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Posts from the ‘Textual Selfie’ Category

Jul 11

Make it a True Daily Double

Firstclass(Paraphrasing because I was only half-watching) “Which section of the New York Times allows critic Frank Bruni a $350,000 annual budget for expenses?” (And my own question, who’s flying him first class to Moscow?)

No one on this evening’s Jeopardy knew the answer (ok, Tim Abou-Sayed from Florida did eventually come up with “what is restaurants” as a sheer guess, right at the buzzer and after a miss from the ultimate winner Monica Lenhard of Michigan answered, “theater”).

Not that Jeopardy contestants are representative of the nation at large (more informed yet more socially retarded) but it relieved me that clearly no one outside of New York reads the New York Times dining section. I like to be reminded that NYC is not the center of the world, even though I admit to feeling anxious and out of touch with local media when I’m out of town (which is why I was reading “Off the Menu” on vacation in ’05 and learned about Fatty Crab. This was pre-food blog glut by the way, when I relied on print for restaurant openings. I swear I’m not obsessed with hating/loving Fatty Crab—I think I just like typing the word fatty).

Sometimes I wish I didn’t know things, the kinds of things in the New York Approval Matrix. I don’t want to know who The Splasher and Boerum Hill Crapper are (ok, maybe the crapper is alright), yet I do. Why? The person I live with has no knowledge of any of this non-importance (though it’s not as bad as the sixth grade dropout boyfriend raised in an orphanage who had never watched TV in his entire life. Honest to god, he had no clue who Tom Cruise was and that’s a hard one to avoid). Easily 85% of the people I come into contact daily for business and pleasure are not familiar with useless New York-ish pop culture talking points. Should I stop reading self-referential blogs for sanity’s sake? It’s not like I impress anyone with witty, informed banter. In fact, I often go all day without uttering more than a sentence or two, which likely contributes to my urge for spewing nonsense here.

Last night I saw an ad for a job I’d be perfect for. Not a cool job, library work, but definitely not hip as all (northern) Brooklyn librarians apparently now are. It involved food marketing. But it was in Virginia. I’ve seen Chicago ads and seriously think, but Virginia? Uh uh (it doesn’t help that James’s parents live in that state and would kill for him to live closer to home). It’s really out of the country or not at all.

Saturday I was informed that Manila might be in a business trip future. I’d love to go to the Philippines and have been interested in the country (well, the food) since I was a teenager. Shanghai was also tossed out as a possibility for the fall, maybe both. Could I stop reading the New York Times and placeblogs, whatever the fuck those are, for at least a few weeks?

Last month everyone (in the blogosphere, duh–my god, it’s worse than I thought) was doing the let’s live on food stamp allotments challenge (I had food stamps in college and ate quite well–$112/month for a Northwestern 19-year-old in ’91 was a lot of extra money. That doesn’t seem right considering that same state’s average allotment appears to be less sixteen years later). Boring. Maybe I’ll do the same with regional periodicals and blogs. You know, doing without, living like the poors. But then, I’d miss the rare, cool non-NYC-centric chain restaurant article like this one appearing in tomorrow’s print edition.

It’s not like I’m moving (back) to Oregon anytime soon. Wild west or not, the rugged individualist state probably isn’t all that welcoming of outlaw chefs. Jason Neroni will only luck out because no Oregonian has any inkling or interest about what goes on in NYC. God bless them.

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Jun 12

Red Hooks & Barbs

Welcome to another edition of talk (to myself) therapy. Last week I came to terms with trendy Macanese food, now I’m trying to come to terms with the rise of the Red Hook ball fields and the public (ok, the blogosphere) rallying to preserve them. I should care if the little guy gets put out of business, especially when the little guy crafts tasty snacks. Yet the more I hear about something, the more I begin to loathe it even when it’s worthy of constant comment. Sometimes I worry that that’s a horrible self-defeating attitude I need to rid myself of, then I read funny, possibly made up letters and feel vitriolic and at peace.

