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Posts from the ‘Textual Selfie’ Category

Bulking Up For the Winter

Cip cocktail Why don’t run-of-the-mill grocery stores in NYC sell bulk food? This was literally keeping me awake last night. I yelled the question repeatedly from my bedroom into the kitchen where James was doing dishes and garnered no response until my third attempt got a ridiculous “It’s not worth answering.” That’s absolutely not true.

A million years ago when I first moved to NYC I was stymied by the Associateds, Key Foods, C Towns and the like packaging everything up for you in Styrofoam and cling film or plastic containers. What if I only wanted a handful of white mushrooms or half a cup of pecans? It seemed so wasteful to force large amounts of perishables on a shopper.

My genius idea would be selling fresh herbs in bulk. Of course, there wouldn’t be much profit in this business model. I can never use 20 thyme sprigs or even a whole cilantro bundle before it starts to go bad.

I’m still not sure if it’s a space and convenience issue; it’s just easier for a store to present you with ready-to-go items, if it’s hygiene like too many hands touching the goods, that people would just take food and not pay or that New Yorkers have a more difficult time than the average consumer with self-service (I tend to believe the latter having seen way too many jams and general cluelessness at the few stores that offer self-checkout).

My big scam when I was a younger teen and candy was enough to make my day, was filling my baggie with bridge mix and writing down the code for chocolate-covered peanuts, which were way cheaper. I only got busted once, which was no big deal because you could just play dumb. People were more trusting. This was during the era when stores would sell kids cigarettes with notes from their parents (I had a neighbor in high school who legitimately did this, the reasoning being that they had had drug problems and were in recovery and their family was happy to see them smoking as long as it meant they weren’t abusing other substances).

I’d forgotten about the lack of bulk food even being problematic until this weekend when I paid a visit to Wegmans in Woodbridge, NJ, a much higher class of grocery store than the already classier-than-NYC garden state supermarkets I normally patronize. The store is mammoth with spacious rows of anything you could think of (except corn tortillas and polenta in a tube it turned out—what’s up with the maize aversion? Maybe someone read The Omnivore's Dilemma one too many times) including a nice row of bulk food dispensers. You don’t even know the joy I derived from meting out the tiniest scoop of pepitas. It’s very satisfying to pay $1 and some change for what you actually need instead of $5 for a container that will just go stale.

I would’ve explored Wegmans further (and possibly found those corn products eventually) but I was running late to meet friends at Cheeseburger in Paradise just minutes away on the other side of Route 1. If you ever want live covers of all your favorite ‘90s hits (think Counting Crows and Extreme) and a signature cocktail composed of pina colada, rum runner, margarita, daiquiri and blue curacao layers, all in the same glass, garnished with a gummy cheeseburger on a toothpick and fruit wearing sunglasses (they’re called “garnimals”) show up at this Jimmy Buffet chain at 9:30pm on a Saturday.

Oh, and why don’t they sell bulk food in NYC?

Spirit of ’76

FightLogo_sm_3 Ok, it has now been two months since my birthday and I’ve come to the conclusion that all my fellow 1972ers did this year: it’s ok to make up your age. I was not initially on board, especially since I’m not really dating (and attracting the young‘uns seems to be the point of digit deceit) but the more I think about it—what’s the harm in saying you’re 32? That’s not so young, it's still woefully gen x, no one would ever question it, but it gives a totally different impression than 36 does. And a better one, I might add. I mean if women who look like this can claim to be 37, I have little remorse in fudging.

The only trouble in maintaining this ruse will stem from pop culture references. Like the new 90210 could come up in conversation and I might be tempted to say something about watching 90210 in college (though frankly, I’m more fascinated by how someone can be my height and weigh 100 pounds) and now I’ll have to remark, “Oh, yeah, I watched it religiously in…uh, high school. Yes, high school.” And I’ll have to claim that I’m too young to have seen Star Wars in the theater when it came out, you know, being an infant and all.

