
But should clothing be garishly hued and animal printed, as is/was the case with Ashley Stewart (which I'll admit I haven't set foot in, in years)? I mean, black women do shop there, so maybe it?s inoffensive. This article also talks about Sears using more form-fitting clothing and brighter colors appeal to minorities. 'Cause you know they love it tight and trashy.
But what weirded me out the most was that Kohl's "coordinates clothing sizes in some of its stores with the body sizes of particular neighborhoods." How on earth is that determined? (I guess they just analyze the SKUs of what sells best.) I want the list of fat and skinny 'hoods. Actually, I paid a visit to the Harlem H&M after hearing who-knows-where that they had a plentiful stock of large sizes, i.e.16, the manufactured, yet phantom H&M size. It must've been an urban myth because this location was disproportionately stocked with 4s and 6s like all the rest.
Hmm…there's not a lot of traffic to this site…it's new, I don't publicize it and frankly, who cares about chains except me?but I've been noticing a disproportionate amount of searchers landing here looking for Wendy's Frescata Weight Watchers points. Lordy.
Fine, have your Frescata and eat it too. I'll give you what you want now that I'm out of the closet with my humiliating WW ways. The roasted turkey and swiss is 11 points. Happy? I'm here to serve.
I used to think Patak's was the shit, but then I got wise to Swad. Perhaps this brand is the Kraft of India, I don't know, but they do seem to manufacture every food product you could ever want–from chickpea flour to ready to eat meals (better than the ubiquitous Tasty Bite boxes that are probably getting more popular in the city thanks to Trader Joe's). And it's all packaged so sensibly with both Hindi and English terms and a large color photo.
One of my most favorite products, and not just in the Swad canon, is something called Far Far Coloured (more generically, I think they're called farfar or wafers). At least on a visual level. I'm not sure about taste as I haven't attempted cooking mine yet. It looks like rainbow colored pasta, but if I'm correct you deep fry it. There aren't any directions on the bag. The only place I've seen a before and after preparation pic is an egullet post.
I go nuts buying Swad whenever I hit Patel Brothers (do note the Swad logo watermark on this site) in Jackson Heights. Canned, boxed, bagged, jarred, frozen, I covet all of it. You can use as little or as much Swad as you'd like. I don't usually feel like making cheese from scratch, and sometimes I'm not up for toasting and grinding spices. Mincing garlic and ginger isn't a problem for me, but if that's too much you can buy the essential combo in a jar. I keep it on hand just in case. Same goes for frozen items like bird chiles that aren't easy to find in Carroll Gardens, or more obscure vegetables like drumsticks. Fresh spinach is fine, but I love Swad's tidy ziplocked palak that comes pureed in little blocks ready to cook with.
Last night I made a lazy palak paneer, which I'm sure would make purists cry, but I'm not anal about Indian cooking they way I am with S.E. Asian dishes. Essentially, I cooked down onion, garlic and ginger then added garam masala, a few hot pepper flakes, then tossed in a bag of spinach with cheese cubes following soon after. I splashed in a little half and half, as it was the only creamy thing in the house. Really, you should make your spice blend and brown the cheese separately. And the whole thing ends up as a rich ghee-filled amalgam. Instead, I used canola oil and raw cheese, as I'm trying to watch the rampant fat. It wasn't half-bad, but more vegetable forward and less like creamed spinach.
I used Swad brand paneer, garam masala, palak and mango pickle. Unfortunately, I was all out of Swad radish-stuffed naan. A nice Swad gulab jamun would've been the perfect nightcap, but I had to settle on a quarter tub (I actually managed to only eat one serving) of Ben & Jerry's Turtle Soup, which was kind of boring for that genre of ice cream. I like more crap in my frozen desserts.
Am I the only one who’s unaware of this supposed 90-day panty rule being perpetrated by Daily Candy? Rather than just unsubscribe from this morning inbox nuisance, I usually skim, agitate, then delete. But today I actually read a portion detailing the Panty Postman's services because I wanted to make sure I was seeing clearly:
Sign up for the yearly knicker subscription and every three months you’ll receive two pretty thongs in assorted colors. After all, panties have only a 90-day life span. (Yes, cringe while steeping in your 4-year-old pair.)
Honestly, I’ve never given much thought to panty expiration dates. (Maybe thongs get particularly soiled as they pretty much dwell in your ass crack. ) As long as they look presentable–no rips, holes, distressing smudges, they’ll be kept in circulation. I mean, you do wash the damn things, right? Is this every three months upheaval due to hygiene or decadence? Wouldn’t you think that there’d have to be a market (most likely in Japan) for these barely worn cast offs? This definitely needs to be tapped into.
1/2 Despite working in the E. 50s for over three months now, I still haven't settled into a smooth lunch routine. And I'm still a bit disgruntled at the area's offerings.