The Latin American food vendors in no way approximate the oversaturation of Shake Shack or Momofuku Ssam—there’s no attitude or ridiculous waits. And most importantly, I just live up the street. But I don’t even feel like going if it’s going to be douche central. I thought about taking my visiting mom and stepdude this past weekend but the Charles Schumer and friends save our salt of the earth artisans spectacle ensured that I’d steer clear. We went to Coney Island and Totonno’s instead.

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May 26

Making a Run for the Border

Ok, so it’s nearly 6am and I’m almost off to Mexico City. Sometimes I do question why I chose the cities when everyone seems to know that you’re supposed to go to the beaches or elsewhere if you’re going to even vaguely relax (I learned that lesson with Bangkok). I know it's wrong but I wonder if they have Taco Bells in Mexico. They have Outback Steakhouses in Australia, so why not? Anyway, I assume I’ll have internet in my hotel room so I might post a bit thought that usually doesn’t happen. Let’s just hope I don’t get kidnapped because it’s not like anyone’s going to pay my ransom.

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May 18

One Man’s Toothsome is Another’s Melts in Your Mouth

MeltykissWe all have our pet peeves. I’m cliché crazy so I should tread lightly here. I use tasty to describe food and that’s probably a nuisance to some (though I wouldn’t necessarily use the term in something professional, whatever that means anymore). I would never say yummy (or god forbid, yummo) but it doesn’t rankle me. I really don’t care for the word succulent and once an editor inserted that into an opening paragraph I’d written and it skeeved me out.

My least favorite food description has to be melts in your mouth followed by to die for with sinful as a close runner up. I guess chocolate really does melt in your mouth, hence the M&M’s melts in your mouth, not in your hands tagline, but you see it used all the time to describe meat and fish and that’s not really accurate or appetizing. You usually see melts in your mouth in online forums or casual venues, it’s to be expected, but last week it was in a Time Out NY review. No, not the New York Times, but they do have standards (and a style guide).

Out of curiosity, I turned to Chowhound for a sense of this phrase’s ubiquitousness. I’m not picking on Chowhound, they just proved to be a good resource because they’re one of the longest running food boards and I thought I’d get a good sampling. I was expecting a couple hundred hits. But no, there were 3,296. Seriously. And the second hit contains an amazing double whammy right in the title. “Melt in your mouth, to die for sushi?” Bonanza.

Not completely related, and it’s a Britisism/Aussieism, but only in the past few months have I become acquainted with the phrase to the boil as in “let it come to the boil” as opposed to to a boil. Petty, I know, it’s a standing in/on line thing. My ears just can’t get accustomed to standing on a line no matter how long I live here.

I'm sure there are countless other petty offensenes. I've heard of toothsome haters and it doesn't pain me in the least to use the adjective.

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May 9

Sock it to Me

BottleUrgh, I lost my other camera sock (apparently, they’re quite popular—I’ve had more than a handful of internet searchers ending up here after Googling camera sock as well ugh this coworker naMED kRISTA, which I find disturbing for its implications and traumatic capitalization), which was probably a direct result of losing track of the number of mint juleps I’d consumed. This is the second year in a row that I’ve overindulged into near oblivion. It must be the convergence of Kentucky Derby and Cinco de Mayo. At least I was smart enough to eschew the Cuervo shots. I can’t resist a good limited edition promotion, though—green wax instead of red on the Maker’s Mark bottle is marketing gold as far as I’m concerned. I can't resist green non-vegetal foodstuffs.

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May 3

Kristall Clear

Img_pear_2 I love to eat but I don’t really love weekday lunch. At my relatively still new job people make use of their full hour and aren’t big desk eaters. That’s wise, I’m trying to get there. I’m simply a desk eater because I can’t deal with crowds and the 12-2 crush raises my blood pressure (for real—I’d like to believe this study mentioned in the NY Times last week about dark chocolate being as effective as beta blockers in controlling blood pressure. They specifically mentioned atenolol, which is what I take because I seem to have the health level of a sedentary middle-aged man who has smoked and eaten red meat his entire life).