And do you know what clinched it? Bonnie Root. Yep, that girl I went to school with who has become a faux-fixation of mine (background here and here). The other night I was on imdb trying to determine if a character I only caught a glimpse of on Prison Break was played Bonnie Root. I didn’t think so, this actress seemed blonder and a few years older. And it turned out that it was someone named Stacy Haiduk. What I did notice is that Bonnie Root has her birth year listed as 1975. Not unless she skipped three grades…

The S Word

First batch of books from storage

While sitting in my apartment all weekend (please don’t make me use the S word) I had time to sort through the first few batches of books that my mom has started sending in padded envelopes from my 15 or so boxes that I left in storage over a decade ago in Portland. She has downsized from a decent sized mobile home in the suburbs to a smaller version (I’ve yet to see) at the coast. She’s not retired, it’s just a change.

I’d forgotten how many books I used to own and how much shopping for them was a regular part of my life. I’d scour used book stores, junk and thrift shops on a weekly basis. I’m not sure if the fact that I haven’t performed that task in years is a function of NYC simply not providing enough of these shopping venues or if times have changed all around and everyone just sells on eBay now (even my mom had a little online bookselling business for a spell, or maybe she still does, I’m not sure).

I prefer the serendipity of finding say, a copy of Keyboard magazine with Nick Rhodes on the cover (Arcadia era, not Duran Duran) stuffed in a pile for a dollar. I’m never going to search for that online, pay even that same dollar (which would be an unlikely minimum) plus shipping. That’s a dollar gem, nothing more.

I’m waiting for the cookbooks and pamphlets to show up, so far the bounty falls into categories like 20th century sex ed/dating, pulp fiction with lascivious covers, folklore and coloring and activity books. In the early ‘90s I kept my eye on these genres for art project fodder (I majored in printmaking). Later I xeroxed found illustrations for zine clip art.

I don’t do anything with them now, though I can’t bear to part with this ephemera despite a lack of shelving. I don’t want them to get lost for another ten years either. So, I’m going to talk about these most uncollectable paper items from time to time whether or not it’s of any interest to anyone. The Big John, Little John coloring book? Come on, that's brilliant.

I did have the intention of writing about young adult books and created the I Kid You Not tag for that purpose at the beginning of 2007. But I’m not single minded enough to ever write about any one topic with enough passion, persistence and gravitas to stand out in any way. That’s why I was wowed earlier this year when I read about the Jezebel blogger who got a book deal as a result of her column about YA lit.

And subsequently, I read the single funniest sentence ever on Gawker in reference to it:

“I guess there probably aren’t a lot of bloggers, blog-editors and freelance writers sitting around thinking ‘I am the perfect person to write a collection of nostalgic pieces about classic young adult novels, but she gets to do it and I don’t! Bitch!’”

Well, you know…there might be one or two. Just speculating. It never would’ve occurred to me in ten million years that you could get a book deal for analyzing kids books from the perspective of someone who came of age in the ‘80s. Never. And that’s why I’m staycaytioning over Labor Day weekend instead of living the good life.

Feliz Cumpleaños

36 Ah, it’s the one time of year where I willingly post a photo of myself. I don’t know when I decided that it would be a good idea every July 25th (yes, I know it’s the 27th now) but it’s a not-terribly-useful habit I’ve stuck with. So, this is 36. It could be worse.

Friday, I had a birthday dinner at Dovetail, which was odd because I never eat (or do anything) on the Upper West Side. The food was likable, service was a little strange. More on that later.

Last night I had a low-key party with a Spanish-ish food theme. As to be expected, I drank too much (it’s all I can do to get these words out in a semi-coherent fashion). What I didn’t anticipate was receiving a copy of Sing Blue Silver, which I foisted on my captive audience.

Now that I’ve come to terms with my aged status, I can openly reminisce about the big deal it was when this Duran Duran documentary aired on MTV a full 24 years ago. I recall having to use the timer on the VCR and being scared to death that it wouldn’t record properly. DVR had changed my life.

I also received a soda siphon, the two liqueurs I’ve been meaning to track down: crème de violette and maraschino, a Sephora gift certificate, Vosges bacon chocolate bar, plastic Japanese food containers with anthropomorphic characters, a few bottles of wine including a Riesling in a crazy pink cat shaped bottle, a Spanish grammar book (from my Spanish teacher, duh) and a few more items.

Back to the food. The more I looked at last month’s alfresco feature in Gourmet (this month’s has totally upped the ante, by the way) the more I realized how good the recipes sounded. I’m not a hater, so I borrowed two dishes. I must point out that they were consumed completely indoors.