While hardly amazing, I will make the half-block journey to East Ocean maybe once a week. They have one of those point and pick deals where you get rice plus two choices and a soda for $5.95. You don't have to get fried rice and fatty battered meat (though you certainly could–I'm just trying to say that cheap steam table Chinese isn't all unhealthy) They have things like simple greens in oyster sauce or lotus root stir fry, and most importantly, they have cans of seltzer. I have fits when you get a free drink, but it has to be a can, therefore a soda. I just want water (not out of health–I just don't like soda) and it seems cruel that water costs more than carbonated corn syrup. Silly as it is, including seltzer as a free drink option, boosts my opinion of East Ocean up a notch or two.
There's a bizarre scene lurking in Williamsburg, and it involves Asians slinging southern food for hipsters. Well, primarily neighborhood residents, but the back room, where a friend threw a party, was also serving as a celebratory space for two other groups, both Asian (I don't know which ethnicity, though I'm leaning towards Chinese).
While service was sweet when we could flag it down, it was scattershot, to say the least. Menus were tough to get a hold of, we ultimately wrote down our orders on a piece of notebook paper to aid the lone waitress (I thought that was odd and it totally wasn't my idea) and the food arrived in starts and fits.
Actually, I was the one who started throwing a fit. It's unwise to drink excessively on an empty stomach, but I wasn't slamming beers by any means. The fact that I was on my third drink and still food-less was a testament to their pace rather than mine. What would be the odds that out of 13 people, I'd be the 13th served? (At last Christmas's gift exchange I also drew 13 out of 13 numbers–so I think I'm just lucky.)
By the time my simple bbq chicken with marshmallow topped yams and mini corn on the cob appeared, half the table was already finished eating and I was sloshed and disgruntled. Fortunately, they happened to have one of my favorite foods in the world on the menu, cheese wontons, a.k.a. crab rangoon! Awesome, yet not quite awesome enough to salvage the meal.
The food was really neither here nor there. It wasn't wretched, but reminded me of what you'd probably get in Hong Kong. Not that I experienced that first hand–I steered clear of anything Southern or Mexican when on vacation. They do have a Tony Roma's in HK (which I realize isn't quite Southern, but it's ribby, saucy and American).
I did perk up a bit when the karaoke kicked in, alas; it was time to move on to a new venue. They did give out free cake and a cocktail for the birthday girl, nice touches, but all in all it was a bit of a freak show. That's why I don't attempt large birthday dinners.
Lazy Catfish * 593 Lorimer St., Brooklyn, NY
Ok, every Thursday I must gain insight from my favorite gazillionaire shopping columnist in the New York Times. Today?s missive, "Seeking Retail Therapy in a Temple of Fashion," had a most enlightening fourth sentence (and final paragraph).
A painfully stylish friend recently stopped by my apartment. Her handbag had broken on the street, and she wondered if I had a shopping bag to hold the contents. Peering into the cabinet where we keep such things, I saw two choices folded on the shelf. I could send her out onto the street in her Chlo platform shoes with a shiny yellow plastic drawstring bag from Dress Barn. Or I could hand her the Platonic ideal of the chic shopping bag, the Taoist uncarved block of retail therapy: the black, boxy, matte-finish Barneys bag. I debated.
Did you catch that? Dress Barn. Could Alex actually possess an item from Dress Barn? Maybe an estranged middle-American cousin left her bag, or the help. Mexicans are nuts for Dress Barn, let me tell you. Though to be honest, I?ve never purchased anything from the DB. I?ve browsed a few in my day, but heck, it?s no Avenue.
I think it was last week that I admitted to actually buying a swimsuit from Newport News (maybe eight months ago and I never even wore it—I've only gone swimming once in the past eighteen years) and now I'm suffering the aftermath. Today, a creepy little catalog called Venus appeared in my mailbox. I don't know how on earth I could possibly be the target demographic for the Barely Brooke collection. I can only blame this titillating tragedy on my Newport News impulse purchase. I also hold NN responsible for the baffling Midnight Velvet catalog that somehow made its way to me (notable in that it's the same company as Swiss Colony, one of my favorite Christmastime reads as a kid. Every year I'd drool over the petit fours [which reminds me, I intentionally titled a post "Petty Four" late last year and I get a decent amount of hits on phonetic spellers googling that phrase. Not to be petty, but…Oh, I also get lots of nutritional information fiends looking for the calories in drunken noodles and crab rangoon. As they say, if you have to ask…though today's favorite is as toss up between "taco bell commercial caesar actress" and "wet t-shirt contest photos." Your wish is my command.] and I never got them) a few months ago. I'm trying to imagine the Return of Mozambique figurine and Nakira caftan in my room. Yeah, I can see it.
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