I just ran across the street to grab a bagel at Au Bon Pain who doesn’t make even remotely good bagels but there aren’t a lot of options around Broad and Beaver streets. It’s always frenzied and I start getting all distracted and unable to make a decision and thought I should get a seltzer because I was getting tired of the tap water I’d been lugging around in a Poland Springs bottle (I usually get a couple weeks out of each bottle before I start worrying about germs). I didn’t see any club soda so I blindly grabbed an inoffensive, clear, sparkling pear beverage in a glass bottle. I was a little bummed to realize it contained sugar after I sat down but it was fairly light and more fruity, plus, how often do you find a pear soda?

I attempted to read about the faux gastro pub craze in New York and tried not to let the bustling around me bug me out (why do I have beta blockers when I really need tranquilizers?). It wasn’t until I got back to the office that I realized my name was in the Swedish brand of all natural fruit soda.

I know, big deal if your name is John or something but I’ve never been blessed with namesake anything, (though in Budget Travel I discovered a Buenos Aires boutique hotel called Krista) not even things meant to be personalized. I even see Krystal, which seems unusual, more than Krista. Off the top of my head, there are burgers, a Filipino (one of the other Krista Garcias in the world is a teenager in the Philippines) mini chain in NYC (hmm, looks like they just closed their Manhattan branch) and a new bar I just noticed Saturday on Queens Blvd.

So now I love Kristall soda even though I normally hate soda. Oh my god, I just found out something horrifying about Kristall: they also produce a beverage called Julmust. I have no idea how it tastes, but with hops and malt extract listed it sounds suspiciously close to my least favorite foodstuff in the universe that I just mentioned yesterday, malta. Kristall clearly has a dark side.

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Mar 30

Tidbits: Bauhaus and Mayonnaise

Mayo_cover1. Bauhaus in Starbucks is wrong. I could deal the other morning when my favorite New Order song “Age of Consent” was playing (it already got tainted in the Marie Antoinette trailer, anyway) but “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything” is wrong anywhere, but particularly at 10am in the Financial District in a coffee chain.

In the mid-‘90s I found a bunch of old dubbed from vinyl cassettes, including a few Bauhaus ones. I tried playing them while driving and it was intolerable, like really nuts and dramatic. In a way, Destroyer is a contemporary non-Goth version of this super theatrical style, and I can listen to it (maybe not driving, though).

2. Remind me to not go to Pret a Manger again. I’ve only gone twice in the past month but I keep forgetting that the not terribly filling sandwiches ring in at $7 on the dot with tax and are overly mayonnaisey (I’m not the first to note this overabundance). I end up hungry in a few hours, grossed out even after wiping excess mayo off with a napkin and annoyed that I’ve used way more than my allotted afternoon calories. Sad. I could deal with the heavy handed condiment application if the price was even a dollar cheaper because they do have interesting flavors. But after looking up the nutritional info on my cranberry, walnut, mesclun and brie version, I almost crapped myself. I might as well have eaten a Wendy’s value menu cheeseburger and saved fat and money. Um, except I don’t think they have Wendy’s down here.

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Mar 16

Boiling Point

CoffeecatDespite how it might seem, I don’t generally enjoy complaining. And I wasn’t ever going to mention how the heinous Starbucks sort of across the street from my new office makes me want to spit and scream and I’m always overly polite to customer service workers (though tonight our super late pizza delivery from Nino’s induced mild irritation mixed with light empathy because apparently the delivery guy, kind of an Italo-Mongloid hybrid, had dropped the pizza on the way over. I’d have felt bad if he had fallen but I think he was just butterfingers with the box. He was apologetic and waiting another 45-minutes, his estimate for a replacement pie, seemed unreasonable. But the pizza was all smooshed on one side of the box, like half the pie had all the fillings and the other part was mangled and topless) but today was free coffee day from 10am-12pm so it seemed timely to vent(i) my concerns.

I wouldn’t normally go to Starbucks, not because it’s inherently evil but because I’m cheap. But my mom has gone on this kick where she sends $25 Starbucks cards for holidays and I have no problem redeeming them. Since college she’s often mailed a twenty dollar bill on such occasions, I don’t know when or why the Starbucks changeover took hold.