I couldn’t bear to also use the white sangria recipe included with this set menu and opted for a Thai basil infused sangria from Food & Wine that ended up having zero basil flavor.

Manchego and olives

Manchego with almonds and green olives

Cauliflower red pepper salad

Roasted red peppers and cauliflower with caper vinaigrette

Gazpacho

While still not a greenmarket convert, I will concede that you need quality tomatoes if you’re going to make gazpacho. I wasn’t thrilled about spending $35 on the summery ingredient, but it had to be done. I did have to nix serving Serrano ham to keep within a reasonable budget. I didn't expect the color to be so orange. I did throw in a few yellow and green-striped tomatoes, which could've toned down the more typical ruddiness. Update: hmm…I brought leftovers for lunch and just noticed a strange bitter undercurrent, likely from too old garlic. I didn't taste much of the soup on Saturday so I didn't catch it, and it's not like there would've been anything I could've done about it anyway. It's a shame, though.

Boquerones

Boquerones are as easy as buying them and placing the vinegary fillets on a plate. I was actually surprised that these disappeared so quickly because people are generally anti-anchovy.

Chorizo cooked in cider

I braised chorizo in hard cider with a bay leaf based on a recipe from The New Spanish Table. This was also insanely simple.

Spanish cheeses

Murcia, mahon and cabrales were served with membrillo and fig-almond cake.

There was also an Oreo ice cream cake from Baskin Robins (I didn’t grow up with Carvel so Cookipuss and Fudgy the Whale mean nothing to me) that I neglected to take a photo of.

Blue’s Clues

Bluekitchen Maybe I’ve been watching too much too much HGTV because this weekend I decided to get into the open house game. Just what sort of stuff is selling in my neighborhood, anyway?

Apparently, scary stuff. I now know that $1.6 mil will get you a stuccoed townhouse with security cameras, next to a junk yard on a dead end warehouse-centric street that dead-ends at the Gowanus canal. There might also be a scary pit bull in the paved-over backyard, a one-armed realtor, carpeted floor-to-ceiling columns, Jacuzzi tub, metallic flower vase sculpted to look like two guns and lots of vitamins and protein powder on the counters of the most overwhelmingly glossy blue kitchen you could ever imagine.

I’ve lamented for years about the lack of color in American kitchens (and the abuse of travertine and granite). Even though you wouldn’t know if from my current mishmash apartment décor, I’m obsessed with everything green (despite having little interest in the Upper East Side or Italian food, I’m smitten with the color scheme at new restaurant, Alloro, and might have to pay a visit just to see the unbelievable greenness in person) and fantasize about the day I can apply the emerald hue in a serious way.

So, I have to admire the homeowners’ dedication to a single color (and I know the brand must’ve cost a pretty penny) but this abomination makes me question my own taste a bit. However, this blue kitchen renews my faith some.

And the pseudo-serious house hunt continues.

It’s Not All John Waters and The Wire, Right?

Utz_crab Yay, four-day weekend. It’s not quite the same as a European two-month break but this is as close to a French work ethic as I’m likely to get. I’m not going to argue with a freebie Monday off.

I’ll be in Baltimore for no other reason than that I was only there once for like five hours a few years ago and figured this weekend was as good as any to go back and find crabs, crabcakes and pit beef.

First Things First

In a hopeless attempt at becoming less me-centric I’ve finally gotten my new URL www.goodiesfirst.com up and running. www.project-me.com should still work just so old links don’t break, but from here on out it’s Goodies First all the time.

I Have Been Known to Drink 99-Cent Wine…

Ghettowine

…though not in this decade.

Apparently times are tough. If you’re to believe all the belt-tightening, penny-pinching articles showing up lately, that is. I’m not feeling particularly pinched, or maybe things like the price of milk, white bread and gas have next to no obvious effect on my existence. In fact, I’m more financially stable than I’ve ever been in my life, which isn’t to say rich.

My timing has always been horrible. During boom times everyone I knew was doing well and I was destitute. Now, it seems like everyone is unemployed or sporadically employed by choice, oozing free time and mellowing out while I’m tied to a rigid schedule.

I don’t often have moments where I’m like, “hey, that was my idea” mostly because I don’t have that many ideas. I’m horrible with ideas, that’s why I could never survive as a freelance writer, I find pitching extremely painful.

But yesterday I couldn’t ignore mentions of The 99¢ Only Stores Cookbook everywhere (ok, just on Chow and NPR) It made me sick and panicky, er, then I noticed it was blurbed by Jack Black and felt a little better. I’ve had an obsession with 99-cent store food for years. Ages ago when I took a horrible, miserable food writing class, I kept pounding away on this piece about 99-cent store food but it seemed lame, there wasn’t much of a hook and it just didn’t seem relevant to a larger audience (like much of what I have to say).

So, one woman ran with the idea of 99-cent store food and got a book deal. Fine. Then today in the New York Times it’s 99-cent food all over again, “How to Survive in New York on 99 Cents” written by an “investigative humorist” and maybe I missed it but they don’t seem to even reference the book, like it was a spontaneous, simultaneous genius idea.

I have no idea why I would feel defeated and incensed by a book and article about 99-cent store food appearing at the same time, it’s a gimmicky flash in the pan conceit, and one that I never even perused with anything resembling a vengeance.

I wonder if The 99 Cent Chef feels left out.

Pretty bottles photo from Ghetto Wines

For Just 5 Cents a Day…

Scroogemcduck

Do you know how long it takes to earn $100 (the minimum amount they’ll cut you a check for) through Google ads? If you’re me: 18 months. Today I finally became rich. I would’ve just gotten rid of the damn ads but it was an experiment. A long, drawn out experiment, for sure.

I could just take them down now and declare the test an unsuccess, but I’m kind of looking forward to that next $100 check…in October 2009.

The Sweet Life

Mom_3Do you know what happens when you dredge up memories of an unwelcome diabetic birthday dessert from more than a decade ago? God gives you diabetes. Seriously.

Considering the alarmingly crappy genes, particularly on my father’s side of the family (in college, my aunt Belia’s foot rotted from diabetes and rather than have it amputated, it festered and she died. The story is funny to me, both ha ha and strange, because it seems so unreal and antiquated for the late 20th century), I just assumed that the disease would eventually catch up with me. I kind of thought I’d at least make it to my forties, though.

What irks me most is that diabetes is viewed as an affliction for fat, stupid people, primarily minorities with the exception of Wilford Brimley. All the literature I was given was illustrated with smiling blacks and Latinos and a list of foods you can still eat at McDonald’s and Wendy’s.

I certainly don’t think I’m special but I don’t need to be told about walking (I’ve been working out 3-4 times a week since the early ‘00s), I haven’t touched a Big Gulp since I was in grade school and I eat Whoppers like never. Of course I do like pork belly, curries, cocktails and dulce de leche and sit in front of a computer all day like total diabetes bait. I just get frustrated because while I have slowly chunked up over the years, I’m not Biggest Loser, gastric bypass obese and the people I see on TV don’t even have high blood pressure or diabetes. What gives?

No longer being able to eat (much) sugar and starch does not fit into my pro-rat year. Not one bit. At least I'm not being made to take any medicine or deal with needles yet. I pretty much need to lose the twenty pounds I've been trying to get rid of for an eternity and see if that does anything. I almost cried when I saw my favorite seasonal treat, green Hostess Sno Balls at CVS last week and had to ignore the beauties, and it bummed me out not to be able to partake in cornball bagel Friday at work.

There’s no way in hell I’m going to start eating boneless, skinless chicken breasts and steamed broccoli seasoned with Mrs. Dash. And I’ll keel over before allowing Splenda into my life. Who knows, though. I always though brown rice was for assholes, and this weekend I was the asshole who asked for brown rice with my Sichuan food and only ate a quarter cup.

I’m still going to eat good food. This site will not turn into Goodies Never, but I don’t feel like there are any online role models for people who like to eat well, adventurously and happen to be diabetic. As far as I can tell there aren’t any. Vegans and the allergic have their place in the food blog world (as well as the inexplicable volume penned by lawyers, ex-lawyers and Asian girls) but it’s not like I want to read about their foibles. Diet talk is too uncomfortably close to Lifetime territory.