I actually liked the “secret Starbucks,” as they’d call it, hidden in the back lobby of the building next to Newscorp with no external signage. It was never crowded and sometimes they’d give me larger coffees than I’d ordered. But the new-to-me Beaver St. location is like the setting for an episode of Boiling Points. I’ve gone about a handful of times and every time except for once I have no received my coffee. I order the simplest thing on the menu: a tall black coffee. That’s it. All they have to do is turn around and pour it from a spout or tell another worker to pour it from a spout. Yet, I pay, move to the side (not the larger area where 98% of people are waiting for fancier complicated beverages) and my coffee never arrives. On my first visit it was a solid five minutes before I realized no one was ever going to get my coffee. Frothy, whipped cream topped behemoths are flying out the door, everyone in line after me leaves, and I’m still waiting for my fucking drip coffee. I paid already, so it’s not like I can leave.

Yesterday, I lost my shit after the four women in line behind me received their drinks while I was standing inches from the gentleman who’d taken my order. I was like, “um, I ordered a coffee before all of these people” and the counter guy as well as three workers who were literally just standing behind the counter doing nothing ignored me. The one other drip coffee lady who’d arrived well after me was less polite than I. She chided everyone in the way only a middle aged woman with nothing to lose can. I would've been scared if she hadn't been on my side. Free or not, I can’t allow myself to step foot in that caffeinated hell again.

Plain black coffee is all that I want so I would be fine with the coffee cart brew. The going rate for a large (and strangely called extra large one block down) around Wall Street is $1.15. I can deal with that despite hating to dig around for the 15 cents. But I was blessed by Au Bon Pain when the other day the cashier gave me one of those plastic commuter cups for no reason whatsoever (I used to frequent the 47th and 6th branch daily and never got such treatment) I always thought their $1.72 large was a rip off since the coffee isn’t really any better than street coffee but for $1.07 with the free cup, it’s the only bargain of my day and had induced irrational loyalty. And I’m not put off by their self-serve approach, at least I have control over how quickly I get my goods. Now if they’d only bring back their half price baked goods after 4pm deal, all would be right with the world.

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Mar 8

Crossed Wires

I don’t know if March 2007 is a watershed moment for internet savviness or if people are just particularly social this week, but for no reason at all I’ve been receiving more than a typical amount of email from strangers (which is to say perhaps six or seven messages rather than the usual zero). I was weirded out by someone clearly (hopefully) ESL asking why his name was on my website and where he could find this person with his name (I don't want to type the name or else there will be two hits pointing to me). I had no recollection of the name in question. After Googling it, my random mention from April 2003 was the only hit. I absolutely forget what minutiae I’ve posted over the past eight years so there was no way I’d remember something as miniscule as having my phone number accidentally swapped with someone who lived a block away from me in Sunset Park four years ago. When I called people on this particular day, a different number registered on caller I.D. I then Googled the phone number and the name I found was the same as the guy who just emailed me wanting to know why his name is on my website. I don’t know how to succinctly explain that to an eager ESL emailer. Of course, most bloggers wouldn’t bother but it’s the information professional in me that feels the need to provide answers. I’m so not service minded or helpful or caring, so it’s a mystery how I ended up as a librarian (I’ve never actually had a business card job with that title. Newly and currently, I’m a Researcher, plain and simple).

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Feb 15

Heavy Hearted

This is the first year that I haven’t had any Valentine’s plans on Feb. 14 proper (though it’s still not too late for a Norbit viewing later tonight). I took James out to Ureña last night (my non-home computer crashes every time I try uploading my ever-so-important take on this restaurant) and he was intending to take me out to Moto tomorrow evening. But I’m starting to get scared with all this blizzard shit. Because I’m a nervous nellie, I checked all American Airlines flights from La Guardia to O’Hare today and they’ve been cancelled. If this shit keeps up till tomorrow morning someone’s going to be in a world of hurt (I haven’t decided who yet). It’s not like we can change our reservation on such short notice either (and I’ve wasted a lot of time crafting a jam-packed itinerary that includes deep dish pizza, carnitas, birria, brats and kugelis with detailed subways and walking directions). I’m very afraid that this is shaping up to be the worst day after Valentine’s Day ever.

My favorite illiterate romantic photo from yesterday's internets.

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